Naestoria
02-05-2007, 18:49
The Academy of Zion
Fourteenth Floor Briefing Rooms
January 17, 2026, about 1630 hours
Through the large windows that caught the sunlight from outside, now half-shuttered, it might be possible to make out the spire of the Priory across the central plaza, looming large as life in the distance. Light streamed through the shutters, dappling the floor with strands of brightness, and in the late afternoon sun the strands extended as far as the massive table that sat in the centre of the room; here the Council of Academes convened, perhaps once a month at best, to manage the business of the nation. The Academy oversaw not only Naestoria's truly gargantuan education program, but also transportation, trade, diplomacy, research, and communication. And on this day, exploration.
At the head of the table, the sun to his back (casting his face in shadow), sat Grand Academe Julien Reid; his face was grey and lined but still brought to bear its firm and dignified features which had not dimmed with age. The pair of crystal spectacles he wore, despite the prominence of laser surgery, only served to enhance this dignity; and though his voice were soft and gentle, it too would still carry that nobility of thought with it.
Reid alone presided due to the absence of the two other Grand Academes; they were gone on business only Reid himself, and his counterparts in the Priory, could fathom. The two empty seats on either side of him seemed to distance him slightly from the other Academes that seated themselves now around the long table, clad in their flowing dark robes that resembled the gowns administered to graduating students, except with symbols and silver collars decorating them (albeit in a quite puritan fashion).
The Council had adjourned for the third time that day, as Council meetings tended to last an entire day; and as the robed men and women returned to their seats, Reid spoke. "Welcome back, everyone. As we were discussing before our adjournment, the recent rise in oil prices is threatening to destabilise, at best, the Naestorian economy. Yasafou, I believe you had the floor?"
Academe Aleksei Yasafou rose to his feet. He was tall and stocky, lightly bearded and with eyes of liquid flame. Yasafou held the equivalent of a Dean's position in the Academy of Jericho; he was one of the few Naestorian authority figures of Eastern Orthodox persuasion, the vast majority being Catholics. He said: "Thank you, Grand Academe. As I was saying, while Naestoria has researched means of alternate power and propulsion than petroleum -- our homes and cities are powered by nuclear plants, for instance -- daily transportation, aircraft, and boats still depend largely on fossil fuels. It's obvious we need a new source of petroleum to keep our economy... running... and well lubricated."
"You have a degree in environmental studies, I believe, Vasquez?"
"Indeed, Grand Academe," Luis Vasquez said from across the table, standing as Yasafou resumed his seat. "It is common knowledge that there are sizeable oil deposits within reach of Lake Erie, some three hundred kilometres from Naestoria's western border and in a region that is currently in a state of anarchy. Some of them may yet be untapped."
"I will consider that," Reid said. "It shall be forwarded to the Priory— no, it shall not. A military or paramilitary operation to seize the area would be risky, and the territory would not be easily held at the present time. Once talks with the Sovereignty are concluded, well—" and he fell silent again. On a viewscreen across the table from Reid there slowly flashed into being the face of Grand Prior Lucretius Zariel; evidently Reid had opened a comm line. Zariel half-smiled, although the gesture came not easily; he had been trained in the most elite and secret ranks of the Knights, and showing emotion was deemed almost unnatural for them.
"Good afternoon, Academe."
"Good afternoon, Prior. You received my earlier message?"
"Indeed I did. You know, of course, of our plans for that particular region already?"
"I believe so."
"To make it brief, the Priory is not currently prepared to enter stage two in the Western Pennsylvania region."
"That is unfortunate. Do you have any other suggestions?"
"I recommend the sea. International waters exist to be claimed, after all."
Reid raised his eyebrows and comm'd Zariel out. The screen went blank.
"Vasquez, do you have any response to the Prior's last comment?" he asked, turning his head slightly to meet the eyes of the other Academe, who had only half seated himself and now stood awkwardly about to return to his seat.
"Grand Prior Zariel is indeed correct. There are believed to be sizeable sedimentary deposits throughout the Atlantic Ocean, and we could simply search within a certain radius -- say, one hundred nautical miles -- and tap any petroleum reserves within the area."
"What would the cost of this be, Vasquez? Have you estimated?" Reid maintained his impassive stare.
"I'm afraid not, Academe. It could be quite expensive; but the profits from a large reserve would far outweigh the expenses. You'll really have to talk to the Navy to discuss that."
"Very well. Thank you. Now, moving on to other matters...."
Behind Reid, the sun glared a brilliant orange, casting its strands of wan light ever further towards the far end of the table and the screen that stood there like a monolith, empty; within a few more minutes, it would sink beneath the horizon.
