Dinh AaronMk

Void of Novira: Scramble for Interplanetary Colonization (Now Open)

New Auslassia

North Brunswell

Broken Barrows Station

A day after the last post

The four-by-four rolled out through the shadow of an arched wooden gate in the fence-line, following a two-track through the bush land. Great fenced pastures flanked the road on either side holding great flocks of kuey Birds, dull gray or dusty brown, winds tipped in yellow or faces splashed with dull sandy yellow spots. As the car rolled passed, the flocks looked up from whatever they were doing and took a curiosity in the coming vehicle and all came running to the fence line. As high as their heads were tall, they couldn't jump the wooden and wire fence if they wanted, but they pressed themselves against it and ran parallel following the strange moving machine, and its occupants as it rolled past, their heads turning and twisting as they looked at it from different angles, all the while keeping perfect pace.

The kuey bird caught the other day twitched and lurched impatiently in the bed of the truck as it fought against the tight grip of Baro Daro to rise out of the bed. He pulled down against it, holding the bound bird against the warm sand filled bed of the truck before it could throw itself out and hurt or kill itself in the fall. But as they drove on further than the pasture went, the other birds quickly lost interest and the captured bird immediately settled.

From pens and fenced pasture came workshops, barns, and the many utility buildings for a ranching operation. From the shed for pumping water and down even to the slaughtering and processing house for the preparation and distribution of culled birds. At far end encircled by a ring of towering, red leafed rosatia trees was a tall white house in the middle of a well watered and manicured lawn. A wrap around front porch contained many seats to sit, and three now were occupied. Rising from one a man in a light tan suit stepped forward and rested his arms on the porch railing. Driving closer Roger could see he was smiling. He pulled to the edge of the dirt road that encircled the rancher's house and shut off the engine. Quickly a team of ranch hands, man and beast-man alike rushed forward and helped Baro Daro and Tracker bring down and escort off the large confused bird.

“Good to see one back in one piece.” the man on the porch called down, “How was the trip, mate? How much brandy is it worth?”

“Bloody hell, a good three rounds I reckon.” Roger said, walking down the flagstone path in the yard, “But she's done.”

“Splendid!” the man exclaimed, before turning to the woman seated next to him, “Claire, would you mind fetching us some brandy? We need a toast to a job well done.”

The woman rose and slipped inside the white screen door as Roger stepped up onto the porch. Sea-green floorboards creaked underfoot as he walked over to take a seat vacated by the ranch boss, now standing.

At over six foot two, he was an imposing man with a broad elephantine frame. In his youth he may have been a sports man, perhaps wrestling by Roger's best guess. But in the intervening years he had packed on a gut to add to his physique. He turned back to his seat, and sat down; fanning his plump red face with an old bush hat. “Tell me, how were the hands that went with you?” he asked.

“Those two? Lord, Kevin: that Baro nut sleeps like he's his own thunderstorm. And that Tracker lads top off his rails.”

The rancher laughed, “Would've thought so. Tracker is a toppo.”

“He got the job done though.”

“Well said.” Kevin said with a sigh, “I'll be sure to throw an extra bottle of gin his way.”

“With a head like his you think that's wise? He'll be off his cracker, never mind the rails.”

“Psh, you now how the Alties are. They pack the good water away faster than you can blink. Pat themselves on the back for it, the rump too I would imagine. Blimey, you've seen the amount of bottles they hand up around their shacks. They brag about it!”

“I've seen them rummage in the garbage for them too.” Roger said.

“Pish-posh, they're trying to cover for themselves. Inflate the score!”

The woman, Kevin's wife stepped back out onto the porch. While as old as he, Claire held a figure far better than the fat rancher next to Richard. Her features were sharp and pointed, and the green field shirt she wore hugged the narrow waist she managed to keep. She placed on the table between the two men a bottle of amber brandy, and several shot glasses. Kevin went to immediately pour, and offered one up to Richard. “To businesses done well!” he toasted.

“To good business.” Richard agreed, and clinking glasses they down their shot.

“By the way, I believe you met my son before.” Kevin said, turning to direct Richard's attention to the third individual on the porch. Half turning out of his seat Richard reached over to shake hands with the other.

“Mathias, it's been a while. Out of the academy now I take it.” Richard said with a wide smile.

Mathias, a tall athletic type smiled broadly. His wide cheeks glowed with pride as he met Richard's hand and took it. “Ay, just got done with it half past last month. Been travelin' a bit before I decided to come back to the old watering hole.” He wore an olive green dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to past the elbows. The short shorts he wore too made his white legs appear longer than they were. Long green socks made up the difference over his calves, and a pair of black boots adorned his feet.

“Where you going to next then?” Richard asked as he sat back down.

“They got me running security detail at the docks.” he said, “Not the most exciting thing in the world, at least not until another war kicks up.”

“Let's not let that be bloody deadset.” Kevin interjected, “I would rather not have trouble.”

He refilled the shot glasses. “But debrief me,” Kevin began, “how'd it go out there?”

“Three days in, two days out.” Richard said, “Went a lot further than we thought, must of walked off for longer than you were told. We was coming in on The Shafts when we found 'er. Had to shoot off dingos.”

“A walk about in tha' bush then.” Kevin said, drinking. Richard followed suit.

“Would have been one if we had some amber!” Richard exclaimed.

“Ay, indeed.”

“Well,” Kevin said with a sigh, pouring a third and final shot, “Last for the day. Ya did good mate, here's to you.” they toasted, “Bonus on the next pay check.”

Milbury

Present day

“My honorable companions in the chambers,” the speaker began as he stood before the towering cathedral windows of the chambers of the House of State. Sat atop a hill, the central legislative assembly held a commanding view of the capital city through the tall vaulted windows of its main hall. Stretching out before it in all varieties of shape and color the Auslassian capital of Milbury filled in its gentle valley on its march to the sea. The south-coast sky as clear as an unblemished sapphire. The sunlight shone bright off of the shooting arms of the legislative seat, twisting and undulating like ocean waves captured in pearly mortar and crushed lime. Radiating paved paths divided up a green garden lawn, and from the speaker's position one such path seemed to bisect the central window clear in half.

“The words that have come out of this man's gabber are totally, conceivably, an admonished lie to pull the legs from our very bodies.” the speaker continued as he paced down away from the windows into the chamber's center.

The chamber was a round central hall cozily seating forty-five in a circular seating arrangement that slowly fell to a central low dais. A man was seated there in a dark wood dining room chair, his arms folded in his lap as he waited with an irritated expression for the diatribe to end.

“We have heard nothing from him but excuses and slander. His words are not worth more than the mud between a dingo's toes. There is nothing worse that has come from anyone's mouth in the name of the national good than from this man's.”

While the chambers were made for forty-five, today's attendance was little more than eight. All primarily of the Committee of Public Oversight. Present too were reporters who stood above the seats looking down, leaning on a polished silver handrail as they danced their fingers across the transparent screens of personal notepads taking down notes as a camera-armed drone hovered nearby holding a constant frame on the mostly empty seats and the speaker and his victim down below.

The scene in its loneliness was sad. The speaker spoke in a loud booming voice as if addressing a full house. But other than his speech the only other sound came from the hard knocking of his boots on the hard-wood floorboards, polished to reflect the white-wash walls of the chamber as they rose, morphed and came to a point in a representation of an old sailing ship's sails. The ship of state, as much as it was its house. Though it was only the galley.

“The malfeasance carried out by your practices has perhaps jeopordized the lives and fortunes of millions across Auslassia.” the speaker continued, “And you seek to continue to sit here and continue to deny, despite three audits by this commission that your company has been acting in neglect towards this government.”

The man seated rolled his eyes. Why the subject needed to be reminded felt unneeded. But the speaker, in his black suit and collar raised up around his neck continued along, “One-hundred millions missing from the health accounts of over two-hundred thousand of your healthcare consumers, money to pay for subsidies provided by the state missing and over two-thousand complaints received across the country on reimbursements promised to them having failed to be paid. Two-hundred fifty thousand potential AND qualifying new members denied their coverage, and many more! Master Thompson Brookridge, time and time in examining audited reports back seven years our investigators have found missing from use public funding. And when I stand before you and demand to know what happened all you can do is shrug, and say you do not know where it went?”

“May I speak?” Thompson Brookridge asked, as the tirade settled. He was a handsome man in the mid-years of his life. His blonde hair was beginning to loose its luster though and beginning to fade to white. As well his defined chin was beginning to sag and soften. But when he went to the mirror still, he found that with the least effort he could still see himself presentable alongside the self-idealizing image of his own youth and skill.

“You may.” the speaker said. Who was close to his opposite in physical build. While younger his dark brown hair was receding. He had a soft frame and was very round. He tried to hide it by holding in his gut, but it was a vein effort that only gave the impression of being a buffed up bird.

“The errors in our financial reports are easily explained. My company has complied with your investigation requests and has turned over the insurance information for its entire two-hundred fifty seven clients enrolled into our plan. We have gone further to provide customer opinion data and Gold Beach Health Options is having its fifth platinum year alone. These charges that you insist you have found are baseless allegations. If you were to correctly read the budget data for the past sixteen quarters then you would have clearly seen that we have appropriately used the subsidy funds provided to us to provide low-cost coverage excellently. The stream bubbles clear, as it is said. There is nothing that is happening.”

