Saevitian Archipelago
09-11-2007, 03:21
[OOC: WARNING! Long post of doooooooom. If you tl;dr, skip to bottom of page. MT, completely open, etc.]
The Keeper of the Covenant, Cardinal of the Orthodox Church, tenth Earl of Charlotte Island, Knight of the Crown, and chairman of New World Industries -- in short, Anselm von Browning -- set down his mug with an exclamation of distaste. It seemed that the coffee grew worse and worse each year; that was no fault of anyone's, except perhaps the weather. The climate was largely unsuitable for growing coffee, and what beans were used arrived only once or twice a year, by ship, from some impossibly distant nation.
"You see, Anselm, that's exactly what I mean," the man opposite the Earl said with a hint of triumph. "The coffee stinks. And it's not just that -- the iron is poor quality, the titanium is almost impossible to find, and we're running out of copper. How do you think we'll have electricity without copper?"
Sir Anselm von Browning blinked his large grey eyes. "Gold, I suppose. But there's a shortage of that, too."
"Exactly," Daniel Saros said. "It's a wonder we ever got beyond small fishing colonies without this. You see why my plan is so effective?"
"Well, Daniel, you have to look at it this way. The world has ignored us for years. What makes you think that suddenly building and announcing an international airport will help?"
"Trade, first of all. It's two weeks by boat to the nearest landmass; in modern airplanes that could be two hours. Expansion of the current airfields would also allow larger planes to land, and let's face it -- the Archipelago contains a few dozen uninhabited islands just waiting for us to claim them if we had the supplies to do so."
Sir von Browning frowned. "I don't follow your point. Why would we want more islands? Our population is thinly spread enough as it is. True, these islands may have valuable resources; but what use are they if we have no available manpower to extract them?"
"You forget, Anselm. In the past fifty years the population of Saevitia has quintupled. It may increase by as much again in the next five years; for population growth is exponential. The colonisation of these islands could occur slowly -- first we would need the ships to land men upon them, to build airfields; then the aircrafts to land on the airfields; then the supplies to build cities and towns, and to extract the resources the land offers; this will create jobs, which in turn will further the growth of the economy and raise the quality of life for us all." Saros made a gesture of impatience. "Those islands are uninhabited. Greater Saevitia was made for us to take.... it is a kind of manifest destiny. And my goal is to make that manifest destiny a reality."
"I can't deny that you have spirit, Daniel," Sir von Browning said reflectively. "But I can't help retaining my cynicism."
"Be as cynical as you like," Saros said. "Frederickstown International Airport opens tonight."
And with that Daniel Saros rose to his full height and made to depart the rustic confines of the old inn. As he pushed open the door he looked out upon the wave-sculpted cliffs and stormy seas of Port Edwards Island; shielding himself from the bitter wind and drawing his raincoat about him to protect his body from the stinging needles of ice that passed for rain, he smiled, at heart. It might have been November, with winter on the horizon, in Saevitia; but in the field of international politics, it was spring.
Saros walked back past the inn towards the town. Port Edwards Island sported a single small village on its meagre fifty-acre span; it was the southernmost of the inhabited isles, and suffered the brunt of the Antarctic climate. He climbed down the steps carved into the cliffs and stepped out onto the concrete boat landing, casting a baleful eye over the small marina. The island was too small to have a full-scale harbour; it was, in fact, barely large enough to have a marina of any kind. A dozen boats of varying sizes occupied the marina; Saros spotted his motorboat moored at the far end of the pier, near the entrance, and walked around to it, stepping in, starting the engine, navigating himself into the entrance and activating his signal.
For an hour or two Saros's powerful motorboat skimmed the featureless waves -- with only occasional glimpses of other islands in the distance -- while its captain perused a novel, safe from the driving rains within the cabin. Then, ahead of him, the shapes of landmasses loomed up from the sea and he knew he was entering the southeastern corner of 'Island Alley', a densely scattered chain within the archipelago that housed most of the nation's population. Before Saros was the broad Strait of Caledonia, through which most of the nation's sea traffic passed -- mostly on its way to and from Saint Clair Island, by far the largest landmass in the archipelago and home to two million of Saevitia's five million people.