ZCS Jehoshaphat
Some 45 nautical miles southwest by west of Jericho
March 11, 2026; about 0945
As long as Donnell Gautini could remember he'd been living on the sea; from the very early days of Zion and the Republic when he'd been a cabin boy on a warship, fighting in the Battles of Acre and New Beirut, he'd fought, backstabbed, and overworked himself to become captain of first his own ship -- the very Jehoshaphat upon which he sailed, so named because of his common exclamation "This ship won't be taken from me 'til Jehoshaphat!" -- and now leader of a profiteering company.
Gautini's life had been full of peril and adventure. He'd watched his friends and brothers die beside him, ordered the destruction of other ships and towns (and virtually anything else that stood in his way), been sold into slavery, and suffered crushing setbacks and defeats at nearly every turn. As a result, he looked half-crazed; months' worth of unshaven beard and hair adorned his face, naturally black but with portions dyed in outrageous colours; his nose had been broken so often it resembled a shapeless lump of jelly more than it did an appendage; his stout and powerful body was pockmarked with scars; his raiment looked a mix of Victorian aristocracy and military uniform. Despite all this, Gautini was surprisingly soft-spoken and cultured. While he looked violent, and certainly could be, he tended to prefer profit to warfare, as he would make quite plain.
Gautini Trans-World Shipping, Ltd., had been given a mission. It was to be rewarded handsomely in government subsidies for discovering oil deposits. Naturally, that required certain sensor equipment; but Gautini was up to the task, finding a slightly questionable Californian dealer who could furnish him with the required materials for a marginal price. The price was low partly because the equipment itself was not of optimal quality, and partly because the Californian government was seeking prosecution against the dealer for stealing equipment and it needed to sell off its surplus fast. That was no obstacle to Gautini, either; as another of his common sayings ran, "If you want me, come get me." There was a reason the Jehoshaphat was armed with a six-inch destroyer gun.
Gautini mused on his ship. It had served him well for fifteen years, and from its original task (a large transport ship) it had become multi-purpose, equipped with a near-scientific sensor suite, weapons, passenger bays, storage, towed sonar, even a UAV; not to mention a few surprises he'd built in himself. And it was most certainly his ship -- no other captain could hope to understand its workings, let alone fill the void he would leave. There were nine other Gautini Shipping vessels out in the area, all of which Gautini himself had designed; Jehoshaphat was the largest and had the best chance of finding any such deposit. Now if only the company itself could keep the oil—
"Come in," Gautini said sharply, turning towards the door of his cabin. The aide entered and immediately began to cough, as the atmosphere Gautini's office tended to consist of more cigar smoke than oxygen. Gautini himself simply stared placidly at the newcomer until his coughing fit subsided and he was able to see.
"Chief, we got something we think you should see," the aide said rather ungrammatically, heavily slamming a sheet of translucent paper down upon Gautini's desk. The chief himself scanned it for a moment, then sighed and followed the aide upstairs to the bridge.
The scientific team, newly hired, looked up at Gautini expectantly as he entered; he did not deign to look at them yet, instead glancing out the window at the endless white-fleck'd sea and at navigation (the ship had come to a near-full stop), before focusing his attention upon the scientific team. Taking the cue, the lead officer (ensign equivalent) said, "I believe we've found something, chief."
"Such as what?"
"Well, er, it's rather complicated, but there's apparently an eighty-one point eight per cent chance that we're sitting on top of a significant petroleum field."
"So, we've struck oil."
"Not quite. We'll have to get a rig over to find out."
"You do that, then."
It was several hours until the oil rig arrived; it was contracted out by Gautini's company, and when the drills descended to the rocks below, Gautini finally had his conclusive proof. He had, indeed, struck oil; and a quite significant amount to boot. His officers estimated it in the five hundred million plus barrel range. The crew of the oil rig was more enthusiastic, claiming at least two billion. The shipping chief decided to go with their estimate, given their experience, and securely radioed his company's assets to set up a drilling platform here in the open sea. But it was not Gautini's ships that arrived to build it.
It was shortly after nightfall that the Jehoshaphat arrived back at Jericho harbour. Evidently the oil platform had been given up to a third party, else Gautini would have undoubtedly stayed on; nonetheless, it seemed unlikely that Gautini would just give up a prize to another company or even the Zionic government. However, his bankers duly noted, and forgot about, his deposit of one billion dollars. By the next morning, the oil platform was already in operation; shortly thereafter virtually all of the ships that had been at the platform were gone; and within two or three days a resolution quietly slipped through the Councils of Academes and Priors extending Naestorian national waters by ten nautical miles, coincidentally just enough to cover the new platform.
Anyone who was paying much attention to the actions of a nation of under a hundred million might notice it; or more likely, notice the secrecy with which it was undergone. The Naestorian government thrived on secrecy, after all, and this had been one of its more heavy-handed operations. The real question was, what -- if anything -- would people do about it?
