[b][i]Imperadora[/i], Strait of Gibraltar[/b]

Beneath their feet, the greatest and most ambitious earthmoving project in the history of Man progressed in full tilt.

The Gibaltar Dam.

Vessels of every sort traversed the ten mile wide stretch of water that would be straddled by this mammoth construction in the not-so-distant future. Barges laden with earth and concrete gathered at the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea as did ants at the aperture of their mound. On the southern shore, a fleet of dredges plied the waters just off the coast, throwing wispy plumes of silty water into the air. The mud water rained down upon the shore of a peninsula composed of the same fresh silt in heaping piles, which were smoothed over and spread about the surface of the constructed peninsula by dozens of bulldozers and excavating vehicles. At the base of that long finger of fresh land, near the African continent's natural coast, a dozen channels of varying widths had been cut into the earthwork. Those ribbons of water would eventually become the locks that would facilitate the passage of vessels around the dam.

Upon its completion - sometime in 1990 as predicted by Borgos Industries - the dam would yield incalculably vast quantities of hydroelectric energy; enough to power much of Western Europe. Multi-lane thoroughfares, freight rails, and oil pipelines would run across the dam's crown from Iberia to Africa - linking Spain's African possessions directly to the European homeland. The dam's blockage of flow from the Atlantic would drop sea levels across the Mediterranean and alter the very face of the Earth. Dependent upon Spanish whim alone, the depth of the Mediterranean Sea could be dropped merely ten meters, or all but drained to create millions of square miles of new land to colonize.

It would be a testament to Spain's mastery over mankind and the natural world alike; a worthy monument to Alfonso Sotelo's empire.

Pride swelled within the Prime Minister's breast as he gazed westward, out over the profiles of Iberia and Morroco upon chalky teeth poking over the horizon of the Atlantic Ocean. These were the beginnings of the dam's support pylons, just now protruding from the water's surface like the tips of a newborn's teeth from virgin gums. For years, the dam's construction efforts consisted of earthworks, dredging, rail building, and canal excavation. But now the dam itself had finally begun to sprout, a Spanish dam was already a reality at least in some small portion.

Sotelo's attention returned to the matter at hand, the progress review. Borgos Industries' executives preferred to hold their quarterly reports on the construction's progress from a place where the efforts made were apparent for all to see: the air. The luxury airship [i]Imperadora[/i] afforded such a vantage point in the most comfortable means possible. Panels of crystal glass on each wall of the conference deck gave all those in attendance a panoramic view of the Straits and the fledgling dam rising slowly from its depths. Seating for some one hundred attendees had been arranged around a podium bearing the Borgos insignia. It was here that representatives for each of the major stakeholders in the dam effort were in attendance. As the Second Spanish Republic itself was the largest contributor to the project behind Borgos itself, Prime Minister Sotelo himself had elected to serve as the government's representative at the review.

"Indeed, in all regards, this quarter has indeed been tremendous for all of us here at Borgos." The corporate keynote speaker continued; Sotelo hadn't paid attention to what he had said in the previous minutes. "Since March this year, we have recorded a marked increase of objectives met and duties completed per workweek, and yet the number of injury-related incidents has fallen drastically. In fact, the number of injury-related and near miss incidents reported since our second quarter review last year is down two hundred and forty percent!" The speaker declared proudly, eliciting a round of light applause from the audience. "Here at Borgos, safety is our primary consideration!"

Sotelo too smiled and joined in the round of unenthusiastic golf applause, in spite of the fact he was aware that the speaker's figure was an outright fabrication. If anything, worker deaths on the Gibraltar Damn had increased in the past year; Sotelo knew because he himself had introduced a bill designed to weaken occupational safety standards on Borgos' behalf. The loopholes provided in that piece of legislature had since allowed Borgos and their contractors to severely deflate the unacceptably high rate of mortality and injury on the project. Near misses that did not involve vital project property were simply not recorded; provincial laborers from Rio Niger and Spanish Algeria - people who wouldn't be missed by anyone that mattered - were sent to do the most dangerous work. Sotelo felt no guilt for it; if the dam was going to be completed in an acceptable timeframe, some corners would have to be cut. Safety legislation - telling businesses how to accomplish work - is all socialist nonsense anyway.

"What that amounts to, gentlemen, is more work is being done more safely. And we continue to explore new options for..."

The Prime Minister's attentiveness lapsed once again. He glanced to his side, to two ever-present bodyguards standing out of the way against the window-walls. In these sorts of closed-door meetings, bodyguards served as his links to the world outside, ready to appraise him of any particularly important happenings. Their cold, stoic stares across the audience demonstrated they had no news for him.

The head of the Spanish Republic could not simply be away from contact for an hour or two if something critical were taking place, and Sotelo had learned it was more polite to not leave early to check in with his aides and advisers. He had no interest in this review in any case - being here was purely a political move. Officially, the Prime Minister's seat was to be voted for in the September elections. Sotelo had been making moves for years to ensure that he would not face a candidate that would ever stand a chance of usurping his rule. But he had to at least [i]pretend[/i] as if he was if he was campaigning. Amongst Spain's industrial plutocrats, attending these reviews demonstrated interest in working for their interests in the future. This amounted to a far better use of time than pretending to pander to the average Spaniard. He had more important things to concern himself with than playing the "man for the people" as he had in '76.

Chief among those more pressing matters, for the moment at least, was the War. The evening before, General Ponferrada had informed the Prime Minister that a landing on the very coast of Ethiopia would be underway at once. That had been twelve hours ago, and Sotelo wanted direly to know how far they had pressed into the enemy homeland. His soldiers might well be assaulting Addis Ababa right this moment, and he would be none the wiser.

At that moment, a tap of the finger was felt upon Sotelo's left shoulder as one of the guard stooped down and cupped a hand over his ear after he had noted his paging receiver buzzing softly in his pocket. 

"Your presence is requested in Madrid, Excellency," the somber, trained disinterest of the Cazador protection graveled into Sotelo's ear. "A chopper has been summoned and will be awaiting you on the helipad shortly. I ask that you excuse yourself as soon as you see fit."

Sotelo shot upright in his seat. "On what grounds? What has transpired?" The Prime Minister made no effort to whisper; he was either so perturbed that he had forgotten to keep his voice down, or he simply did not care. In any event, Sotelo had cut the keynote speaker off while diverting the attention of all those present aboard the [i]Imperadora[/i].

"I was not informed as to the exact subject, Excellency. All I know is that it concerns military matters."

Then it was bad news. Good news could always wait, and if he was being requested to meet immediately with the military leadership in the capital, then something very grave indeed had transpired. The urge to determine the scope and nature of this disaster utterly seized him. Sotelo bolted to his feet, giving the Borgos speaker pause.

"Your Excellency, Prime Minister, is everything well?" The man at the podium asked, worry written on his face.

"There is an urgent matter which must be attended," Sotelo answered. "I must go." And with no further explanation nor apology, Alfonso Sotelo departed the conference deck with guards in tow to the utter bewilderment of all those in attendance.