[h1][center]Washington D.C. August 13th 1937[/center][/h1] "Governor Merriam?" The building was tightly packed with people; wearing ties, bow-ties or only a white shirt with sweat-marks underneath the armpits; the poor, rich and massively rich even in this time of catastrophe; almost exclusively white men; all standing in this tightly packed room in the tightly packed building, having ventured outside of the comfort of their own homes to attend this enormously important meeting in the killing heat of the American summer. A meeting that would determine the fate of America. "Governor Merriam!" In one of the seats situated to the left of the speakers platform, an older gentleman, bald and a little round around the edges, shook back into reality after having faded away in the summer heat, reacting to the speaker calling out his name. Frank Merriam, governor of California since 1934, raised his hand and shouted out in response. "Here!" Then the speaker continued listing up the names of the different governors of all of America's states. But after this day, they would no longer be "America's states", but their own, sovereign states with their own governments, free from the influence of Washington D.C. and President Hoover. President Herbert Hoover, the least liked American President since...well, ever. He had once been elected because of his admired work in the humanitarian efforts in Belgium and other qualifications. Having actuall political experience was not one. And now the current President of the United States of America was a mere shadow of his former self; he had won the 1932 election when nobody expected it, himself the least, and now he wished he'd never won; his lazzis faire economic policies had brough on the Great Depression, and he had no idea how to fix it; talk of seccesion sprung up all over the country, and he was in no position to once again unify the nation like his predecessors. And now they were all gathered here, to put an end to the country they all once had proudly served; this was the last day of an united America. Governor Frank Merriam were one of those men that wanted independence. Not because of a hatred of America, on the contrary! Like so many others at the meeting, they saw this as a last resort to save the American Dream, the American Nation, and the American way of life. It was just not possible under the leadership of the federal government, but perhaps under their own leaderships? For his own case, San Diego would become the new seat of government on the West Coast. And who knew? Perhaps within a few years the problems had been fixed, and an United States of America could once again become reality? As Frank Merriam signed the Washington D.C. Treaty of 1937, this was the hope that made him smile, That, and the fact that he was now in power to reform, control and hopefully fix the troubles that haunted his new country, the PSA. As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, that sliver of hope vanished, as revolutions broke the country further apart and lay the American ideals of Liberty and Freedom to ruins. As the rump states of The Sisters Republics, The Dustbowls States and the CSSA, it was clear that an unified America was merely a dream, and that Frank Merriam and the Pacific States of America stood alone in the rise of extremism in America. He feared that the last bastion of the American Dream would fall just like the rest of America. Thankfully (or unfortunately, depending on who you asked), the events of the 1934-riots in San Fransisco assured that the PSA would live on, for now, as the last remnant of the old USA. For now... [h1][center]San Fransisco, California, Pacific States of America Present day, November 1937[/center][/h1] [center][h3]San Fransisco Docks Early morning[/h3] [img]http://researchmaniacs.com/SanFrancisco/FishermansWharf.jpg[/img][/center] Even for the guard on his late night-shift, even for him actually being paid and especially even for him being used to this kind of work, it was way too early for him to be up at this time of day. Philip Jenkins, one of the guards patrolling a small portion of the San Fransisco, swung his baton around and around as he walked down the dock leading out to the water, like so many nights before. Wasn't it bums and homeless people loitering the docks and warehouses, there was bound to be some other kind of trouble. Reporting a miss-docked boat was just one of those kind of trouble. As the guard, Philip Jenkins, made it to the very end of the dock, he noticed movement just behind one of the many ships and boats in the harbour. He checked his watch and his journal. [i]Odd, there's isn't anything schedueled to dock here during my shift...[/i]The thought transformed into action as he noticed the boat sail directly towards him, at an alarming speed. "...Shit...STOP! San Fransisco Dock Patrol, I order you to stop your vessel!" His voice didn't carry on through the air, the noise of seagulls, the waves from the boat and other sounds engulfing him as the boat came ever closer. He was tempted to run, and he very damn well should have, but for some reason he didn't; he stood frozen, nailed to the dock as he was sure to be smashed to pieces by the boat. It didn't crash, it actually stopped. Philip didn't realize he wasn't dead for a few moments, but as he regathered his wits, he let his flashlight trail over the exterior of the boat. And it was then that he realized, it was far from a mere boat; this was a yacht! And this also meant that it was not just anyone who could own such a craft, they had to be rich, famous, preferably both. "Ehm...You're not allowed to dock here, I'm afraid!" "But we have to, we ain't go any more fuel in Her!" "I'm sorry Sir...Captain, but that's unfortunatetly my problem per say." By now Philip could see a series of figures appear on the deck of the yacht; presumably the captain, a few servant-looking people, a man in a trench coat and a lady. It was the captain Philip had been talking to, and the argument went back and forth as to whether or not they were allowed to dock. It wasn't that he didn't want them there, being out of fuel did in-fact happen to quite a few sailors these days because of cost. It was because of rules and regulations, and the fact that he wanted to keep his job. "Oh please darling, just this once, for poor us?" The lady suddenly spoke, coming down into proper eye-sight of Philip and his flashlight. If the yacht hadn't made him raise his eyebrows, the lady certainly did. It was Miriam Hopkins, a very beautiful woman, actress and sociolite. And of course, rich. "You see, we've come an awful long way just to get here. The last place we stopped was in Panama, we didn't dare to stop in Mexico as you can easily understand. And don't even ask me how we managed to get all the way from Panama, my captain can tell you all about that. But anyway, we really needed to get here, to San Fransisco and the West Coast, away from the troubles in the East. So pretty please, can't you just let this one slide?" Philip was stunned, speechless, taking in the whole situation that unfolded before him. This was not what he had expected when he began his shift that night. And he certainly didn't except Miriam Hopkings to personally pull out a bundle of 100 dollar bills and give him a few and a kiss on his cheek. He blushed, but he wasn't sure if it was from the kiss or the amount of money he held in his hand. "Ehm...sure, anything for friends of San Fransisco such as yourself, Miss Hopkins! Let me call up a few of my colleagues, and we'll help you with your luggage!" "That would be fantastic, thank you." ______________________________________ This scene would repeat itself many times across the PSA, as many members of the pre-treaty US cultural elite and entertainment world packed up their bags and left the unstable East Coast, at least according to themselves. They set their aim for the sunny West, for Hollywood and cheap real-estate, so that they could continue to be rich and famous in what remained most alike the old America. And luckily for President Frank Merriam, they brought money. Loads of money.