Saros plied his craft into one of the outside and shallower "lanes" of the strait; it was largely nature-crafted, but nonetheless several massive engineering projects had helped maintain its graduated system of wide lanes to accomodate watercraft of varying draughts. A propeller plane roared overhead; on other "lanes" Saros caught sight of motorboats like his own, cruise liners, freighters, even a military patrol boat. He called out friendly greetings to acquaintances and old rivals; but today he was on a mission, and it called for maximum speed.
The cloud cover had lifted when Saros reached Waterfall City. It was almost evening by that point; Saros had taken the boat out to Port Edwards Island in the hours before dawn, and there were regular ferries from ports like Waterfall City and Grandon that took six or eight hours to reach the outlying isle. Waterfall City was first heard rather than seen. Saint Clair Island and its mountain range was drained exclusively by the Caledonia River; due to its glacial sources, the river maintained a high volume even late in the year. It was this river that spilled over the cliffs ringing Saint Clair Island, dropping fifty meters in a torrent three hundred meters wide; it fell directly into the sea, creating both a thunderous noise and an exceedingly deep plunge pool. Naturally, the settlers had exploited it however they could. The original flow of the river, before Frederickstown was built, had been a little bit to the south; when it had been diverted into channels to allow small watercraft access within Frederickstown, it had altered course to flow over the higher cliffs to the north of what was now Waterfall City. The deep canyon it had dug over the millennia had become an estuary, the only access to the harbour; already it was beginning to dig a new canyon through the cliffs, having receded one or two meters since its diversion....
Saros cut speed as he entered the harbour, the waterfall eternally pounding away to his left. Due to the danger of floods and tsunamis, the buildings of the city were built almost directly into the cliffs or on ledges along them; as he floated through the estuary that had once been the lower canyon of the Caledonia River -- towards the harbour that had once been a plunge pool -- he could look up to see houses and stores, connected by the signature narrow bicycle paths, perched precariously on the sides of the cliffs. A large freighter was approaching him from the opposite direction; the canyon, too, had been dug out with explosives to allow large vessels access to the Waterfall City harbour.
Here, finally, was the harbour: the city alight with evening glow, the sound of the river and the sea in the distance; ahead of him, in the small alcove that defined the limitations of a passenger boat, the portage. He cut his motor and allowed himself to float into the alcove, then stepped out of his boat and onto the pier as the workmen tied it securely. With an "Evening, Frank," to the man, he watched with detachment as one of them flipped a switch and the entire alcove rose out of the water, a platform sunk deep enough to allow for the draughts of all types of passenger boats. The platform extended into a long tunnel that led up the slopes of the harbour to Frederickstown proper. His boat slid into the tunnel, and a hidden piece of machinery rotated it so that its bow faced upwards and began to push from the stern side, lifting it through the tunnel.
"Stairs or elevator?" Frank asked Saros, who smiled.
"Stairs, like always."
"Good man. I always take the stairs myself. Builds strength, it does."
"That it does."
Saros bid goodbye to the portage staff, cast a cursory glance over at the other portages along the harbour, and began to climb the 362 stairs to Frederickstown proper. At the top of the stairs he paused for a minute to regain his breath, then headed to the upper portage station; his boat was already anchored in the upper alcove. Bidding greetings to the upper staff, he got into his boat, waited for the entrance to open, and floated out of the alcove.
Until he entered the main canal he kept his engine silent. When he turned it on it was still on low power, quiet and discreet. The bicycle paths and footpaths were crowded with people; the canals equally so with boats, ranging from small rowboats to motorboats like his. Casting an appreciative glance over the ancient, megalithic buildings that adorned both shores, Saros edged his way into the center of the canal and increased his speed, heading for the government quarter.
To reach the official building he had to leave the canal. A tributary stream, Cedar Creek, was the main avenue of the government; he passed a gate, where a security guard recognised him and let him in, and docked his boat near one of the doors, tying it in securely. He entered the building and sought out his quarry, sixth Earl of Madison Island, Keeper of the Aerospace Division, Knight of the Crown: Sir Melbourne Andrews. Sir Andrews appeared to be in a meeting of some kind, but Daniel Saros's arrival was evidently more important; Sir Andrews emerged almost immediately.
