Earth, Sol, The Galactic East
Novo Petrograd
Like a sparkling ring, casually discarded by some passing giant, Novo Petrograd spun gently above Earth. The outer rings of the station, some 50 kilometers in diameter, surrounded an open pool of space occupied by a number of hemispherical islands, these anchored to a central boulevard and connected by a tracery of large and small walkways, tubes and anchor rods. Much of the construction gleamed with the fresh, sharp texture of raw metal between the swarms of workers and construction equipment which surrounded the floating city like an aura, here and there shining themselves with signaling lights, the gleam of thrusters or the spark of welding devices. From some distance away, a constant stream of processed metal slugs could be seen emerging from another, much less elegant, construct, a great foundry in space, its maw glowing red with the internal heat of its great furnaces as they rendered space debris into useable material. The raw material for the stations construction, was carefully shepherded by its own attendant drone vessel and monitors. Further out, a number of metal rich asteroids were in the process of initial decronstruction, being sliced apart by small drone vessels before the chunks were herded into the glowing depths of the foundry.
Emperor Peter VII, Emperor and Autocrat of Russia, the first to bear those titles in several hundred years, and Emperor of Earth, the first to hold that title in Terran history, looked on with interest and not a small amount of pride. The Tsar was a tall man, but ill proportioned. His limbs and body seeming too thin for his nearly seven foot height, as if he had been gripped at the head and feet and simply stretched to this height. His features were plain, perhaps slightly sharp, but his eyes bore a fiery energy which spoke of a man who was in constant motion, always interested and always ready for a new task. His hands, also seemingly out of proportion with the rest of his body, were currently engaged with a polywater computer, a device which appeared more or less like a roll of flimsy plastic, but which could, when properly manipulated, assume various different properties. In this case becoming a stiff sheet in which characters swam, formed from specially modified chromatophores engineered for the purpose using nanotechnology. A person with the ability to see through the Tsar's eyes and follow his thought process would have been met with an intimidating wall of data regarding the progress of the station, the need for more metal-rich asteroids and similar woes which plagued every construction project in the history of Mankind.
The man who stood next to the emperor was rather different in both bearing and stature. While of only slightly below average height, he was rather broad, verging on fat. His face the spitting image of the classic Russian noble, although as per the new regulations, he lacked the typical beard. Instead, he showed the fresh pink complexion of a man who has, since he was able to grow facial hair, had a beard. He hunched slightly, and his expression was that of a man who was constantly on the lookout. His name was Grigory Romodanovsky, head of one of the several Russian noble families who had made the wise decision to submit to the reforms of the emperor and who had, as a result, been in an excellent position in the aftermath of the coup which had brought the young tsar to prominence. The Romodanovsky's had been in service to the Russian state for several thousand years in various capacities, rising and falling from the pinnacles of power as such families tended to, mostly based on who was in charge at the time and how much they liked the head of the family. Presently, Grigory was very much in favor, heading up the Western Department of the Russian Empire, covering much of the area west of Moscow, and head of the secret police. Currently, he was acting as the latter.
"Security should not be too much of a problem, Petre." Many of Peter's closer companions were familiar enough with the Tsar to employ the diminutive form of his name, at least in private, and were often encouraged to do so by Peter himself, sometimes quite forcefully, "The construction crews have all been pre-screened in any case, and we don't have to worry about crowd control since the only people living up here are a few dozen nobles and their servants at the moment. I've arranged for inspection of all the logistical services, however. I would also suggest having the Sol fleet on standby near Lagrange 2, just in case. We haven't received any actual threats from the various isolationist parties and I have not had any hints that they plan anything, but you never know what they may decide to try. Some damn fool might get it into his head that it would be a good idea to blow up this station with a bunch of 'Galactics' on it." Grigory made a face as he spoke the word. He did not approve of the slang term for aliens, as he considered that Earth was, in fact, in the galaxy.
"Good. I'll arrange for the fleet to be in position. What do you think of this shipping scheme? If we cut 12 degrees off of the initial launch angle, we can improve delivery time by nearly six hours, with only a 25% increase in energy consumption!" Peter nodded the nod of somebody who's mind was on something else, in this case, the complex formulae of the polywater sheet, "The foremen keep complaining that the current schedule isn't providing enough material for a full shift's work, and I'm inclined to agree. If we up the delivery rate, it'll use less power in the long run anyway."
