In the North Atlantic, due just South of Iceland, a few warships steamed through the water. They flew the flags of the Oceons, and were quite clearly the few new cruisers and destroyers in the small island nation's arsenal. The weather was overcast and gloomy, as usual, and a chilly wind swept over the cruiser and her two destroyer cohorts. That did not seem to affect the human standing out on the wing of the bridge in a winter coat and his uniform, peering through a pair of binoculars at at distant ship. The Captain of the vessel he rode upon, whose name was [i]Vengeful Tragedy[/i], is an anthropomorphic snow leopard squints against the wind and shields his eyes from what sun there was with his fuzzy hand. Finally, the human Admiral lowers the binoculars and steps back into the heated interior of [i]Vengeful Tragedy[/i]'s bridge. There, without the wind and the waves, the Admiral smiled and nodded to the Captain, "She looks fantastic, sir. Everything is set up right. Just tell me before you fire and remember, you are the one applying the patches if you miss!" Captain Johannsen just flashed him a sly grin and nodded, throwing a crisp salute before going and barking orders to his crew. They all looked similar, draped in anti-flash gear and their metal skullcaps. It was kind of creepy, in a way. 
	Through the bridge windows, the Admiral watched as the Number One turret, the very foremost one, spun precisely and laid its two eight inch cannons upon the target. The gun barrels twitched and swayed up and down a few times, before one barrel fired, and then the other, in concussive, sharp cracks of thunder. The Admiral drew in the scent of gunpowder through his nose in the split seconds before impact, and then the target was slammed by two HE shells landing almost on top of one another. The metal vessel had a huge hole blown in her. The target tug, an old [i]Pegasus[/i] class frigate, was actually in danger herself because of how rapidly the target was capsizing. The tug's crewmembers shot the line to pieces and then hacked at it until it broke, letting the tubby frigate pull away from the stricken target. Admiral Tintin Beck shook his head and turned to his aide, a scholarly young beluga who had been watching quietly the whole time. Tintin tells her, "Make sure they know they shouldn't be firing at that line. Those bullets could bounce and hit themselves." To the Captain, the Admiral says, "Fantastic shot, sir. Looks like the Gen III sensors are doing well. Want to test the missiles now?" The Captain responded to the courteous question with a single nod.
	Tintin walks over to the communications console near the back of the bridge and puts a hand on the shoulder of the tigress working there. He asks her, "What's the status on those Selenes?" Without even looking up she recounted to him, "ETA five minutes, sir. They had some engine problems but it is solved now." The Captain had a faint look of curiosity on his face. Tintin stands up again and grins to him, "You'll see, sir. Prepare your anti-air batteries." The Captain's eyes widened slightly at that point and he began barking orders as the Admiral went out onto the bridge wing again, peering off into the distance with his binoculars. After a couple of minutes, he saw the two Selenes. They did not get very close at all before dropping four target drones and banking around in wide, graceful turns, while the rocket motors of the target drones ignited after a short free fall. As he was hoping to hear, the ship's emergency alarm began to ring in deep, sorrowful whoops. The Hercules launcher on this side of the vessel swiveled and pointed the blunt, transparent nose of its missiles at the drones. Two pings rang out over the ship's PA. Both the Admiral and his aide, always at his side, covered their eyes as the missiles took off in bright flashes of white light. They uncovered their eyes and watched the missiles speeding off into the distance, guided by the ship's own tracking radar, which was visibly pointing its radar dish in the direction of the drones. After a few seconds, two of the missiles blew up two of the drones, and one of them clearly took a hard nick from the fragments of the detonating missiles and caught on fire. It swerved and dipped its nose, splashing down into the ocean as the last drone came into range of the ship's AAA guns. A cacophony from Hades broke out as the forty mils and then the twenty mils rattled off in cadence, spraying tracers in carefully controlled lines that sliced through the drone and sent it spiraling down into the ocean, wreathed in smoke. 