“My friend,” the speaker with a disciplining voice, “that information you have provided to us was edited this past week. And to back our claims we can provide, as evidence, the disassociation between your tax claims these past four years versus subsidy payouts from the treasury with the returns you surrendered to us for this investigation!” the speaker shouted. He reached into his pocket and produced a palm-size object, about the size of a round tuna can and turned it on. With a electrical buzz audible in the stillness of the chambers in activated and projected a hologram in the air ahead of the speaker. The projection moved based on how he manipulated the projector as he placed it on the floor.

Waving his hands through the air the speaker touched his fingers to holographic panels and moved them around. Speaking as he did so. In the benches a man leaned in towards Kevin.

“He's going to be yabbering for a while, I imagine.” the legislator said in a drained, tired voice.

Kevin nodded, he rubbed his eyes with his fat hands and snorted in exhaustion.

“Should've stayed home.”

“Then he would have been on your arse.” the other said, “There's no two way around it, the waker likes his audience, no matter how small. I like to imagine he's practicing on live bait before we move onto the bigger fish. Don't you think? What do you think he'll pull out of his magic box later this month in the energy bill, master Whittaker?”

“Empty gas is all.” Kevin said with a sigh, “All it'll end up being. It's remarkable he was able to put in head of any committee. How close again was he with his Honorable Wythall?”

“I suppose he's something like a second cousin, or went to school with him.” the other man said in a feigned interested voice. The words rested there and sleepily leaving his tongue and taking all matter of respect with him revealing the faint barbs of disdain they covered behind. He smiled a little, it was no secret the speaker down below, Sydney Ashland was hardly well liked. A former lawyer, his speaking style was developed in the courts of the cities, written to move the sympathies of the merchant's wives or bankers' – out of hours – sympathies in any level of trial.

The rural leaders, such as Kevin and his partner alongside him, carried the brutal bluntness in speeches that shed pretense or decorum to make drama as forged in the bush. Appealing to no morality but the terror of threatening to shoot men down should they threaten to strike.

“Red Stone kids I guess always stick together.” Kevin said, referring to the premier academy in the country for boys in high-stations.

“Have you heard the news?” the other asked Kevin, interested.

“I've been too busy with business affairs. Someone's been letting birds loose.”

“Shame, well I heard something right ripper from the papers.”

“Oh?”

“Suppose the imperial overlords had an encounter in orbit.” the other remarked, “Heard it from my brother. He was on trade over that side of the planet, some private business. One night he catches through his window an impossibly bright light, almost as if a second sun went off. Says he gets bloody startled but curious, and he goes to see what's what. Claims he sees a fire-ball somewhere in the sky as its dying out. Time later, someone says to him it was a nuke. A lot of military got scattered.”

“Sounds about right for them.” Kevin said, sharing no sympathy with the Cindoyrai. Ever since their use of nuclear weapons in the War, there had been a simmering tension among many in government towards them. With all considered, one who is unafraid to use nuclear weapons is not unlike a dangerous wild dog.

“It's got some talking about the Cyndies.” the other said, “There's some good talk around. Useful gabber.”

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

So then, if the cloistered halls of monarchy and the god-king were too inwards and too backwards, what then for a republic, and what then for the Chinese Republic?

A republic, for all its grand and noble ideals is a system that in this time has swiftly become backwards as the kingdom and the imperial court is. The brutish free-market ideology of the contemporary republic may leave the power more finely distributed among the people, no longer locking it in one institution but in several. It however might be said, that in the absence of the correct institution the natural course of power entails that it goes to the next best option. And finding no rising petty bourgeoisie or fully developed mature bourgeoisie in China from which to rule the Republic in China found its powers resting in military men, these military men ruled as if kings throughout China, and the ancient cycle of kingship was continued with intense warrior rule.

It is at this point that differentiation must be made between the Chinese barbarian Republic, and the Republic of the established west. And it is here that it should be noted that the focus is on the two as separate entities. One as a historical differentiation and the other as an ideological comparison.

It was in the Chinese Republic that when it came to the distribution of power, the fruits of Sun Yat-Sen spoiled on the tree as the wolves circled. In combat with imperial reaction the best power was put on the shoulders of the generals. And when the institutions were drawn up it was here the power of the generals became concentrated in a Byzantine manner. Though while the people could vote for representation in the government, the show of democracy was only theater as no real voice was ever given to the people to protect the bourgeoisie interest active in a Republic. For without commitment to liberty the ideologues of the Republic further concentrated power in a smaller caste of individuals, by limiting their gender, the income, and the property of the voter to produce a voting set of the population which was small, but pitted against the military might of the Warlords was a mere ant before an elephant.

The unfortunate betrayal to the people then was not just the generals, but the limiting of power and the inclusion of the material wealth variable into the system. For in any given system when wealth is a factor it is the individual with the greatest wealth with the greatest opportunity to cause disruption. To further disruption, the variable of arms was overlooked and power through raw military force could be exercised. The inclusion of raw uncontrolled military force turns any system into civil war and armed strife, and is thus the warlord period.

By comparison, the republic of the western world is a much more peaceful affair. Though as locked in its own silent Byzantine troubles. The variable of money in the flow of power still exists. But as opposed to the barbarous republic in China, the relative calm of a western Republic amounts to a feeling of solidarity and ownership with the government which encourages law-abiding action. For in contrast against the monarchy and the imperial court where the gods are law, in the Republic the law is the people. For it is within the confines of the Republic promises of peace and of great individuals can be found, as was written by Thomas Paine: “The greatest characters the world have known have arisen on the democratic floor. Aristocracy has not been able to keep a proportionate pace with democracy.”

And this is well and good, and it is perhaps the most preferable to monarchy or warlord rule. As it is, a well functioning republic, a democracy should be the most stable form of government that exists in our time. It is in the promises of popular rule that ancient China's tiānmìng promises: for just rule from any man, so long as he and his heirs rule rightly and just.

But it is in a republic and a democracy that the errors written into ancient propaganda are fixed and that tiānmìng is corrected and improved upon. And that it becomes less divine rule, but popular rule. A rule by the people from the people, refreshed or approved regularly to continue based on the real input of real people, and not eunuchs and courtiers, fighting along with magistrates to uphold the suffocating hierarchial systems of artificial man, that only suffocate the freedom and spontenaity of man. Or which alienates man from his own world. For: “The Republic is the organization by which, all opinions and all activities remaining free, the People, by the very divergence of opinions and of wills, thinks and acts as a single man.”

The republic, in its purest form is the most harmonious means of government. So why then criticize it? Because the western inability to update it weakens it. For in its time of creation the Republic was crafted as a tool by the Bourgeoisie to protect their power and to call themselves free men. But free only from kings, so they may explore the free market and make themselves wealthier. Because it is through wealth that man obtains power in the Bourgeoisie Republic. And it is when this power reaches a disproportion to the people or among each other that the naked errors of the unkempt republic becomes known, as the case in the United State of America, where the raw self-interest of the accumilation of surplus wealth by the men in power or in their backgrounds prevented any appropriate work, and in the indirect character of the republic as in China only stunted the dialectical process of true political work and instead translates it only into a nondialectical process of the buying of votes and favor; as in the Chinese Republic.

And while for over a century and a half, with only a single upset has the United States' Republican model persisted, it was the natural effect of accumilating capital in a system defined by the concentrated private property of a small class of men in proportion to the whole of its society that the solidarity of the Republic faltered and was driven to political stagnation through 1936 and 1937. And it is with the nature of well organized armed forces that the deadlock was broken with military force by the US Army and Bourgeoisie Democracy fell about the feet of America as a four year political civil war waged, and become the competing forces of capital in that nation could not rest their differences, for doing do would be laying down their competitive edge to one another.

And while the people might have hope for the government of the United States, assured in the rightful place they shared in the government, the functional structure of the government, the existence of private property which could be accumilated created within it a feudal class none to different than a feudal society in an ancient empire or an ancient kingdom. But none so far developed as of this time that it becomes like that of the barbarous warlords of China's recent memory.

But the unchecked – whether of the self or from the outside or from the State itself – growth of political powert through economy can only lead to one inevitable outcome: which is that of the warlord republic, where the purchasing is power is great, and military counter-action is expected from the internalized factions.

We are striking a theme in these structures: that the gross neglect of power is in the accumilation of capital. We now start to realize the Marxian critique of capital and of the Bourgeoisie in the political society. That the private ownership of material economy or even manufactured economy or the distributive service economy entails a concentration of pure power in the hands of an organization and allows the disproportionate use of that power to the organization or the individual's scale or place in the political structure. And that the people – the proletariat esspecially – exist alienated not just from their own labor and products of that labor, but from the political process which they are involved in by birth or immigration.

On Power and Politics
Hou Tsai Tang
December 9th, 1954

China

Beijing

Zhongnanhai

A shuffle of papers, and clearing of throats. At the head of the room the speaker took a polite bow, not cutting it low for the general informality of the situation. Or in that at meeting there today were twenty men, all who knew each other, and no specific need to posture for self image. Only for that much demands a display of humble respect to one another.