"Ah yes, Daniel. We've been expecting you. We're currently on the final checks stage; we ought to be ready by eight this evening."
"Excellent," Saros said. "Only one question. Could you remind me which way the airfield is?"
"The airfield? We are using Coppermine River, aren't we? As I recall we decided against Opal Creek, not deep enough. Don't worry, though, the royal ferry will be headed that way in any case...."
"Sure, but I'd rather be there to greet His Majesty," Saros said. "Thanks anyway. I'll head for Coppermine."
"Right. See you there."
The Coppermine River was a further tributary of the Caledonia. Within the limits of Frederickstown it was contained like a canal; its tranquil green waters burbled happily over small ripples while the houses of the intelligentsia and the middle class stretched on either side. Beyond the city boundary it was free-flowing, its banks lined with trees and flowers and mosses. Saros knew that on river-left (his right, traveling upstream) was Arcangelo University; but the only sign of its presence was the occasional bridge spanning the tranquil river. At one point a significant stream, encased in a tunnel of green, led off the campus; the noises of the city were far gone now, and night had all but fallen, leaving the only light to emerge from the odd lamps emplaced along the river. In daytime this would be a beatiful pastoral scene, interrupted only by the airport itself. Even the airport was none too obtrusive; from in front the part that abutted upon the river looked like a house, and trees grew right to the side, hiding most of it from view. To Saros's left, river right, there now came into view a marina -- two or three boats were already present, alongside which he moored his boat; he climbed out and stepped into the empty airport, passing along a moving walkway and entering a vast chamber, eerily silent in the absence of people to fill it. Ignoring the security desks and ticket counters, which were unmanned, Saros simply wallked through to the departure gates. Waiting there, and making conversation, were several people: mostly Saros's subordinates in Saevitia Air, as well as journalists and gawkers.
Saros approached first one of the pilots; after friendly greetings, he asked, "How goes it?"
"Everything seems to be running smoothly," the pilot said. "We're all set for the nine o'clock departure."
"Great. Now we just wait for His Majesty."
"Exactly."
His Majesty arrived in half an hour. By the time the royal watercraft had docked and the King of Saevitia had emerged, the airport had filled up. Tour boats and private boats alike had brought thousands of people to the airport; hundreds of thousands more watched on national TV. The TV segment was one of the first in Saevitia to be broadcast internationally, and with good reason.
The broadcast opened with applause. A crowded room; His Majesty High King Robert II Quirina of the Constitutional Sovereignty of the Saevitian Archipelago, at a podium, before a half-dozen microphones stuck like bent grass. Robert II, to deliver his promised pompous speech. And so he does.
"Today, Saevitians are gathered here to witness a great event in Our nation's history -- indeed, a day We had scarcely hoped to see under Our reign. Today the first passenger aircraft departs Saevitia's new Frederickstown International Airport for Ushuaia; the first time in Saevitian history that Our people have had the opportunity to encounter those of foreign states, and vice versa. Today is the beginning of a new era in the history of this nation; an era of economic growth, an era of trade and diplomacy. The days of isolation are over for the Saevitian Archipelago..."
The scene cuts to the airfield. The passenger jet, packed with Saevitians bound for the distant city of Ushuaia, slowly glides along the roadways. It pauses. Meanwhile Robert II continues to speak: "...world of international trust and cooperation. It was once said that the mark of progress is intelligent thought; but We now know the sound of progress." The speakers now cut to the airfield, as does the picture; the jet's engines roar as it taxis down the runway, its speed ever increasing. As its wheels leave the ground the crowd of Saevitians begins to cheer. Then, all across the nation, men and women and children glued to their TV sets also begin to cheer, and those lucky enough to be holding the only slightly overpriced airline tickets watch in amazement as the lights of Frederickstown grow fainter and fainter.
A triumph, indeed. Daniel Saros has taken care of the rest. On the Internet and dispatched to corporations and foreign governments are a variety of messages. Tourism advertisements. Advertisements for oil, practically Saevitia's only resource of value, and coincidentally mined and processed almost exclusively by a corporation owned in part by Daniel Saros. Requests for trade negotiations. And so on, and so forth. New eras often need a kickstart.
