AO Forum :: -> Secocia and Beyond

AO Forum :: -> Atlantian Oceania -> Regional Discussion

Secocia and Beyond

Posted: Sep 28 2012, 06:19 AM

The furniture on the patio comprised some of the oldest antiques that the Crown counted amongst their possessions. Not a lot of people knew that.

King Falcon III knew it, as he sat on a wrought-iron dining chair, a frosty glass mug of mead warming on its napkin. It was a nice affectation, Falcon having decided to set up the gear for home-brewing, getting a segment of the mead brewing craze that had been sweeping the nation. Made him feel more like a Falcanian, and less like a King. It was an image he liked to cultivate, too - his uncle, Falcon II, had been a liberal for his time, and even he never attended even private occasions without a finely-tailored Mathdon suit. But Falcon III hadn't expected to be made a King. He hadn't even known it. His father, Halry, had been a gardener. It was only after Alberd, as he was then, a gangly youth who had gotten work experience as a tea boy at the old Palace, after he had fled in the night with the rest of the 80-or-so palace staff and security... after they had formed the guerilla organisation Quicksilver, after the bloody civil war in which Alberd himself had fought, desperately shooting over barricades in the street... it was only AFTER all that, that Quicksilver's leader, the venerable Status Aran, had told him the truth - Halry the gardener had been born Halry Falcon, brother to the King. Which meant that you, my boy, were the rightful heir to the throne.

Oh, how little Alberd "Birdie" Falcon had risen. All these years later, and he had grown into a popular King, who had led the swathe of reforms that had bolstered the Falcanian economy, restored its military might, and - in an act that he secretly prized above all others - successfully campaigned for a Falcanian to be the Atlantian Oceanian delegate to the WA.

He sat, smiling warmly, in a crisp, open-necked shirt and beige slacks, at the heads of industry he had asked to assemble here.

The eight men and women in suits sat opposite him, sipping cautiously from their own mugs. They were people who were used to power, wealth and influence, and they still found themselves cowed in the presence of their King. It was a little embarrassing.

"It shouldn't be long now," Falcon intoned warmly.

After a couple of moments, another man appeared, fatter and more expensively dressed than anyone on the balcony. He was accompanied by Marrk Aran, Status' nephew, and the King's oldest friend, confidant and advisor. Behind them, another man, thin and old, wearing a dark suit and white gloves.

"Ah, Ser Herberd, you do so like to keep us waiting, don't you?" The King stood, to shake his hand. "Gentlemen, you all know Ser Herberd Jay, the current chairman of the Jay Industries Conglomerate." The suits nodded and made cursory greetings - Jay Industries was by far and away the oldest, largest and wealthiest corporation in the Free Kingdom save for the Crown itself, having for many years been the sole supplier of to the Falcanian armed forces, to Falcanian airlines, and the vast majority of its automotive industry. Common consensus was that if his current alliance with the Crown were to go sour, he could reasonably raise an army of private security officials that could rival the Falcanian National Corporation's own standing military.

"Ser Herberd," the King continued. "I'm sure you're aware of these fine gentlemen and women. Hinerach Bachmann, of Bachmann & Associates banking. Marina Bolsix, of Everleaf Industries. Jacq Sendal, of Integral Technologies. Sera Marsa of the Union of Medical Associates Nutritional Science & Technology. Ilizbit Goldmund and Tarra Teller of Goldmund-Teller Energy Solutions. Tommen Sondax from Matsundai. Last, but by no means least, Josch Hunlex, of the Associated Digital Systems Group." In turn, the business leaders all stood, and shook hands with Ser Herberd.

"They're my competition," Herberd grinned.

"Well, quite." The King offered Herberd his chair. "Please, won't you sit?"

He began pacing around the balcony. "Now, enough theatrics, I suppose. You're wondering why I all called you up here for a pleasant chat. I know you are. Now, there's two problems I've been having, lately. One of them is the region as a whole. Atlantian Oceania. It's too... small."

"This a landgrab?" Herberd asked.

"Not quite. You know how we have loved those, in the past. No, I'd like to introduce you to another man here. This is Selvyn Brox, from the Royal Cartographical and Vexillological Office." The man with the white glove stepped forward, and smartly bowed. He was holding a plastic tube.

"Mr. Brox, here, has brought a map which I thought might interest you all." Brox separated the two halves of the tube, and neatly unfurled a map of Atlantian Oceania. This one was... different though.

"You'll note here," the King pointed, as the industrialists strained their necks to see. "Here, is the Secocia Sea. As everyone knows. And this is where the map ends. Mr. Brox?"

Brox took out another map, and laid it over the first.

"What if the map did not end there, ladies and gentlemen. What if Atlantian Oceania was bigger?"

The new map showed a sizeable expanse of land just south of the regional border.

"So, what, we annex it?" Herberd shook his head. "Nah, that won't do. Even the dragons, her presidential queenliness, she won't like that, and she loves us at the moment. Can you imagine what the Starblaydii will do?"

"We don't need to annex it," Falcon said. "We won't need to. Imagine it now. Do you know what you need to do to secure a whole new nation in a fundamentally unsettled area? You need surveyors. Architects & town planners. A whole army of logistical personnel to sort out infrastructure, trade routes, everything. To move in a country, you need... well, a country. And that's us."

"I don't understand."

"That's fine. We build the country, effectively, and wait for a regime to pop up in it. We till the soil, so that another nation can sow their seeds and grow. Effectively, we make blank land."

"What's in it for us?"

"Falcanian surveyors, Ser Herberd! Falcanian architects and town planners and logistics. These men and women," he swept an arm in gesture to the assembled industrialists, "These people run the largest corporations in the country-"

"-except for ours-" Herberd interrupted.

"Except for ours. We're talking potentially thousands of new jobs, Falcanian jobs. There's a lot of money in this for us."

"Sounds good." Herberd nodded.

The King turned to the other industrialists. "Does sound good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Sire," they intoned nervously.

"Marrk, my advisor, will now take you all to the white room, where he will brief you on the roles I'd like you to play during this project. I should tell you now, you will not be alone in this - any Falcanian corporation can, and I imagine will, want to have a part in this." They filed out, led by Marrk, and Ser Herberd stood up.

"Was that it? I'm very busy you know, and-"

"I said two matters, didn't I, Ser Herberd? Sit down. Finish your mead." Falcon sat opposite him, and drained his own glass.

"Tell me, Ser Herberd, which is it that you prefer. Do you prefer being rich? Or do you prefer being powerful?"

"Well, they're the same, aren't they?"

"Not at all. I brought you here to tell you, in person, that I intend to buy out Jay Industries, for the Falcanian National Corporation. This is..." Falcon looked away, idly, at a passing bird. "Pretty much non-optional. You're too rich, Ser Herberd, and you're too powerful. So I'm going to let you choose. An easy retirement, a rich pension indexed to Jay Industries' future growth, and a pleasant mansion. Or, if you'd prefer, your own nation. A puppet-state, if you'd like, a semi-autonomous corporate colony of the Free Kingdom, with you at its head. Absolute power over your little domain, but completely publically accountable. They don't like hedonists in charge when they're starving, Ser Herberd, let me tell you that. Wealth or power. Accrue too much of both, and someone will take them both from you. It happened to my uncle. It happened to Lord Tarrick. I don't want it to happen to me. And I don't really want it to happen to you, so, like I said, I'm going to let you choose which to keep."

Ser Herberd dropped his glass mug of mead.