Seated at a table, the men sat collectively in conference in the Zhongnanhai, the ancient and former imperial palace of the old dynasties. In the intervening years it had changed its function and purpose, with additions made and repair conducted. During the Republican era, an entire new gate was build along the south wall on Chang'an avenue by Yuan Shikai, the Xinhuamen gate. Following the close of the Revolution and the securing of Beijing there had been discussion among the government to utilize the Forbidden City itself as the seat of executive – Politburo – power. But as the discussion went on its nature changed as the Forbidden City was transformed from a government palace, to a museum and public space, a memorial of the Revolution. And following the construction of the still relatively new Congressional Hall the needs of any large space to hold all of government waned. And so for official duties and theoretically official residence, the Zhongnanhai became the White House of China again, as it had during the Republican era.

“I must admit, comrade Ming Xin has me convinced. I'm not on the fence as much as I was. I will sign off on a second phase of the Five Year Plan.” said Guo Jing-Sheng announced, tapping out a cigarette into a black porcelain dish on his side. Serving as not just a member of the Politburo but as the minister of national transportation he oversaw the operations of the trains, roads, ferries, canals, and even the limited air traffic in China. A wide pot bellied man with a cherry round, and cherry-red face he looked almost out of place with his tycoon hair and tiny glasses resting on his squat pressed nose. He was the third to sit in his position, the others having rotated out in party shuffling. But he, like the rest of the room turned to Hou for consideration on the piece of legislation that would soon be making its way to the Congress.

Sitting at the head of the table Hou leaned back and considered what he had heard. “I have heard talk that a governor has been probing the halls of Congress looking for considerations for his province following incidents of injury in ruins of factories.” he began, “Would it be perhaps too much to allocate the considerations for new construction to be moved towards the refurbishing of the untouched old, or even the removal of these structures?”

“It might be.” Ming Xin said, a feathery light framed man of minimal importance in the party. Outside of the members of Hou Tsai Tang's advisory board he was a man put into the seat by insistence of the Party, whose members had petitioned through the Congress for his election to Politburo from a regional assembly. If it were not for his relative youth in a party going whose members were going into their middle age he would not stand out. It may not have hardly been considered, and the Executive Committee may have passed a motion to remove him if he had not shown to be bright and well educated through his own energy.

“Refurbishing these plants may be more trouble than they worth. I am not aware of many that may be a danger, but the records and evaluations of them lead me to believe that they may not be at all worth it. It would be far too much to use for little gain in the end.”

“Might they simply be gutted and reused?” another man asked. A sour looking man in a western suit. His face was spotted with old sun spots and his close cut black hair was beginning to turn gray. Zhu Mang, the minister of industry. “Assuming all other factors, it may not be too much to think that scrap material can be removed and anything at threat of deterioration is reinforced. We may turn it over to the local commune assembly for their own use then. To Hell with us doing anything with it then. But if we're simply being asked to make something safe so no dim-wit kid or wayward goat herd doesn't get his feet cut and jaws locked up then we don't need to put anything we have no use for back into work.”

Ming Xin was rounding the table to sit back down as he considered, “That I suppose is true.”

“It sounds like we're done on that matter.” Hou Tsai Tang announced, “On the agreed upon points I sanction this for Congress's approval.”

“Hold on.” a tired, bearded old man, his heavily wrinkled, furrowed face burned dark by the sun began, “If I can say one thing then it's that the direction we're headed with these feels vague.”

“I'm under the assumption that Congress will fill it in, Hue Yu.” Hou Tsai Tang told the Minister of Agriculture, “Did you have anything in mind?”

“No.” Hue Yu said. There was murmuring approval.

Hou reached out to the papers on the desk and looked down at their agenda, the last option for this session of Politburo. “Our last matter is the war plans concerning Russia, and by extension the instability in Vietnam. Feng Hui, you approached and wrote to me about how we're to even consider this in the framework of our policy.”

A sinewy looking man with a dour expression in his wide mouth rose in his seat. Scratching at his chest he looked out among the seated and began to walk around it. “To propose Harmony in Asia.” he began, “Was a bold and genial move on our part. However, in the past few years I feel that we have been weak on our incentive to promote Harmony in Asia. By that, I am referring to the activity of the People's Republic of Thailand, who we have decided to tacitly support, if at the end of a long stick. Longer now following their invasion into Cambodia and subsequent occupation of the Cambodian nation. And while the government of Thailand has thrown over itself a cloud of uncertainty the former French colony of Vietnam has thrown itself into disarray. Which is to not speak of Russia, which we have had deemed is a purely European problem for the past few years.” he scratched under his chin where a light gray stubble was starting to poke through.

“I do not want to say that Harmony has been unwise, and that Harmony is not worth its merit. I merely wish to express my concerns over our weak enforcement of continental Harmony. Where European geopolitics may have kept the region at peace, assigning Asia's peoples into colonies which they held as extension of their own Empires, and that Europe's gradual abandonment of Asia has left a vacuum of security in the region. However, while we declared ourselves to fill this vacuum to hold the peace, indifferent to their national politic based on the gracious wisdom of Hou.” he paused to look up, smile, and bow deeply to Hou to punctuate his compliment in a brief display of drama. “We have lacked the willingness to pay real attention, or the actual use of arms. After all, words can only go so far without the backing of guns. And when the power of words is not strong enough to clear an obstacle then so do guns and bombs and the blood of martyrs need to be applied.

“What I feel needs to be cleared up, and put into real legislation and actual outward policy is binding self-given necessity for the nation to define our Harmony policy, to give it a framework, both diplomatic and military. Where do we define Asia? Do we include Russia into the title of Asia? Is Russia a European exception, a nation that exists in both Asia and Europe through occupying both in its homeland territories? Shall we for once designate onto the army the power and the equipment to enforce Chinese will against the belligerent states of Asia before the likes of Japan take the lead? Or India? It is not a realistic assessment to simply ignore what is going on in China's own backyard, comrade. That which happens in Vietnam may undercut the Revolution at home! Action in Russia outside our outlined policy may undermine the validity of Chinese policy! What do the leaders of the world think of China when we declare Asia to be under the defense of China, but we attack Europe?

“I am not opposed personally to any invasion of Russia. Nor, if the intelligence proves necessary an intervention in Vietnam. But I can not, as a political figure, using political policy actually defend either when one has been so weak, and the other is not within the prescribed definition. When institutions exist that operate within ill-defined, or outside ill-defined boundaries and codes of conduct: that is when we have disharmony, that is when we stray from our way.” He closed his statement as he came back to his chair, and resting a chair leaned on it.

“Thank you, minister.” Tsai Tang thanked him. He was the Minister of Foreign Missions, tasked with managing the scant foreign portfolio of China and scant assignments abroad.

The room was contemplatively silent for awhile. The members of Politburo leaning back in their seats. Zhu Mang put his fingers up to his chin and held them there, tapping his index against the corner of his lips.

Cutting the emptiness Hou leaned in. “I and Feng Hui have been exchanging word on this.” he started, “After word of Zhang Shu's exploration to bring Congress into war we have been discussing the merits and means by which the entire architecture of the plan might be scuttled, or even explicit permission might be given. After long consideration on the topic we have concluded that without speaking on it we may go to war, but he's afraid that our image as a nation may be spoiled without an adjustment of definitions, and I agree on this matter. But, if Politburo does not want war in Russia, we can double down on the definition of Russia not being in Asia, and we can expressly tell Congress of this and it may so heavily discourage making China an aggressor and a belligerent state in someone else's affairs that the motion will be defeated before it takes the floor. But on the Russian front we have to have a decision now. The motion will move into debate shortly and an early tally of representatives suggests they will move on it.

“This ties into Vietnam as well. The Qíngbào Jú is as I understand it preparing a memo on intervening in Vietnam on behalf of the Vietnamese expatriates in the south with Nguyen Sinh Cung at the command. Now granted, comrade Nguyen as I have heard it has no granted explicit consent to yet lead anything, it is the primary contingency being contemplated by the Bureau while they make some identifications on new parties in Vietnam. But as Zhang Shu is took acting on his Russian movement on behalf of a Dymtro Radek the assumption I am taking as Grand Secretary is that a defeat of his move on the ground of technicalities that deny what has been set as state policy may fall into the realm of Solidarity, and we go through the entire battle the second time; if we chose to deny him war.

“I encourage Politburo to consider this policy as beyond a matter of technicality and morality as Feng Hui wishes, but also to broadness and scope. Should China play a more proactive role in encouraging and assisting Revolution, or shall it declare itself as following a road to independent revolution, as keeping it within the local state parties.”

“This puts it into a whole new context.” said Zhu Mang, “If I were to have it my way I would be for support of international revolution. Simply keeping ourselves from being outmaneuvered by the global right is not to maintain independence in Asia, but for the construction of an international solidarity through the liberation of the proletariat.”