The Keeper of the Covenant, Cardinal of the Orthodox Church, tenth Earl of Charlotte Island, Knight of the Crown, and chairman of New World Industries -- in short, Anselm von Browning -- set down his mug with an exclamation of distaste. It seemed that the coffee grew worse and worse each year; that was no fault of anyone's, except perhaps the weather. The climate was largely unsuitable for growing coffee, and what beans were used arrived only once or twice a year, by ship, from some impossibly distant nation.
"You see, Anselm, that's exactly what I mean," the man opposite the Earl said with a hint of triumph. "The coffee stinks. And it's not just that -- the iron is poor quality, the titanium is almost impossible to find, and we're running out of copper. How do you think we'll have electricity without copper?"
Sir Anselm von Browning blinked his large grey eyes. "Gold, I suppose. But there's a shortage of that, too."
"Exactly," Daniel Saros said. "It's a wonder we ever got beyond small fishing colonies without this. You see why my plan is so effective?"
"Well, Daniel, you have to look at it this way. The world has ignored us for years. What makes you think that suddenly building and announcing an international airport will help?"
"Trade, first of all. It's two weeks by boat to the nearest landmass; in modern airplanes that could be two hours. Expansion of the current airfields would also allow larger planes to land, and let's face it -- the Archipelago contains a few dozen uninhabited islands just waiting for us to claim them if we had the supplies to do so."
Sir von Browning frowned. "I don't follow your point. Why would we want more islands? Our population is thinly spread enough as it is. True, these islands may have valuable resources; but what use are they if we have no available manpower to extract them?"
"You forget, Anselm. In the past fifty years the population of Saevitia has quintupled. It may increase by as much again in the next five years; for population growth is exponential. The colonisation of these islands could occur slowly -- first we would need the ships to land men upon them, to build airfields; then the aircrafts to land on the airfields; then the supplies to build cities and towns, and to extract the resources the land offers; this will create jobs, which in turn will further the growth of the economy and raise the quality of life for us all." Saros made a gesture of impatience. "Those islands are uninhabited. Greater Saevitia was made for us to take.... it is a kind of manifest destiny. And my goal is to make that manifest destiny a reality."
"I can't deny that you have spirit, Daniel," Sir von Browning said reflectively. "But I can't help retaining my cynicism."
"Be as cynical as you like," Saros said. "Frederickstown International Airport opens tonight."
And with that Daniel Saros rose to his full height and made to depart the rustic confines of the old inn. As he pushed open the door he looked out upon the wave-sculpted cliffs and stormy seas of Port Edwards Island; shielding himself from the bitter wind and drawing his raincoat about him to protect his body from the stinging needles of ice that passed for rain, he smiled, at heart. It might have been November, with winter on the horizon, in Saevitia; but in the field of international politics, it was spring.
Saros walked back past the inn towards the town. Port Edwards Island sported a single small village on its meagre fifty-acre span; it was the southernmost of the inhabited isles, and suffered the brunt of the Antarctic climate. He climbed down the steps carved into the cliffs and stepped out onto the concrete boat landing, casting a baleful eye over the small marina. The island was too small to have a full-scale harbour; it was, in fact, barely large enough to have a marina of any kind. A dozen boats of varying sizes occupied the marina; Saros spotted his motorboat moored at the far end of the pier, near the entrance, and walked around to it, stepping in, starting the engine, navigating himself into the entrance and activating his signal.
For an hour or two Saros's powerful motorboat skimmed the featureless waves -- with only occasional glimpses of other islands in the distance -- while its captain perused a novel, safe from the driving rains within the cabin. Then, ahead of him, the shapes of landmasses loomed up from the sea and he knew he was entering the southeastern corner of 'Island Alley', a densely scattered chain within the archipelago that housed most of the nation's population. Before Saros was the broad Strait of Caledonia, through which most of the nation's sea traffic passed -- mostly on its way to and from Saint Clair Island, by far the largest landmass in the archipelago and home to two million of Saevitia's five million people.
