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[b][h3]Federated States of the Atlantic[/h3][/b][/center]

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[b]City Hall, Hamilton, Bermuda[/b]

Chancellor Samuel Kipps paced back and forth up the lawn of City Hall, pondering the position of the FSA in the world, and troubles that afflicted all the peoples of the Earth. None less than the Bermudians, it seemed to Kipps.

He unfolded a scrap of crumpled paper he gripped with his right hand. Reports of civil unrest in the Azores. Normally, it was the Canaries that provided such difficulties - the Portuguese were generally Anglophile, which included the Bermudians - but it was clear that the increasingly vocal Hispanics were not fully content with Bermuda's overlordship.

In theory, the FSA was a democratic federation, but in truth it was simply a Bermudian project. Even Burmuda itself was no utopia - 'elections' were held, yes, but the actual decisions were made by the power struggles in the rather more oligarchic government, with the powerful Trade Companies vying for power within the Parliament to put their representative upon the seat of Chancellor. Even the Chancellor's hands were often tied, bound to the will of his or her supporters.

Sighing, Kipps turned instead to the serene, blue waters of Hamilton Harbour, a couple of kilometres away across the low-buildinged townscape. The breeze soothed his face, as strained as it was with the problem-lines of the day. The wind brought the sharp tang of sea-salt to his nostrils - he could even taste it on his lips.

Sometimes life wasn't so bad, after all.

"Sir?"

A voice shattered the momentary calm.

"What is it, Perkins?" snapped the Chancellor, turning round to face City Hall and the short, rather stout figure of his assistant that occupied the space between.

"The Coordinator for the Company of Nova Scotia is here to speak with you, sir. He is currently... in some debate, shall we say, with the Coordinator for the Company of the Caribbean".

"Very well, I shall attend directly. Please announce me while I change for dinner."