“China may have the means for a hundred years war against whichever enemy she chooses.” started Feng Hui from his chair, “But to propose we may go to war against the entire world in permanent revolution is stretching it further than it has any right to be stretched. A man on a rack can not be stretched out like a bolt of silk, and like the man the nation will break if it attempts to stretch itself across the world.”

“Such is war's own art.” a uniformed officer said at the table, a representative playing stand in for Lou Shan Yuang who had to be absent. He was fully empowered to speak for him, “We may be able to stand against Japan, but it would be threatening the war making abilities of the nation and its own safety if we were to make an attempt at war.”

“Then perhaps someone might have told that to Napoleon!” exclaimed Zhu Mang, “Or Alexander.”

“One of a million products of different times. As far as my powers can take me then I would not rely on us having a Napoleon among us to lead brilliant global campaign. It would be far more secure to tread careful, and perhaps someday a global coalition will be built to take on the world in final Revolution.”

Not final, but the next, Hou wanted to tell him. But kept silent as he sat silently watching the proceedings unfold.

“I think we need to stick to present policy. Tell Congress that we will not tolerate war in Russia.” the elderly Hue Yu insisted at one point.

“If Congress were now to send their motion to your desk, how would you vote?” another member of Politburo asked.

“It depends on how many voted yes.” Hou replied to him.

“I am beginning to feel that at the end, the best course of action is to maintain the status quo. But to not look as if we have not been cowards, action is now being considered because we have advocates of involvement.” Ming Xin said, “This also I feel has a strong advantage in moving into any theater by way of us having a clear set of leaders, and men to make a government to form the revolutionary vanguard. Before an interim-government to transfer a state from war to peace can be placed at the end of a campaign, we might very well have as a result of the war a full interim government with ministries and functions and constitution before the fighting begins and a smoother transition from war to peace can be had without having to actively seek out one or create one from the army.”

Late in the day this proposal was given consideration, and then its majority of consent. It was written down, and filed to be delivered to Congress's next session for examination.

Void of Novira: Scramble for Interplanetary Colonization (Now Open)

The dew sparkled on the sand as the early morning sun rose. As its rays brushed the vast world the bushes and scraggly grasses that grew from the harsh red soil seemed to sigh and shack softly as a warming breeze of morning's dawning stretched out its hand to gently brush away the quilt of night. It was bitterly cold at night, beyond that many would imagine in the Bush Country, far removed from the farm fields, vineyards, and condominiums of the coast. Standing erect facing a small pocket mirror laid up in the elbow of a spiny tree a man in a light undershirt stood with a towel thrown haphazardly across his shoulders. A layer of lather covered his chin and mouth as he scrapped a razor across his broad chin and wide, round cheeks.

Shaving clean his face, he did not pay close attention to the figure behind him fast at work gathering up the campsite, tossing loose debris and the last night's effects into a heavy green satchel. His heavy hunched back rose and fell and swayed side to side as the creature went about his work, tossing tin plates, spoons, and bottles into the heavy canvas sack. He reached out with long arms, finished by a hand of four long sharp fingers. Under a heavy denim coat the entire creature was dressed in mottled mangy fur, that thinned out in spots to reveal the naked, discolored skin underneath. The beast had a face like a mongoose, or a raccoon, but splotchy with uneven fur heaviest at the top of its head.

“Baro Daro, have we got word back from Tracks?” the man asked in a heavy gentile voice.

“Ah? Oh, nah mate. He's been a coupeh' hours now I reckon.” the mongoose creature answered back, making a short jump to the side, his pawed feet scraping at the loose soil as he hoisted up onto his back the sack and walked with a limping gait over to a nearby four-by-four. Tossing the sack into the back he sauntered back to the camp, “But iffin' I were to guess, I'd say the cunt might've found a good trail and is following it as far as he can before comin' back.”

“I would have liked if he came back to tell us he found something.” the man sighed, scraping his chin clean and whipping the lather off on his towel. He turned to face Baro Daro and headed for his tent, “Never the less I want to be ready to head out in half an hour, him or not. We'll continue along the tracks we found last night. He'll catch up.”

“And I'll say again, he'll be back.” Baro Daro said, looking up at the human as he rolled up his sleep bag. The man shrugged indifferently and began methodically working on his tent. Without a reply, Baro Daro shook his head and muttered some manner of curse.

As all the tents were gathered up, and loaded onto the vehicle a lanky figure rose over the nearby rise. The sun was in full rise now and the diamond sparkle of dew on the leaves and on the sand had fully evaporated away in a single last cool breath. The morning was beginning to heat up as another bipedal creature with a canine, dingo's head with the same patchy, mangy hair pattern.

“Blimey, why don't you look at that.” the man said, leaning against the car.

Bounding down the hillside, Tracks made his way to the encampment as it was closing up for the day. “You cunts ain'ta 'bouda leave me now, ain'tcha?” he snarled, snarling as he licked his lips. His mouth was missing a few teeth, and most of the others were turning yellow. Up close, a noticeable dusting of sand could be seen in his hair.

“Bouda' fuckin' leave me I bet. Well won't you be happy when I steal ya bottles, mate. That'l lbe the truth, swear it on me own.”

The man rolled his eyes leaned off the side of the car. “So what did you find?” he asked.

“Ain't the bleedin' ticker tacks ya were followin', can tell you as much. Followed 'em down to a 'bubbleh 'bout two miles down. Issa killin' field, corpse is fresh but ain't our kuey bird. Nah mate, ta'in't that. Muey adeh bird, musta been picked off by sum dingahs couple days ago. Is a dead end there, mate.

“Nah, other trail go out for longeh', all fresh signs long the way. Bird went that way sumut. Followed ticker tacks fer some, oh ah- bleedin' ten miles wortha that cunts legs. Sure as Hell I did. Went about as near-asa big rock sticker, 'bout as crook as Barbo's back.”

“Oy!” Baro Daro protested, stulking up behind Tracker. He straightened himself up, showing off how he wasn't all hobbled spin and crooked posture. Up straight he stood fully a foot over the man and the dingo-man. As he did his denim shirt pulled up from Daro Baro's ragged jeans revealing a sunken torso, thinly covered in patches of white fur.

“And as I gabber ever time ya go an do that: and all th' good that whip of yous that does for you, cunt. Gonna snap yourself inna tree. Fuck off back down here.”

Satisified with his rebuttal, Baro Daro returned to earth. Bringing down his shoulders and arms until his knuckles brushed the red earth at his feet. “Right, so tracker: you know where it goes. Jump on the hood and point me that way.”

“For fucks-sakes Roger Weetherby, yer a bigger fuckin' cunt than I ever worked with. Can I tucker in some snooze least? I'vva been ploddin' 'bout all dark hours.”

“You want those bottles, or not? As soon as you get me on the path I'll let you sleep.”

“Cunting right ya will.” the dingo-man snarled, climbing onto the hood. Roger followed, taking the driver's seat and Daro perched himself like a sentry in the back among the gear. Starting the engine the four-by-four hummed itself to life before the engine silenced into its cool, quiet idle state. With only the pop of gravel and rocks to signify it was moving forward, it turned, and headed down the trail Tracker indicated.

After some two minutes, Roger felt he was well enough on the right path and called Tracker back in. Scratching and scrabbling over the metal hood and glass windshield he crawled inside where he half sat, and half curled on the front seat and laid his head on the dashboard to shut his eyes, using his sinewy arms as a buffer the jostling of the offroader and his head.

The Bush lands were a wild place to be. While much of it was flat, defined only by ancient sand dunes that in time settled into permanent hills when captured by the land's thorny brush, or even still moving dunes of red sand. Though, this made travel none the easier, nor direct. Having to keep a constant mind on where what went where Roger found himself scaling dunes, and having to find away around precarious drop offs. Fresh sand blown in from further inland by winter winds would collect in the open field, smothering bushes and trees and threatening to trap the off-roader in their gnarled, iron-strong boughs and branches. Everything had to be treated with suspicion. Never mind the potential danger in walking ill-equipped in some areas.

After roughly an hour a crooked shaft of black rock appeared over the horizon and they made their way. Noticing it Baro Daro punched Tracker in the back, waking him up as they made their approach. “Ay, this place maybe. We pick up here.” he said, speech slurred by sleep.

“How fresh were the tracks?” asked Roger.

“Oh, guess summa' guess eigh' hours.” he grumbled, “When-I found 'em.”

“Alright.”

They pulled up into the shade of the rock, and hopped out of the car. Tracker went immediately to the work, walking with long jaunty steps around the rocks, searching for a fresh trail. Roger and Baro Daro stayed behind, waiting. Wandering off to investigate something Baro Daro called back. “We hav'eha problem!”

Roger turned to him, he was already squatting down over something. He walked over to see what's up, only to see what Baro Daro had his eyes on. With the tips of his index and middle finger resting next to a set of canine tracks he pointed it out.

“We got bloody dogs!” shouted Roger.

“Pah, cunt.” Tracker spat, “Found the ticker tacks, and theys too.”

“Did you see them before when you were here?” Roger asked, walking to the car.

“No, themsa must'of come in. Taking th' same ticker tacks as we's.”