Saros plied his craft into one of the outside and shallower "lanes" of the strait; it was largely nature-crafted, but nonetheless several massive engineering projects had helped maintain its graduated system of wide lanes to accomodate watercraft of varying draughts. A propeller plane roared overhead; on other "lanes" Saros caught sight of motorboats like his own, cruise liners, freighters, even a military patrol boat. He called out friendly greetings to acquaintances and old rivals; but today he was on a mission, and it called for maximum speed.
The cloud cover had lifted when Saros reached Waterfall City. It was almost evening by that point; Saros had taken the boat out to Port Edwards Island in the hours before dawn, and there were regular ferries from ports like Waterfall City and Grandon that took six or eight hours to reach the outlying isle. Waterfall City was first heard rather than seen. Saint Clair Island and its mountain range was drained exclusively by the Caledonia River; due to its glacial sources, the river maintained a high volume even late in the year. It was this river that spilled over the cliffs ringing Saint Clair Island, dropping fifty meters in a torrent three hundred meters wide; it fell directly into the sea, creating both a thunderous noise and an exceedingly deep plunge pool. Naturally, the settlers had exploited it however they could. The original flow of the river, before Frederickstown was built, had been a little bit to the south; when it had been diverted into channels to allow small watercraft access within Frederickstown, it had altered course to flow over the higher cliffs to the north of what was now Waterfall City. The deep canyon it had dug over the millennia had become an estuary, the only access to the harbour; already it was beginning to dig a new canyon through the cliffs, having receded one or two meters since its diversion....
Saros cut speed as he entered the harbour, the waterfall eternally pounding away to his left. Due to the danger of floods and tsunamis, the buildings of the city were built almost directly into the cliffs or on ledges along them; as he floated through the estuary that had once been the lower canyon of the Caledonia River -- towards the harbour that had once been a plunge pool -- he could look up to see houses and stores, connected by the signature narrow bicycle paths, perched precariously on the sides of the cliffs. A large freighter was approaching him from the opposite direction; the canyon, too, had been dug out with explosives to allow large vessels access to the Waterfall City harbour.
Here, finally, was the harbour: the city alight with evening glow, the sound of the river and the sea in the distance; ahead of him, in the small alcove that defined the limitations of a passenger boat, the portage. He cut his motor and allowed himself to float into the alcove, then stepped out of his boat and onto the pier as the workmen tied it securely. With an "Evening, Frank," to the man, he watched with detachment as one of them flipped a switch and the entire alcove rose out of the water, a platform sunk deep enough to allow for the draughts of all types of passenger boats. The platform extended into a long tunnel that led up the slopes of the harbour to Frederickstown proper. His boat slid into the tunnel, and a hidden piece of machinery rotated it so that its bow faced upwards and began to push from the stern side, lifting it through the tunnel.
"Stairs or elevator?" Frank asked Saros, who smiled.
"Stairs, like always."
"Good man. I always take the stairs myself. Builds strength, it does."
"That it does."
Saros bid goodbye to the portage staff, cast a cursory glance over at the other portages along the harbour, and began to climb the 362 stairs to Frederickstown proper. At the top of the stairs he paused for a minute to regain his breath, then headed to the upper portage station; his boat was already anchored in the upper alcove. Bidding greetings to the upper staff, he got into his boat, waited for the entrance to open, and floated out of the alcove.
Until he entered the main canal he kept his engine silent. When he turned it on it was still on low power, quiet and discreet. The bicycle paths and footpaths were crowded with people; the canals equally so with boats, ranging from small rowboats to motorboats like his. Casting an appreciative glance over the ancient, megalithic buildings that adorned both shores, Saros edged his way into the center of the canal and increased his speed, heading for the government quarter.
To reach the official building he had to leave the canal. A tributary stream, Cedar Creek, was the main avenue of the government; he passed a gate, where a security guard recognised him and let him in, and docked his boat near one of the doors, tying it in securely. He entered the building and sought out his quarry, sixth Earl of Madison Island, Keeper of the Aerospace Division, Knight of the Crown: Sir Melbourne Andrews. Sir Andrews appeared to be in a meeting of some kind, but Daniel Saros's arrival was evidently more important; Sir Andrews emerged almost immediately.