Fourteenth Floor Briefing Rooms
January 17, 2026, about 1630 hours
Through the large windows that caught the sunlight from outside, now half-shuttered, it might be possible to make out the spire of the Priory across the central plaza, looming large as life in the distance. Light streamed through the shutters, dappling the floor with strands of brightness, and in the late afternoon sun the strands extended as far as the massive table that sat in the centre of the room; here the Council of Academes convened, perhaps once a month at best, to manage the business of the nation. The Academy oversaw not only Naestoria's truly gargantuan education program, but also transportation, trade, diplomacy, research, and communication. And on this day, exploration.
At the head of the table, the sun to his back (casting his face in shadow), sat Grand Academe Julien Reid; his face was grey and lined but still brought to bear its firm and dignified features which had not dimmed with age. The pair of crystal spectacles he wore, despite the prominence of laser surgery, only served to enhance this dignity; and though his voice were soft and gentle, it too would still carry that nobility of thought with it.
Reid alone presided due to the absence of the two other Grand Academes; they were gone on business only Reid himself, and his counterparts in the Priory, could fathom. The two empty seats on either side of him seemed to distance him slightly from the other Academes that seated themselves now around the long table, clad in their flowing dark robes that resembled the gowns administered to graduating students, except with symbols and silver collars decorating them (albeit in a quite puritan fashion).
The Council had adjourned for the third time that day, as Council meetings tended to last an entire day; and as the robed men and women returned to their seats, Reid spoke. "Welcome back, everyone. As we were discussing before our adjournment, the recent rise in oil prices is threatening to destabilise, at best, the Naestorian economy. Yasafou, I believe you had the floor?"
Academe Aleksei Yasafou rose to his feet. He was tall and stocky, lightly bearded and with eyes of liquid flame. Yasafou held the equivalent of a Dean's position in the Academy of Jericho; he was one of the few Naestorian authority figures of Eastern Orthodox persuasion, the vast majority being Catholics. He said: "Thank you, Grand Academe. As I was saying, while Naestoria has researched means of alternate power and propulsion than petroleum -- our homes and cities are powered by nuclear plants, for instance -- daily transportation, aircraft, and boats still depend largely on fossil fuels. It's obvious we need a new source of petroleum to keep our economy... running... and well lubricated."
"You have a degree in environmental studies, I believe, Vasquez?"
"Indeed, Grand Academe," Luis Vasquez said from across the table, standing as Yasafou resumed his seat. "It is common knowledge that there are sizeable oil deposits within reach of Lake Erie, some three hundred kilometres from Naestoria's western border and in a region that is currently in a state of anarchy. Some of them may yet be untapped."
"I will consider that," Reid said. "It shall be forwarded to the Priory— no, it shall not. A military or paramilitary operation to seize the area would be risky, and the territory would not be easily held at the present time. Once talks with the Sovereignty are concluded, well—" and he fell silent again. On a viewscreen across the table from Reid there slowly flashed into being the face of Grand Prior Lucretius Zariel; evidently Reid had opened a comm line. Zariel half-smiled, although the gesture came not easily; he had been trained in the most elite and secret ranks of the Knights, and showing emotion was deemed almost unnatural for them.
"Good afternoon, Academe."
"Good afternoon, Prior. You received my earlier message?"
"Indeed I did. You know, of course, of our plans for that particular region already?"
"I believe so."
"To make it brief, the Priory is not currently prepared to enter stage two in the Western Pennsylvania region."
"That is unfortunate. Do you have any other suggestions?"
"I recommend the sea. International waters exist to be claimed, after all."
Reid raised his eyebrows and comm'd Zariel out. The screen went blank.
"Vasquez, do you have any response to the Prior's last comment?" he asked, turning his head slightly to meet the eyes of the other Academe, who had only half seated himself and now stood awkwardly about to return to his seat.
"Grand Prior Zariel is indeed correct. There are believed to be sizeable sedimentary deposits throughout the Atlantic Ocean, and we could simply search within a certain radius -- say, one hundred nautical miles -- and tap any petroleum reserves within the area."
"What would the cost of this be, Vasquez? Have you estimated?" Reid maintained his impassive stare.
"I'm afraid not, Academe. It could be quite expensive; but the profits from a large reserve would far outweigh the expenses. You'll really have to talk to the Navy to discuss that."
"Very well. Thank you. Now, moving on to other matters...."
Behind Reid, the sun glared a brilliant orange, casting its strands of wan light ever further towards the far end of the table and the screen that stood there like a monolith, empty; within a few more minutes, it would sink beneath the horizon.