Roger grumbled as he sifted through the gear, finally digging out a large, long black box. Resting it on the edge of the bad, he popped the hatches and threw back the lid. A pair of black carbon fiber rifles, the moving parts trimmed in a white silver. He took one and loaded it, Baro Daro followed before Tracker could get to them.

“Oy, fuckin'.” Tracker swore.

“Got'sa revolver in me bag.” Baro Daro told him.

“No time for that.” Roget interjected, “I need Tracker on the trail.”

“Takin' the rove?” Tracker asked, just shy of starting his search.

“I don't know where it's going. We're going on foot.”

Tracker again swore, and Baro Daro sneered. But together the two followed after Roger. Tracker quickly assumed the lead, and began leading them over a long course away from the rock. One two and a half, or three and a half limbs Tracker moved quick through the brush, stopping only to move aside thick brush in search of snapped twigs, or prints hidden in the sand underneath. Then tacking off again in a sudden bolt, or switching directions.

Roger, who held his rifle to his chest jogged after. His breath coming in short deep gasps as he bounded along. The day was growing hotter, and the race after the creature ahead of them was beginning to draw sweat. Baro Daro followed close behind, his rifle slung over his shoulder producing an audible rattle as it hit his side at each step.

It was an hour and a half of pursuit that ended at the edge of an embankment at the side of a muddy oasis. In its middle, standing in its ankle in shallow water a dull gray and yellow bird, with a dinosaur of a face and small beady black eyes stood drinking, occasionally scratching nervously in the water. “There she is, so where are the dogs?” Roger asked.

“Split'er some fourth-one mile way.” Tracker said, “Thinkin' they found 'ar, but are waitin'.”

Roger straightened up and looked around. The bird didn't seem particularly troubled by them. They were far from hidden. Throwing the strap of the rifle over his shoulders he crouched and slid down the sandy embankment. The sudden sound caused the bird to jump and opening its dwarfed wings quibbled nervously at the approach. It started to back up as if to flee, but stopped hesitantly as Roger stood to its eye-level. It chirped and squawked confused as he walked forward with a hand out. His other reached behind him to a pocket where he kept a small metal lasso rolled and ready.

Tracker had snuck around behind the bird, and as Roger was keeping its attention took up a position to cover its rear. Baro Daro, being armed kept an eye out on the ridge. It was a tense tentative minute of silence as Roger made his approach, and wrapping his fingers around the loose end of the lasso pulled it from his pocket.

There was a crack in the bush somewhere off to the side that drew the bird's attention and it looked that way. As its attention broke the lasso was thrown up over its neck and as it began to race away was pulled to a sudden stop as the wire drew tight around the base of its neck. Roger, with his feet planted in the mud was able to anchor himself and force the giant bird to be thrown to the ground, where it fell with a splash in the mud and began kicking furiously to rise back up.

At that moment a rifle shot echoed in the air and there was the hurt cry of a dog as others nearby began to bark widely in protest and fear. Roger frantically wrapped the thick lasso wire around his hand as he drew the rifle and scanned the bush line. A few brownish, yellow-orange dingos had broken from the bush and began to pace nervously as one lay bleeding out to Baro Daro's left. Roger squeeze over a series of five quick shots in the direction of the dogs to scare them off, hitting one in the shoulder before it could turn to run. The canine collapsed to the muddy red earth kicking, blood splattering its matted fur as it came to rest.

As the pack ran back into the bush, a sensation of danger avoided hung over the three's heads. “Cor, fucking hell.” Roger exclaimed.

“Woulda warned'cha but the bloody cunts just sorta popped.” Baro Daro said in a laughing voice.

“We earned those bottles?” Tracker asked.

“I think you did, let's head back and get this bird back with the flock.”

Void of Novira: Scramble for Interplanetary Colonization (Now Open)

Name of Nation:
New Auslassia

Nation Characteristics:
Nominally a Republic, but the most authority is held along the coast. The vast desert interior of the nation is a vast savanna or desert. Here, only herders and mining towns live, sprinkled thinly out across the great red clay and orange sands.

The disproportion of power and authority though is not at disharmony with the government, is it may seem for one part of the country to be at anarchy to another.

The coasts though is where the wealth lives. Abundantly proud of their water, the inhabitants of Auslassia flock to the shores. The coast, particularly the southern shores are renowned for their vast gold sand beaches and amiable surfing conditions, inviting surfers from all over.

Nation Location:
That big island in the upper-left.

Species Name:
Sapiens and Alt-Sapiens

Species Characteristics:
Sapiens are nominally like humans, and legends say they were born of pirates that came to interfere in the world. One of the results of their interference has been the creation of what they call the Alternate Sapien, or the Second Class in certain quarters. A product of genetic experimentation, the alternate sapiens are more a hybridization of man with animal to create a fully expressive, sapient animal.

Side Chosen in Void War:
Nominally neutral, though independent groups served as volunteers among the Republic.

Technological Level:
While not as militarily advanced as the Cindorayi, Auslassia has comparatively equal commercial and consumer level technology, whether in the pursuit of mining resources or managing animal herds, or even for the entertainment and amusement of its tourist visitors. Launching from its space port it also allows for the use of foreign private freighters or its own private company freight fleets through the system.

Special Resource:
Vegamine Coal – Seemingly abundant in the national interior, in the beds of ancient swamp beds “vegamine coal” is a super dense source of fuel and carbon that's been found useful in nanotechnology and in relatively low-cost energy, as opposed to straight coal it burns slower and hotter; releasing relatively more potential power for low-tech energy production.

Similarly, a radioactive metal is mined in regions, under the name of Waltzdium, a blue-green metalic mineral safe to handle without protection, but when used in energy generation produced a strong and steady stream of radiation.

Novira: An Interplanetary Colonization Roleplay

Name of Nation:
New Auslassia

Nation Characteristics:
Nominally a Republic, but the most authority is held along the coast. The vast desert interior of the nation is a vast savanna or desert. Here, only herders and mining towns live, sprinkled thinly out across the great red clay and orange sands.

The disproportion of power and authority though is not at disharmony with the government, is it may seem for one part of the country to be at anarchy to another.

The coasts though is where the wealth lives. Abundantly proud of their water, the inhabitants of Auslassia flock to the shores. The coast, particularly the southern shores are renowned for their vast gold sand beaches and amiable surfing conditions, inviting surfers from all over.

Nation Location:
That big island in the upper-left.

Species Name:
Sapiens and Alt-Sapiens

Species Characteristics:
Sapiens are nominally like humans, and legends say they were born of pirates that came to interfere in the world. One of the results of their interference has been the creation of what they call the Alternate Sapien, or the Second Class in certain quarters. A product of genetic experimentation, the alternate sapiens are more a hybridization of man with animal to create a fully expressive, sapient animal.

Side Chosen in Void War:
Nominally neutral, though independent groups served as volunteers among the Republic.

Technological Level:
While not as militarily advanced as the Cindorayi, Auslassia has comparatively equal commercial and consumer level technology, whether in the pursuit of mining resources or managing animal herds, or even for the entertainment and amusement of its tourist visitors. Launching from its space port it also allows for the use of foreign private freighters or its own private company freight fleets through the system.

Special Resource:
Vegamine Coal – Seemingly abundant in the national interior, in the beds of ancient swamp beds “vegamine coal” is a super dense source of fuel and carbon that's been found useful in nanotechnology and in relatively low-cost energy, as opposed to straight coal it burns slower and hotter; releasing relatively more potential power for low-tech energy production.

Similarly, a radioactive metal is mined in regions, under the name of Waltzdium, a blue-green metalic mineral safe to handle without protection, but when used in energy generation produced a strong and steady stream of radiation.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

Eastern Kazakhstan

They had stopped to rest by the road side. Though to call it a road was not doing it much favors, it was in reality a narrow dirt path that meandered up over hills and through streams no wider than a hair in the sand. Leaning on their elbows, Li Chao and Guo scanned the barren wilderness around them. A half a day of riding had left their backs sore and faces numb from the brush of the air.

“How long is it until we actually meet someone?” Guo asked.

Li Chao shrugged, “I don't know.” he wondered allowed. In China it could be counted on to find villages or small towns. Even in the western provinces and departments where there were still nomads or semi-nomads. But there, even in the worst of conditions the roads were plainly marked. And more importantly they could read the signs. But now outside of China they learned some important facts: that they couldn't rely on much the same means, and neither of them could read Russian. “But I guess if we keep following this road we'll find someone eventually.”

“How would we know if we can even talk to them?” Guo asked, uncomfortable at the idea of finally finding someone to barter for supplies with, or even to work for to re-kit for the road. “What direction are we even going?”

Li Chao looked up at the sky, and covering his eyes with his hands looked for the sun. “What time is it?” he asked.

“17:00.”

“I'd say south-west.”

Guo sighed, low and mumbling.

Kazakhstan wasn't nearly as desolate as they had been lead to believe. Though neither was it spectacular. They knew nearby there was a vast lake, where the shoreline was imperceptible in the distance, only the distant mountains that formed the Kazakh-Chinese border could be seen and even then they were a spectral mirage against the clear open skies. Low lying brush and stunted trees pocked the hills, and a vast carpet of long grass swayed in the breeze. Every so often there would be a distant hawk drifting on the breeze, keeping an eye on the Earth below.