"I wouldn't know, Petre." Grigory allowed himself an inner sigh. The Tsar expected all of his associates to have the same breadth of knowledge as himself, and while Grigory had attempted to educate himself in galactic astrography, ship design, metallurgy, physics, chemistry, biology and diverse other subjects which the Tsar seemed to drink in like water, or, more accurately, alcohol. "Your majesty, the security arrangements?"
A stormy look crossed the Tsar's face, causing Grigory to step back quickly. The Tsar's moods were quite infamous, and it was not uncommon for some nobles to have to retire from court life for a couple weeks to let the bruises heal. A moment later, though, Peter's face cleared, "Security? Bah. Just have the guards be on alert as usual. Let the delegates keep their sidearms if they like, and make sure to run them through etiquette again. I don't want anybody storming out. The Izverg should be kept out of the main crowd...But still on the station. Just in case."
"I would hope it wouldn't come to that, Petre. Picking people up by the torso is bound to offend somebody. About the bodyguard detail..." As Grigory spoke, the flutter of wings marked the arrival of a third personage to the assembly, this time in the form of what seemed to be an oversized crow. This creature was, however, differentiated from its earthbound cousins by, in addition to its clearly intelligent and aware posture and expression, the fact that it had three legs and wore clothing. A curious hexagonal hat comprised the majority of this, since excessive clothing was found to interfere with flight, but this one was also attempting to smoke a pipe, a habit that had generally not found favor amoung the Tengu of Vostok. Species which lacked lips found it difficult to enjoy the full effect.
"Ldrshpr" The bird muttered, its hoarse voice distorted further by its attempt to speak with the pipe in its beak, its landing obscured by a cloud of tobacco smoke. After several seconds of confused motion, it managed to shift the still-smoking instrument to one of its feet, balancing deftly on the center leg nwhile employing the remaining appendage to sort through a pocket situated on a belt just below its wings, "And you, yer majesty." The bird made a brief, head-bobbing motion towards both men, the closest its species could come to a bow.
"Sunny, you know Grigory. No need to perch on ceremony." Peter nodded towards the other man, who coughed into his hand before making a slight bow in return, "He worries that you're going to take over his job, haha! He doesn't know that you lot are terrible parents, and replacing him as a surrogate mother would never cross my mind."
"You mammals...How the hell do you expect your kids to grow up if you baby them for a quarter of their lives? Kick 'em out as soon as they can walk and let 'em grow up that way! People back home said I spoil my kids because I let them walk out the front door rather than throwin' 'em. They say I'm goin' human." With a flying leap, the crow ascended to a nearby railing which more or less put him at eye-level for the humans, maintaining the same single-footed balance afforded by his taloned foot.
"All heart, Sunny." Peter leaned back against the same rail, setting aside the polywater sheet. "Since you're here, I take it that means you've got something to tell us."
"'Course. Apparently your invite went further afield than we thought. Spread hither and yon and now all the big fancy types want to come and have a gander at the savage prince who's bootstrapped his planet to the galactic stage, ha ha ha." Tengu did not, in fact, actually laugh, and imitation of human laughter was nearly impossible given their vocal arrangements, so most settled for simply saying 'ha ha ha', while clicking their beak sharply, their native means of expressing a amusement.
While Grigory was in charge of the internal secret police and intelligence gathering of the Empire, Sunny's province was much more wide-spread, maintaining a network of spies, informants and general rumor-gatherers across all four quadrants of the galaxy, assisted in this endeavor by the fact that he was the erstwhile head of one of the greatest Tengu information empires on Vostok. Much like Peter, he had not cared much for this role early in life, but his association with the Tsar had given him a taste for the business, and much like Peter, he had seen ways to improve on the old system, namely by tearing it down and starting from scratch.
Grigory was not impressed with this news, his disdain for aliens of all stripes perhaps coloring his reaction. He attempted to loom, and was modestly successful, albeit in a horizontal fashion. "We knew that from the start. People in this galaxy tend to be party crashers, which is why we've arranged for extra quarters and security from the start."