ZCS Jehoshaphat
Some 45 nautical miles southwest by west of Jericho
March 11, 2026; about 0945
As long as Donnell Gautini could remember he'd been living on the sea; from the very early days of Zion and the Republic when he'd been a cabin boy on a warship, fighting in the Battles of Acre and New Beirut, he'd fought, backstabbed, and overworked himself to become captain of first his own ship -- the very Jehoshaphat upon which he sailed, so named because of his common exclamation "This ship won't be taken from me 'til Jehoshaphat!" -- and now leader of a profiteering company.
Gautini's life had been full of peril and adventure. He'd watched his friends and brothers die beside him, ordered the destruction of other ships and towns (and virtually anything else that stood in his way), been sold into slavery, and suffered crushing setbacks and defeats at nearly every turn. As a result, he looked half-crazed; months' worth of unshaven beard and hair adorned his face, naturally black but with portions dyed in outrageous colours; his nose had been broken so often it resembled a shapeless lump of jelly more than it did an appendage; his stout and powerful body was pockmarked with scars; his raiment looked a mix of Victorian aristocracy and military uniform. Despite all this, Gautini was surprisingly soft-spoken and cultured. While he looked violent, and certainly could be, he tended to prefer profit to warfare, as he would make quite plain.
Gautini Trans-World Shipping, Ltd., had been given a mission. It was to be rewarded handsomely in government subsidies for discovering oil deposits. Naturally, that required certain sensor equipment; but Gautini was up to the task, finding a slightly questionable Californian dealer who could furnish him with the required materials for a marginal price. The price was low partly because the equipment itself was not of optimal quality, and partly because the Californian government was seeking prosecution against the dealer for stealing equipment and it needed to sell off its surplus fast. That was no obstacle to Gautini, either; as another of his common sayings ran, "If you want me, come get me." There was a reason the Jehoshaphat was armed with a six-inch destroyer gun.
Gautini mused on his ship. It had served him well for fifteen years, and from its original task (a large transport ship) it had become multi-purpose, equipped with a near-scientific sensor suite, weapons, passenger bays, storage, towed sonar, even a UAV; not to mention a few surprises he'd built in himself. And it was most certainly his ship -- no other captain could hope to understand its workings, let alone fill the void he would leave. There were nine other Gautini Shipping vessels out in the area, all of which Gautini himself had designed; Jehoshaphat was the largest and had the best chance of finding any such deposit. Now if only the company itself could keep the oil—
"Come in," Gautini said sharply, turning towards the door of his cabin. The aide entered and immediately began to cough, as the atmosphere Gautini's office tended to consist of more cigar smoke than oxygen. Gautini himself simply stared placidly at the newcomer until his coughing fit subsided and he was able to see.
"Chief, we got something we think you should see," the aide said rather ungrammatically, heavily slamming a sheet of translucent paper down upon Gautini's desk. The chief himself scanned it for a moment, then sighed and followed the aide upstairs to the bridge.
The scientific team, newly hired, looked up at Gautini expectantly as he entered; he did not deign to look at them yet, instead glancing out the window at the endless white-fleck'd sea and at navigation (the ship had come to a near-full stop), before focusing his attention upon the scientific team. Taking the cue, the lead officer (ensign equivalent) said, "I believe we've found something, chief."
"Such as what?"
"Well, er, it's rather complicated, but there's apparently an eighty-one point eight per cent chance that we're sitting on top of a significant petroleum field."
"So, we've struck oil."
"Not quite. We'll have to get a rig over to find out."
"You do that, then."
It was several hours until the oil rig arrived; it was contracted out by Gautini's company, and when the drills descended to the rocks below, Gautini finally had his conclusive proof. He had, indeed, struck oil; and a quite significant amount to boot. His officers estimated it in the five hundred million plus barrel range. The crew of the oil rig was more enthusiastic, claiming at least two billion. The shipping chief decided to go with their estimate, given their experience, and securely radioed his company's assets to set up a drilling platform here in the open sea. But it was not Gautini's ships that arrived to build it.
It was shortly after nightfall that the Jehoshaphat arrived back at Jericho harbour. Evidently the oil platform had been given up to a third party, else Gautini would have undoubtedly stayed on; nonetheless, it seemed unlikely that Gautini would just give up a prize to another company or even the Zionic government. However, his bankers duly noted, and forgot about, his deposit of one billion dollars. By the next morning, the oil platform was already in operation; shortly thereafter virtually all of the ships that had been at the platform were gone; and within two or three days a resolution quietly slipped through the Councils of Academes and Priors extending Naestorian national waters by ten nautical miles, coincidentally just enough to cover the new platform.
Anyone who was paying much attention to the actions of a nation of under a hundred million might notice it; or more likely, notice the secrecy with which it was undergone. The Naestorian government thrived on secrecy, after all, and this had been one of its more heavy-handed operations. The real question was, what -- if anything -- would people do about it?