“I suppose we should get back on the road.” Li Chao grumbled, as he stood up.

“Why though? Africa is a long ways away. It's not moving anywhere. We can take our time.” Guo reminded him.

“It's not how much time we have to get there I'm worried about, it's how much time we can keep to not be found out.”

“That's bullshit. Look around us Chao, there's no one here!” Guo exclaimed. Standing up he turned and shouted out into the wilderness. Only his echo responded. “See? We don't need to move out any time soon. It's not like any soldiers or police are going to find us out here. I doubt there's even any here.”

Li Chao stood rigid and stiff, listening to the distance. But there was no sound that answered, nothing that called back. Only the silence of emptiness and the sigh of the breeze through grass. Acknowledging that he had been beat he sat back down. Guo smiled and nodded, “I wasn't looking forward to heading out, my back still fucking hurts.”

Li Chao shook his head. “Do you remember anything we're supposed to say, in case we have to talk to anyone?” he asked, looking over at his partner.

Guo thought for a bit. And speaking slowly and thoughtfully as if recalling the details from an adventure a long time ago began: “As-saraam arayakum. Ismeer Huan Guo. Anaar min Arsiyn. Ana afham.” he finished. Sounding even less succinct and accurate as a Hui speaker of Arabic.

“You sure they'll understand it?” he asked, “We're a long ways away from Arabia. You sure people this far away speak the language?”

“Some of our people do, I don't see the problem.” Li Chao responded, but truth be told he too had his doubts. This was an entirely new experience. And he imagined in his mind's eye the countries they would have to go through to get to Africa. Sure, some Arabic would get them there so he can meet up with his sister again. But here, Turkestan, Persia; did they speak Arabic? Their books demanded they did, but would the common herdsman be able to communicate in that way?

“Remember that old guy we met in Guangxi, when we were there for a summer trip before university?” Guo started, looking over to Li Chao

He thought a bit, and thoughtfully said, “A little.”

“I was just thinking about him.” Guo continued, “He spoke Hmong, but he also spoke perfect Mandarin. To top it off, he could speak with the Hui, and I'm sure knew some Vietnamese.”

“What are you implying?”

“That I think we'll be fine.” Guo said with a calm smile. “We don't know much, not now. But imagine all the land we have to go through. By the end of it we'll learn.”

“I sure hope you're right.”

“You've been the one with the ideas, and thus far been more-or-less right. Let me pay a bit of a doubt in right-ness. We'll be fine, partner.”

Dragon Diaries

Li Chao

June 10th, 1960. The year of the metal rat

With the border well behind us I can say with good faith we have left China. It is surreal to leave one's country, to turn around and look behind to the place you called your home. As much as it is to leave your home town for the first time, your home county, province. It leaves an emptiness in the heart the fill with wanting and you it reaches out for what is being removed. But as you pull further away that thing which becomes wanting if removed surgically until finally it removes itself, and the heart fills itself with something new. You do know go without wanting home, but you no longer feel the anxiety and you don't feel compelled to turn around and go back.

I remember a passage from the Dao te Ching which we read in school, in which it is discussed that an individual shouldn't desire to be anywhere else but home. That things at home should be such that while the cock in the next village over no one has the desire to go over to it and visit. That there should be such contentment with home there is no personal need to go over. That there is no jealousy, or fear, or envy for that other village or that other neighborhood and you shall die where you are raised, in the comforts of home.

And well, I and Guo have passed beyond that final threshold and left our home, our country. We are now somewhere else and we have set ourselves with firm conviction to continue on into Africa. I can say that the bit of contentment I have had for home is gone and that I feel myself alive with wonder and curiosity for what is ahead. But also, a chilling fear. I can not help but feel worried about how we are to pass through these countries and into the others. We know Arabic, or very little. The hope is that we can communicate who we are, where we are from, and where we are going, and that we know nothing else but to get there. We do not imagine we shall see anyone else from our people beyond this point.

Guo said to me our first morning out of the country he thought about one of Grand Secretary Hou's essays for the first time seriously. He spoke some about that of Minzu. How we men of China are our own family and our own nation, but that we are equal members to the family of Asians, the nation of Asia. It had nothing he said to ever think about it with, no comparison or illustration but now on the road out from one family into another, and through yet many more in the broad community of humanity he will get to see much more. This has got me wondering, and looking ahead I think I too will come to face this. We will see not just where we fit, but where China fits in the world. We will know it not just in geographic space, but in human space.

Another thing which I thought, but I did not say is that we might see how much work yet needs to be done. At home, or abroad. We have heard much. It is time for us to see.

But for Kazakhstan itself, we have seen the country. Or what we feel is the country. Here in this part, somewhere in the eastern part it is all valley with mountains that loom beyond the horizon. The sky and the air is clear and I can not help but think we hand at the edge of a great cradle to something terrifying, in its scope or its history. But this might well be in the air, because there nothing but hills and grass around us. We have seen few people, and who we have seen were at a distance in tents and surrounded by herds. What we follow may be a goat trail, or a rough road like what exists in Mongolia. We have a vague idea on where we are going, or where we should go next. But the road we follow to get there isn't clear.

This is an experience most unlike home.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

@Veoline

We've opted to call in Hugs, although from what I can tell must of what we need him to review is effectively historical in the first place. I should bitch at Evan to post his opinions outside of the super sekrut club too.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

China

Guangzhou

“We have your ship fitted out and ready to go.” the sailor said as he lead the Bureau agents along the river side. It was night. Across the dark waters that made up the Zhujiang estuary. Not a quarter a mile from the naval yard was the Shizi Ocean and its wide deep course into the South China Sea. The reflection of street lights and a few lone automobiles driving on the late night roads were reflected in the dark waters of the oily black river. Stopping briskly under the orange glow of an incandescent light they stood at the gang plank onto what looked to be a run down junk.

“It's quiet a piece of work.” Huang Du whistled. Arban stood stopped behind him, a serene look of despair and disgust firmly planted on his face. The junk was yet still an old wooden ship, probably once ran by sails. But between then and now the masts had been cut out, and even from a short distance with the motor silent in the water a faint acrid smell of oil and gasoline hung in the air from an engine that had likely not seen repair since the 1940's. In the faint light the two agents could see the discolored boards of its hull, spotting the lighter color new wood from the darker old. Patches of sheet metal had been hammered low near the water line into its hull and they and the rivets used to affix this shoddy armor looked to be the newest addition to the ship. Its cabin was crowned with a sheet of tearing tarpaulin, and a motley collection of surplus field guns were inconspicuously thrown about the deck, mortars and machine guns stood in the open warm early summer's air with the light of the city behind silhouetting them against the darkness.

“Well from the requisition's request we got I was lead to believe you wanted something, 'a pirate from the north of Borneo might pilot'.” the sailor said, with a laugh. “I don't know what they're sailing out around there, but I imagine this is close enough. I dare not ask what the Bureau wants with it though.”

“It's good you don't.” Arban said, “How's the crew?”

“They're not green horns if that's what you're wondering. I've a mechanic of three years on that ship with you and at least fifteen sailors who've been patrolling the waters between here and Macau and Hong Kong Island for the better part of five at most.”

“No uniforms, I hope.”

“No, they're all dressed in their grandfather's clothes from the rice fields.” the sailor grunted, laughing. In the faint light that was cast onto the ship's deck the agents noticed a few dark shapes of sailors traipsing about on the deck. Someone flipped a lighter and lit a cigarette and the flash of orange fire was brilliant in the darkness.

“Without going into the details, she's yours for however long you need it.” the sailor said with a committed proud nod, “And if you're going to run her aground or sink her at sea have the decency to do so close to home. I don't care about the boat but I sure do like the man on board.”

“Thanks, we'll get them home safe.” Huang Du said, stepping onto the gangplank. Arban followed, warily peering down the side as the plank rocked and sagged under the weight of the two agents as they stepped from concrete quay over open water, and onto the creaking deck of a decades old ship.

There was a stiff, awkward silence between the agents and the sailors as they came on board. The Chinese sailors, in drab stiff peasant's clothes leaned on the stumps that remained of the masts, or sat on the deck watching them, unsure whether to take them as a superior officer, or some other matter entirely. Arban, noticing this confusion set about asserting their position. “On your foot!” he shouted. Huang Du jumped, surprised his Mongolian companion could sound so much like a drill sergeant.

The sailors responded immediately, and they shot up to their feet and went quickly to attention. Arban issued his orders: “I want this boat out on the water. Oh the helm, cut the lines. We'll detail our mission when we're on the water. Move out!”

They responded to his assertiveness, and went immediately to their roles. Untying the ropes that tied them to the wharf they released the wooden hulk as down below the engine sputtered to life and groaned with a throat full of water as it propelled itself out into the open water. “I didn't know you could order sailors around.” Huang Du said in a low voice as the two walked down the deck.

“I had to read the navy's officer's manual.” Arban said. His voice wavered uneasily as the boat rocked side-to-side as it sailed into waves.

“Get sea sick?”

“I don't know. I've only been on a boat once for five minutes. It made me dizzy.”