"Ah, see, but from what I've heard, we're talking REALLY far abroad. GAMMA far. Remember those nasty bugs from Venus? That's where they're from." Sunny tapped his pipe on the railing before reinserting it into his beak for another puff, "Of course, whether or not they show up wanting to trade is another matter. Probably depends on how bored they are. You know, taking a break from turning people into giant evil spacebugs for a bit of commerce."
Peter nodded thoughtfully, "Well, I suppose being a source of amusement is better than getting ignored. But if the bugs show up again, we're going to wipe them out before they pass Pluto. Two asteroid belts is more than enough." The memory of Ivan XI's encounter with the first alien species to visit Sol was still a part of living memory in Sol, the death of three hundred million Venusians and the transformation of Venus itself into an artificial asteroid belt had shocked Sol and triggered a number of rebellions in addition to political turmoil on Earth.
Grigory looked wary, but was apparently resigned to the situation, "We will just have to see who shows up..."
---
Several weeks later...
The great cloud of construction equipment was as thick as ever around Novo Petrograd, but several windows had been cleared to allow for traffic to approach the stations docking bays and temporary landing pads, which were currently heavily overbooked to the point where many craft had to be ferried to incomplete habitation hemispheres for parking, much to the annoyance of various foremen and construction personnel. Shuttles and tug craft flitted through local space, while a Russian battleship hovered over the proceedings, occasionally discharging a silent, but quite impressive, salute as more important delegates arrived. Dry firing the railguns would not, naturally, produce the desired effect, so each was loaded with special shells filled with the Tsar's own custom mix of incendiary chemicals. The heat of the rail discharge would cause the casing to fracture on leaving the gun's barrel, resulting in a display of sparks, stars and balls to delight all ages. The added benefit was that the observant could easily determine when somebody important, or at least of high rank, was arriving by the number of volleys fired from the ships 8 main guns, depending on noble rank (or equivalent,) status as head of state, or whether or not the Tsar particularly liked them.
The main event of the exhibition was being held in the only completed large habitation dome, a hemisphere about a kilometer in diameter housing a number of palatial estates. Masterfully sculpted artificial hills, ponds and rivers dotted the area, while imported Terran birds, rabbits and tame deer frolicked as such things were wont to do. Several enterprising nobles had established small stalls which dispensed crackers that the deer had grown quite fond of, and these seemed to be doing a fair turn of business. The dome itself featured an impressive environmental imitation system, tinting the artificial sky blue and gradually fading to night as the station's geosynchronous orbit took it behind Earth.
Central to events was the area colloquially known as Palace Square, a large intersection between three of the most largest palaces in the dome, each a great baroque affair stretching several blocks at its front, severe while marble facades countered by magnificently arranged gardens and sculpture obtained from only the most fashionable of Galactic artists. The square itself was now occupied by an exhibition of various Russian industrial devices, from simple claudia drives to massive industrial engines, and even a scaled down, but fully functional, shipyard which pumped out tiny model battleships, these being given out to attendees as presents. Several 'authentic Russian factory workers' were present to testify to the highly modern and wonderful conditions of their workplaces, their great efficiency and so forth, their responses to questions clearly well rehearsed. Some effort had gone into realism, though, and each had a modest amount of grime applied to his person in order to appear more genuine.
The background music of the proceeding was supplied by the Military Band of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, the Emperor's personal bodyguard, who had spent the entire day blasting their way through tunes from Earth as well as various suitable music from the rest of the galaxy, such as could be performed by Earthly instrumentation. Interludes in the band's performance were covered by a local church choir, the first performance of which had nearly dissolved in panic when the Emperor himself ascended into the ranks of the singers and joined in, although few amoung the non-Terran attendees would have recognized him until after the fact as he had been wearing the same outfit as when he had been drumming with the military band moments before. No doubt it would not occur to many that the monarch of an interstellar empire might lower himself to mount the stage and bellow his way through assorted folk songs with a well practiced baritone.