	The new Hercules missiles had done exceedingly well, and the radar controlled gunsights seemed to be doing fantastic as well. Tintin walked back onto the bridge, grinning, congratulating the Captain and his crew on a job well done and happy himself, because he would be a happy man on the helicopter ride back to the [i]Song of Storms.[/i]


In the frozen capital of Moreau, an orca, a hare, and a wolf all walked into a bar. That sounds like the start of a bad joke, but these were the three Speakers of the main regions of Oceos. They didn't even need to flash their IDs for obvious reasons and all three of them plus a few aides found their way to a private booth, ordered some drinks, and started to discuss things. This was how it was done. They rarely held a place in a standard meeting room. They preferred to do it this way. The drinks were non-alcoholic, of course, and were instead something to warm them up after they had to step out of the limousine into the frozen Greenland air. Greenland had been warmed by the environmental cataclysm before the Day of the Last Signal, but it was still bone-chilling. The Orca sat down in a bench with her assistant and bodyguard wolfess, sighing, adjusting her own massive body and settling in. The black and white sea creature was the biggest of them all, coming in at six feet and five inches in height. She swept her small eyes over all of them, looking sharp in her blue suit. She accepted her hot chocolate with a little smile and a thank you, and took a sip. 
	The downright diminutive arctic hare dressed in a black blazer tugged at his tie and opened his briefcase, looking over some papers and setting them out on the table. His own right-hand man, a leopard seal, sat at the head of the table in a chair and pointed out things to him on the financial reports. He was going at a cup of black, steaming coffee, his ears laying out over the back of his head as he rubbed at the short fur atop his head and sighed softly to himself.
	The last person sat to the hare's right and just stared out of a window, with one of his own aides, a human female, trying to get the average black-furred wolf to pay attention. The wolf blinked and looked down at the notepad, looking visibly perturbed. The orca, Britt, Speaker of Greenland, shot him a concerned look before turning to the hare, Jaylen, and asking, "How bad is it, Jaylen?"
He shook his head, "The new frigates plus that damned supercarrier are really, really straining the budget... this upgrade program won't help a damn bit." She quirked a brow and sat back in her seat, laying her tail across her lap and saying, "Is that so?" 
Jaylen gave an exasperated chuckle, "My Parliament is practically ripping my ears off over how expensive this is getting. It is so!"
	She couldn't help but jab at him, "Well, I am sure your own personal paycheck is getting a little expensive too. And those smear campaigns. Just how much did it take to call me a 'bisexual polygamous sex fiend'?"
	Jaylen stared at her for several seconds. Slowly, his cheeks burned red. Then he shot back, "Well, you didn't exactly deny it!"
	The orca rolled her eyes and waved off his remark, tugging over a copy of the finance report. Her eyes swept across it, and she jabbed her finger at something, "This powerplant. The Britannia Diesel Plant. Why exactly is it still operating? Those megawatts are vanishing into a surplus..." The wolf finally moved and leaned over to peer at it. Softly, he said, "It... It was going to b-b-be shut down but there was a-a-a delay in getting the w-windfarm at World's End going." 
	The orca frowned, "But that windfarm is going now, isn't it? Above capacity, if I remember..." The wolf nodded quickly. He adjusted his tie, 
"Y-yes. W-w-way better than we thought it'd be, r-really. S-so that... that diesel plant is not needed..." 
The orca beamed and lightly smacked the table, "Then we shut it down and stop paying for the fuel and the maintenance needed."
The wolf shrugged, "S-sure. I agree w-w-with that. It makes sense... p-place didn't employ a lotta people anyways a-and they can g-get jobs at the w-wind farm or e-e-elsewhere."
	Jaylen smoothed out his headfur again and declared, "I will place it in front of the President when we next meet. So, now, about this whole complaint over noise issues caused by airliners..."

The three talked about minor issues for a long time, deep into the evening. It was a good time for Oceos. There was not a lot going on internationally. The citizens went about their lives in their own ways. Some worked on cars. Others hunted in woods and fields. Some others plied the cold waters, and others were enjoying the freedom and comfort afforded to them by the island nation formed out of the crucible of atomic fire so long ago.