“You're going to need to get used to it.” Huang Du assured him.

As they left the river, and began slipping into the estuary proper on the lone dark waters on the South China Sea, a light was lit underneath the deck. With barely enough room to stand, the crew of the slowly chugging vessel came to stand around a small table the two agents were taking up. Huang Du stood leaning over a map, checking estimated routes any number of supply ships into Vietnam could be taking, a reference book lay open by his side. Arban, gripping a length of flexible conduit in the ceiling stood gently swaying from side to side, his normally dark sun-kissed face growing paler in the soft lamp light casting sharp shadows and highlights all throughout the lower deck.

“Our mission here today, and for however long it will take us is a matter of utmost secrecy.” he said in a voice that echoed in the confined space. The crew gathered around tight supporting each other with arms over the next man's shoulders or leaning up against a wall with a foot planted against the thick wood timbers, “As such every man here is secluded to this boat until the task is done. I hope we will not be on the water for long, but it goes without saying there will not be any shore leave. We will be secluding ourselves in international waters, but more likely than not our mission will mean we will pass into the claimed waters of other states. As such, consider what we are doing as being very illegal. But this isn't unusual, you're now temporarily contracted agents of the Qingbao Ju.

“There are some regular rules to mention going forward during the mission, and well after the mission. Namely first: we are your superior officers. By military establishment our authority holds precedent over other ranks as if one grade higher in international missions such as this. So we do not care if you're the most senior enlistee or officer about this boat today, because our rank beats yours.

“Secondly, on completion of the mission and return to shore you are not to speak of your association with the Qingbao Ju for a minimum of six months. If by any chance the situation demands it the Bureau will contact your commanding officer with a notification to pass down to you explaining any possible extension to your term of silence. Until this is up you are not to officially admit to you having ever becoming an associate of ours, none to your family, friends, fellow sailors, or future officers.

“On relation the third condition is that you are to not speak of the mission for a year after the fact, unless of course circumstances means we will be extending that term of silence. You will be notified if so. The Bureau will attempt to contact you directly if that is the case. Telling anyone about the mission is the last thing we want you doing.

“Violation of these terms is subject to penalty, in military criminal court of national federal court on charges of high perjury by breaking this promise. You may be additionally charged with any number of offenses. At minimum you'll receive jail time. At maximum you will never be seeing the light of day again.

“Do I make myself clear? Under present conditions there is no option to decline the mission. Unless you want to swim to shore now.”

The room was silent, and slowly the sailors began nodding their heads and muttering, “Yes, comrade.”

Arban nodded, “Thank you. Now if you don't mind, my partner will explain the mission we are on.” he said, letting go of the conduit and falling back into a roughly hewn chair.

Taking his cue Huang Du looked up and rose, pocketing his pencil and compass. “The present condition of the Vietnamese conflict has attracted the attention of intelligence brass.” he began, “A new operator has appeared in northern Vietnam and is at work reshaping the current civil war. With no leads on who or what this actor is, let alone who might be supporting and supplying them it has been decided that increasingly direct methods of investigation are required to determine the source of support and the nature of the active situation in Vietnam.

“We have conscripted you for that particular purpose.” Huang Du continued, clapping his hands together and bowing with a cheeky smile, “And we intend to carry this out as quietly and painlessly as possible.

“The objectives set before us are simple: to identify the ports of entry into the territory held by the actor named Lady Trung and which ships are ferrying cargo and supplies into them. The main parameters on this mission have come down to primarily watching and following ships at a distance with the intent of identifying the ship and its country of origin.

“Our emergency parameters do include engaging a ship in combat if we need to escape or otherwise seize and scuttle the ship. And while we believe we will mostly be observing unarmed civilian ships and there so far been minimal need to protect the ships between here and Sabah, which intelligence indicates has been active with piracy.”

“But if the ships are being escorted that it's just as well to spot the flags they sail under.” Arban groaned.

“Precisely, so we do not expect to go into anything hot. But if need be we have orders to meet and engage as far as the situation deems fit for our survival and the success of the mission. The primary intent of any avoidance maneuver should be to escape. We do not know what sort of escorts we will be dealing with.

“But if for the sake of intelligence deems fit, we can authorize the boarding of a foreign vessel to search and seize what we can from its holds. For this our operational parameters outline the following: we should detain and neutralize as much of the crew as possible, we speak as little as possible – for this I will be discussing with you the battle plans for this situation on and off and repeatedly throughout the entirety of the mission so each of us can carry out our assigned duties as well as possible with as little guess work as possible – and finally to carry out our raid in fifteen minutes to half an hour so as to flee the scene before any support or intervention can be mobilized. We are not taking ships for the sake of taking ships, command unfortunately shot that down or we would have more boats or a bigger boat. Are we clear on the situation.”

“Yes, comrade.” the crew responded.

“Thank you.” Huang Du smiled, “I want a course set south. I'll be selecting one of you to begin a watch rotation. He will select a partner and every hour they will be selecting any inactive or sleeping crew member to keep watch on deck. I want this boat put on course, and the rest of us can get some sleep before morning.”

Hong Kong

A hundred photographs hung on a clothes line strung between points on the wall, fastened up with small nails. Clipped between the jaws of wooden clothes pin they hung in the daylight revealing their contents in washed out, off-balance color. Walking between the developed pictures Lo Bai Shun peered into each, studying the content of the images and scribbling notes into a small notebook.

The process the project took would simplify a fair portion of the building process of the cartoon. By replacing hand-drawn scenes with photographs – even stylized – a great deal of work could be lifted off the already limited faculties of a small decentralized team. Though true as he though, that parts of the film would have hand-drawn scenes, it had been decided that the bulk of the feature would use collected photographs. There were some criteria though to meet, and more than enough to pull from to make a heavy library of candidates.

Among the photos were a mixed collection of shots from around Hong Kong. There was a specific theme to these images. Industrial shots, almost alien with pipes and metal sharply contrasted in hard shadows and highlights. Rocky landscapes of debris fields pushed to the side and out of the city, left to the overgrowth decades after the civil war. Anything the portrayed a sharp artificial nature. He picked out the ones he liked the best, looking at their backs for a scribbled number and noting that with some comments in his little book.

Then there were shots from elsewhere, Hui Feng's contributions. He had brought from Shanghai very much the same sort of thing, but with the Shanghai touch. The great steel girders of iron bridges spanning the Huangpu River. Disheveled bricks husks at the center of city, and then the surreal architectural landscape in Shanghai's constantly rebuilding heart. Without any particular interest in any one type of scene Hui Feng had brought to Bai-Shun pictures shot through through the struts and poles of scaffolding, whether vertical or horizontal. Or the watery undulations of white-washed concrete balconies in interior or exterior space. He framed towering narrow windows in odd angles, or straight on. He had gone to the river shore, shooting the river-side as the water trickled on to the sea and into a bank of white fog, pebbles as large as boulders in the shot.

Outside of his own criteria, Bai-Shun found himself compelled to move much of Hui Feng's contributions to their own area to consider for later.

He was beginning to make what he felt was progress. Though it was only just the beginning. He knew – though he didn't dare think ahead to then yet – that these photographs would need to be blown up. He would likely need copies. Elements would need to be cut out to move between various foreground positions. A whole complex series of copying and cutting and even editing with a paint brush or marker would need to be done to build the scenery. It would take, and knowing it subconsciously they had at this point a rough year or two worth of work.

A knock on the door shook his attention away. Stopping mid-way he turned and peered through the hanging pictures. Scratching the side of his head with his pencil he wondered who would be calling on him at this hour. He turned and looked out the window, it was mid-evening, the sky was already starting to change. Another knock on the door summoned him over, and he bowed and walked under the hangings and opened the door.

Standing in the door way was a small, half-head shorter than he young woman. She smiled as she looked up at him. “Bai-Shun, you didn't forget. Did you?” she asked playfully, looking at the pencil and notebook in his hands.

“Fo-” he started to say, then remembered. “No, no I did not, Han Shu.” she smiled knowingly and let herself in.

She had a short measured step, a delicate frame with a strong posture. Scanning the room with her soft sharp eyes she looked over the many dozens of pictures Bai-Shun had been examining and reexamining. “If I didn't know better I'd say you're investigating a crime.” she laughed, and turned, “You didn't get so engrossed in this you nearly forgot again?”

“No I-, Yes, I suppose I did.” Bai-Shun said with a sigh, realizing his mistake.

“It's good I come by then.” she said with a sparkle in her eyes, “The show begins in an hour and it's all the way on Hong Kong Island. So we have to leave now.” she insisted.

“Let me get a change of clothes.” he started, but Shu stopped him.

“No, no, no! You're fine as you are.” she said, grabbing him by the shirt sleeve and pulling him out the door. “It's not like anyone will care. Let's go.” with a rush they disappeared from the apartment. The pencil and notepad falling to the ground as the door shut with a thump after.

Han Shu slowed down, giving relief to Bai-Shun who was able to catch up without threat of having his clothes torn. Straightening the breast of his buttoned shirt he said, “You know I haven't eaten yet.”