Nevsky Prospekt, the central artery of the station, a road bisecting the ring's center, was subjected to near constant military parades, the Tsar showing off virtually the entire regular Terran army, as well as examples of the Cossack and Asiatic cavalry, the new Assyrian Corps of feudal insectoid warriors, the towering Izverg with their man-sized iron maces, and the ever-showy Ansalians with their great humanoid robots, the smallest of which reached just under five meters in height. The Terran allies of Russia also made appearances, Ethiopians in gleaming gold and blue uniforms, French and Scottish blue, German grey, Spanish and Austrian white, even the Orientally attired Chinese army made an appearance. Artillery was in great profusion, and the bombardier companies of each regiment typically took the fore. The entire display was carefully choreographed, the soldiers movements perfect, every uniform turned out in obsessive detail.
Somewhat more halfhearted was the arts exhibition, the Emperor not being a great fan of painting and other such impractical pursuits. This had more or less been thrown together by a small committee and stuffed off into the periphery where, it was hoped, nobody would really notice it, or possibly would think it was a rest area. Not, of course, that those attending were not amply provided for in terms of quarters, generally being housed in the apartments of various nobles who had been conscripted into service by the 'Hospitality Commission,' an organization headed by Grigory Romodanovsky which pursued its goal of ensuring the comfort of the guests of the Emperor with the same zeal that the secret police pursued traitors. Many of the stations new residents had simply signed over their entire houses and fled back to Moscow for the duration, allowing Grigory to assign delegates to rooms based on reports of their own tastes and preferences, without significant interference from the erstwhile residents. This was somewhat useful since several of the guests required major environmental considerations, and Grigory preferred to avoid the awkward moment of having to ask permission to flood somebody's house with a blend of sulfur and carbon monoxide.
Some thousands of servants were involved in the whole affair, from the janitorial staff of the station to those employed to stand around bearing trays of refreshments with tastefully arranged placards informing those who wished to partake whether or not this particular tray contained anything potentially lethal to them. Every one of them had been provided with a simple but well made green jacket bearing the monogram of the Emperor, supplanting their usual attire of family colors and monograms. The streets were similarly adorned with banners of the Russian Empire, save on Nevsky Prospekt where a suitable banner or flag had been hung for attending states and other such entities as warranted such recognition.
The atmosphere of the event was kept light, with only the bare minimum of formality. The Emperor himself made no speeches, but moved stealthily in the crowd, switching attire as needed, appearing as everything from musician to bombardier to ships captain, speaking with competence on all of those subjects, relaying to all those who would listen his personal experiences in battle as an artilleryman and captain of a vessel, explaining to those who asked that he was no general or admiral, but that he intended to take such rank once he had the experience appropriate to it. Any who displayed knowledge of naval architecture found themselves subjected to a fearsome barrage of questions and note taking, which only ended when the Tsar declared he had had enough and wished to drink to the great future of the Russian navy.
Whenever possible, the Emperor would take his listeners to see the statue which had been positioned so as to overlook the center of events. A massive bronze horseman, situated on a large, worn, boulder of massive size, their combined height something like 12 meters. Both the figure and the boulder were scored with age, clearly ancient in origin, the horseman himself heavily corroded, but clearly in the process of being painstakingly restored. A bronze hand extended over the proceedings, its imperious gesture taking in all of the event, pointing to some distant point in space on which the old emperor's eyes were fixed. There had, at some point, been text on the side of the boulder, as evidenced by corrosion markings, but whatever it had said was long turned to dust, leaving only a few streaks down the side of the stone.
This, he would explain, was the founder of the first Petrograd, the first ruler of Russia to bear the name 'Peter', a man who had been faced with problems similar to his own, and who had triumphed over them, building his shining city on the Baltic as a window to Europe. This, he would explain, was why this new city was named for the old, for it was to be Russia's window on the galaxy, a shining edifice of technology, culture and openness.
Of course, those who wished to venture down to Earth were permitted to do so as well, although they were generally carefully shepherded away from the archaic city of Moscow, preferring to keep them to either the more advanced cities, or the pristine natural wonders such as the preserved Amazon basin or the resorts of Lake Baikal.
(OOC:
Since Helio mentioned it, I believe we can try this one again. Those who were approved last time may consider themselves preapproved and are welcome to recycle their own initial posts.
OOC thread:
viewtopic.php?f=5&t=224559
Ask here for approval to join.)