"Ah yes, Daniel. We've been expecting you. We're currently on the final checks stage; we ought to be ready by eight this evening."
"Excellent," Saros said. "Only one question. Could you remind me which way the airfield is?"
"The airfield? We are using Coppermine River, aren't we? As I recall we decided against Opal Creek, not deep enough. Don't worry, though, the royal ferry will be headed that way in any case...."
"Sure, but I'd rather be there to greet His Majesty," Saros said. "Thanks anyway. I'll head for Coppermine."
"Right. See you there."
The Coppermine River was a further tributary of the Caledonia. Within the limits of Frederickstown it was contained like a canal; its tranquil green waters burbled happily over small ripples while the houses of the intelligentsia and the middle class stretched on either side. Beyond the city boundary it was free-flowing, its banks lined with trees and flowers and mosses. Saros knew that on river-left (his right, traveling upstream) was Arcangelo University; but the only sign of its presence was the occasional bridge spanning the tranquil river. At one point a significant stream, encased in a tunnel of green, led off the campus; the noises of the city were far gone now, and night had all but fallen, leaving the only light to emerge from the odd lamps emplaced along the river. In daytime this would be a beatiful pastoral scene, interrupted only by the airport itself. Even the airport was none too obtrusive; from in front the part that abutted upon the river looked like a house, and trees grew right to the side, hiding most of it from view. To Saros's left, river right, there now came into view a marina -- two or three boats were already present, alongside which he moored his boat; he climbed out and stepped into the empty airport, passing along a moving walkway and entering a vast chamber, eerily silent in the absence of people to fill it. Ignoring the security desks and ticket counters, which were unmanned, Saros simply wallked through to the departure gates. Waiting there, and making conversation, were several people: mostly Saros's subordinates in Saevitia Air, as well as journalists and gawkers.
Saros approached first one of the pilots; after friendly greetings, he asked, "How goes it?"
"Everything seems to be running smoothly," the pilot said. "We're all set for the nine o'clock departure."
"Great. Now we just wait for His Majesty."
"Exactly."
His Majesty arrived in half an hour. By the time the royal watercraft had docked and the King of Saevitia had emerged, the airport had filled up. Tour boats and private boats alike had brought thousands of people to the airport; hundreds of thousands more watched on national TV. The TV segment was one of the first in Saevitia to be broadcast internationally, and with good reason.
The broadcast opened with applause. A crowded room; His Majesty High King Robert II Quirina of the Constitutional Sovereignty of the Saevitian Archipelago, at a podium, before a half-dozen microphones stuck like bent grass. Robert II, to deliver his promised pompous speech. And so he does.
"Today, Saevitians are gathered here to witness a great event in Our nation's history -- indeed, a day We had scarcely hoped to see under Our reign. Today the first passenger aircraft departs Saevitia's new Frederickstown International Airport for Ushuaia; the first time in Saevitian history that Our people have had the opportunity to encounter those of foreign states, and vice versa. Today is the beginning of a new era in the history of this nation; an era of economic growth, an era of trade and diplomacy. The days of isolation are over for the Saevitian Archipelago..."
The scene cuts to the airfield. The passenger jet, packed with Saevitians bound for the distant city of Ushuaia, slowly glides along the roadways. It pauses. Meanwhile Robert II continues to speak: "...world of international trust and cooperation. It was once said that the mark of progress is intelligent thought; but We now know the sound of progress." The speakers now cut to the airfield, as does the picture; the jet's engines roar as it taxis down the runway, its speed ever increasing. As its wheels leave the ground the crowd of Saevitians begins to cheer. Then, all across the nation, men and women and children glued to their TV sets also begin to cheer, and those lucky enough to be holding the only slightly overpriced airline tickets watch in amazement as the lights of Frederickstown grow fainter and fainter.
A triumph, indeed. Daniel Saros has taken care of the rest. On the Internet and dispatched to corporations and foreign governments are a variety of messages. Tourism advertisements. Advertisements for oil, practically Saevitia's only resource of value, and coincidentally mined and processed almost exclusively by a corporation owned in part by Daniel Saros. Requests for trade negotiations. And so on, and so forth. New eras often need a kickstart.