“I'm sure they'll have something to eat there. Besides, we can catch something to eat after.” she announced as they walked from the apartment. A short ways down the long sandy dirt road that lead up to the apartment block they stopped at a motorbike park along the road side. Two helmets were fastened to the side, and Shu offered Bai-Shun one. “Will you drive?” she asked.

“It's been a while.” he said, taking the helmet.

“Well it wouldn't look right for a man to drive his girl around.” she said, teasing him. “But perhaps you need to get a bike too. It would so much better than having to take the trolley all the time.”

Bai-Shun grumbled, taking the helmet. “Far better than trying to bring a car into the city.” she admitted.

He couldn't fault Shu on that. Strapping the helmet down he mounted the bike and started the engine. It rumbled weakly at first but then soon sputtered to life. Han Shu straddled the seat just behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. With a sputter the two drove down the roads.

Traffic late in the evening was far less extreme as mid-day. With the farmers withdrawn back to the New Territories, the bulk of the errands done the roads were not so congested by wagon carts and people. There was a almost serene calm to it, driving along the road, what traffic was out widely spaced. For Bai-Shun, he could think of no other time better than to actually drive on the road. It had been five, perhaps seven years he had driven anything himself. But trying that for regular work turned out to be too stressful for him, his palms would go cold, his heart beat fast, and soon he would be finding somewhere to pull over and walk the rest of the way and avoid the sense of a lack of control in heavy traffic, he had escape on foot.

But here and now was when he could say he had that. He didn't feel shut in by wagons and trailers and large trucks. No one's exhaust was backing up and popping with a loud bang. Stopping at an intersection to let a small group of pedestrians cross Han Shu leaned over his shoulder, “Don't you want a dog?” she asked, pointing to a old woman walking a medium sized dog of undetermined breed across the street, “My dad used to have a dog like that. He had a white spot on his face.”

Bai-Shun didn't reply immediately. As the crossing cleared he drove on. The motor of the bike starting to echo off of the rising facades of inner city apartments. Store-fronts and galleries started to become more of a feature of these street-level buildings. More often at street corners or mid-way between the bright-red postal boxes of Hong Kong as set up by the British authority began making a sight.

At the next intersection they reached he responded to the dog question: “I don't think I have any room.” he answered.

“Oh sure you do. For a small one. You're so lonely in your apartment. I can't be there all the time.” she said. Her words trailing off playfully at the final sentence.

The docks of Kowloon though were as full of life as at any moment of the day. As the evening darkened the lights in the port were flashing on as they drove by, illuminating the piers where ships from northern China were coming in, or where ships from the Chinese south were on their way north. Making side-way glances at the docks though, Bai-Shun couldn't help but feel much the same emptiness for the many piers that were empty at the docks, as fleeting dark glimpses were had between warehouses and fencing.

But a better view of the piers were had as they came on the bridge between Kowloon and Hong Kong island. Straight head, illuminated by the stalwart illumination of state buildings, and the bustling cosmopolitan heart of the foreign ideological refugee community the dark form of Victoria Peak rose ahead. Along the sides behind the guardwalls and under the bridge the inky black waters of the South China sea loomed with its half-empty industrial docks, and full piers of small fishing boats. The length of the bridge and its great sweeping overhead supports were illuminated in the soft blue-green glow of artificial light as black sedans rolled by in either direction.

Driving down the long ramp onto the island and things decidedly changed. The structures and the apartments looked decidedly older, decidedly more European than across the channel between them and the New Territories. The high rises were shorter and there were small gardens or park places off to the side. Driving along a coastal road they meandered along the north end of the island passed or through small coastal parks and plazas. Turning to drive into the island though the urbanscape began to change. From open coastal roads the old buildings began to crowd in on the street more, the thoroughfare narrowing as they passed cars parked along the side.

Along the side of the road, they cut into an alley. The engine echoing louder now against the walls Bai-Shun slowed to an idle. The alley opened up to a courtyard space filled with motorbikes and bicycles. Lanterns strewn across on heavy chords threw a warm and bright light on the courtyard, turning early urban night into a bedazzling day complete with streamers and the loud hopeful conversation of dozens of couples and theater-going groups.

The couple got off their bike and headed towards a door set into a niche covered in ceramic tile. Around the door stood smoking and waiting mixed groups. Bai-Shun recognized the American self-exiles, the British and Australian veterans and their Asian wives, and volunteers from all over who found themselves unable to go home, or uninvited. They communities had begun to mingle here in Hong Kong.

Among the likes of Bai-Shun, it was believed that what was here in Hong Kong was the germinating seed in its earliest stages of growth of a new cosmopolitan culture in the twentieth century. As the rest of the world seemed to turn away from diverse communities, the scattered seeds spread by such reactionary turning found themselves by some mystery in southern China. The soil perhaps was ripe for it, as not far away were the remnants of other European colonies, Macau just an hour or two away being one of them.

Inside the décor was far different. The lighting was subdued to a dull orange glow, and the dim lanterns and banners and sheets that decorated the furniture and wall were – unlike the outside – the only decorations. Framed photographs and potted plants had found themselves inside. A soft blue rug covered a wooden floor and a desk with a European table clock and bright desk lamp dominated a far corner. Leaning against it a thin fiery red-headed Englishman leaned against it, watching the new comers with a warm welcoming smile. Approaching him, Han Shu presented the tickets she produced from a small undecorated purse.

“Mistress Shu, it's a pleasure to see you.” the man said with an accent. He spoke familiarly with the young woman. “Who is this?” he asked, looking to Bai-Shun. The Anglo had to stand a good four inches over Bai-Shun, and he looked down slightly at him.

“He's Lo Bai Shun.” she said, “The date I said I'd bring along.”

“That's wonderful.” the man at the desk said with a smile, “Well we'll be beginning in a few minutes. You can head on down as soon as you like. We have beer and dumpling by the door, free to however much you can eat or drink.”

“Thanks, but you know me: I don't drink. There any tea?” she asked.

“There is.” the deskman said, bowing.

“Great, thank you!” Han Shu cheered, “Tell Mang Dak I said hello!” she nearly shouted as she pulled her boyfriend to another door, and down a narrow flight of stairs.

“Why aren't you present?” Han Shu asked as they descended the stairs.

“Excuse me?” Lo Bai Shun asked.

“Present, why aren't you assertive. You could have spoken with Mr. Hamlen some.”

“Who?” he asked

“Mark Hamlen, the man who took my tickets. He's a good friend of my friend, he's a nice guy.”

“I don't know him.” Lo Bai Shun responded as they hit the bottom flight of stairs.

Stopping before they went through the door Han Shu turned to him: “Mark Hamlen. His parents were born in London but moved to Hong Kong in the 1900's. He was born and raised here. He fought for our side. He's a veteran of the civil war. He likes to be called Sergeant Major, it makes him laugh.”

“Thanks, but I still don't know who he is.” he answered her.

She sighed, and rolling here eyes opened the door as a small group were headed down after them. “I think it would be really good for you.” she insisted, leading him through, “I know you get anxious, you're a little cold. But if you need to talk to someone I think it'd be nice to have someone not just Guangzhou. I realize you need that a little now and then, I can't help. But I know some friends who can.”

Lo Bai Shun sighed heavily, and averting his gaze from the pleading expression of his date. She sighed softly, and reached out and gently brushed the breast of his shirt. “I'm sorry.” she apologized.

“Let's find a seat then.” he said quietly.

The theater room was a basement. But the cold concrete and brick had been hidden behind rugs hung up on the wall. The floor had also been dug out and re-coated as well, deepening the room by a good two or three feet to make it cozier. Single strands of light bulbs hung down, shrouded with beaten and beaded lampshades and along the wall next to the door was a table laden with metal buckets of bottles of beer, brandy, and wine. Nearby a man stood by looking after gas stoves keeping warm spreads of stuffed clam and baskets of dumplings, and at least one large coffee pot where by the ten or thirteen tea bag tags sticking out from the lid was full of tea kept warm. “You find a seat and I'll get something to eat.” Han Shu said, turning Lo Bai Shun onto the rest of the room.

The rest of it was inhabited by small dining tables, big enough for two but at times three or four people had been crammed in on one. They all encircled in a semi-circle a stage, which was a simply wooden platform with a minimal number of pre-positioned props. He found himself a seat at the edge, nearest the door and took the table for himself and Shu's. She came over soon enough with a couple small cups of tea balanced on a plate of dumplings to share.

The lights in the room dimmed soon enough, and improvised orchestra lights at the rough stage's edge turned on and the show began.

It was a comedy, and for Lo Bai Hun he did not find it very funny. Setting itself during the war it followed a group of peasants who fought a guerrilla resistance against the Japanese. But instead of using guns and bombs they used wit and guille to bamboozle and trick the Japanese. He could not fault them for the effort, after all Han Shu loved it. But he could not bring himself to find it so funny. Less so a joke where a disgraced Japanese officer is made to perform sepuku, but fails because he is too afraid.

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

<Snipped quote by The Wyrm>

NO SIR.

You just started a war.

@Veoline

Precipice of War - The Big Leagues of NRP (Only generous tippers need apply)

@Killian

Yer good fam