Adrian Goldwert’s Yohannesian Peace

Posts · by **Yohannes** » Fri Oct 04, 2019 5:23 pm

About the book

Once every four years, over fifty million people in the Yohannesian Realm would turn on Parliament Channel to hear the elected President of the Electoral College’s message to the Members and Elected Collegians of the Realm in Parliament assembled. One year after her election to succeed her predecessor, the State of the Realm Address of 14 December 2019 is the first to be delivered by the eighteenth Yohannesian Emperor. In it, she declares the “Yohannesian Peace,” in a period where Yohannesian commerce, industry and investment can be seen in over seven hundred World Assembly member states and countries since 2010.

Nine years after Automagfreek and Lyras, against the backdrop of apparent peace and prosperity and the country’s self-imposed policy of isolation and non-interventionism beyond the International Incidents, historian Adrian Goldwert tells the stories of two middle-income families, revealing the daily life and struggle of ordinary Yohannesian households outside the political centres of the Nineteen Countries.

Contents

Prologue
Chapter 1
- Two-Power Standard
- The Servant of God [Draft]
Out-of-Character

1 • Adrian Goldwert’s Yohannesian Peace

Posts · by **Yohannes** » Fri Oct 11, 2019 8:48 am

In an imposing hallway, at the foot of the long stairs, near the crescent-shaped debating chamber, Helga was reading a letter.^[1]

The sun was down and darkness was falling fast outside. Two of the three old men Helga had instructed were running down the long front hallway, while she grabbed her cell phone from the pocket of her winter wool coat. The old man next to her offered to hold her folder and gently took it from her. She caught his eye and smiled. He looked around as he adjusted his name badge and leather jacket while standing guard, and she identified him as Retired Lieutenant Hans Schmitt. He was an armed Diplomatic Security officer, and tomorrow he would escort her safely to the airport.^[2]

Behind Helga was another diplomat who was also protected by the diplomatic service: Emmanuel Liu, an Oriental envoy who was an accredited senior ambassador, and his wife, Liu Pei-shan, who looked happy standing next to her husband. They both came from Laeral, a close trading partner of the Nineteen Countries.^[3]

Compared to them, Helga was unpractised in the ways of courts. She had only been accredited to another country earlier in the year, and her only distinguished work since then was the HASF submission to the Engineering and Science committee.^[4] She had thought she could make her mark and forge a brilliant career, but the Kingdom of Catalonia was a distant country, and that meant her actions could have but little influence on trade policies at home.

That was why Helga had come to Parliament House today.^[5]

She spoke with the important politicians: the Speaker of the Nineteen Countries Parliament shaking her hand, assuring her with a confident smile about an upcoming Catalonian trade bill while she thanked him profusely; a friendly voice from the Minister of Economy, Industry and Trade saying, “I look forward to hearing the details of your trade plan”; the delight of being recognised; and then, best of all, the pride as she watched the Emperor’s State of the Realm Address.^[6]

She was an ambassador in one of those seven hundred countries. By next year there should be at least minor trade flows from Catalonia and capital flows to the kingdom. She had managed well as an inexperienced envoy—she could discuss important macroeconomic concerns with Catalonian politicians, laughed prettily at their jokes, and even bow gracefully to the Queen—but all the same she was among the least important envoys in Catalonia, and she was the most inexperienced diplomat in Yohannes. She had received more recognition for her past work as a lawyer, because all she had to do was dance prettily with other very important persons in Barcelona, so people would refuse to take her seriously. When talking with important politicians back home, they would ask about the last ball she attended, to cover up the fact that they did not expect much out of her; and that drove her mad.

Helga had witnessed Marion Maréchal-Le Men’s first State of the Realm Address this morning—from the Emperor’s recognition of her work to the importance of the country’s military isolationism policy, and that Yohannes’ best interests were best served by keeping the affairs of other countries at a distance. In her memory she remembered the many international incidents that had harmed other countries with entangling alliances, harming their economies and hurting their long-term trade interests; and she had to laugh at all the pretty little dictators running their faux democracies claiming that their crises and wars would not hurt their countries’ pitiful commerce.

People were finally arriving from the debating chamber. Helga looked around the hallway. Parliament House, which was more intimidating than some palaces, was formidably vast. Its large debating chamber was held by four rows of tall pillars. She could now see many grovelling diplomats, economists and lawyers, trying to catch the attention of government politicians who were basking in the glory of their achievements. Her father had once told her of disturbing scenes inside the Beltway, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of what politics in the Nineteen Countries had become. When she followed Hans out the exit door, she had decided to not be as pitiful as many of them in future.

She caught Hans’ eye, and he pointed to a Monteluci waiting outside.^[7] A chaperone was standing next to the car, vaping to bypass the Smoke-free Environments Act. Helga smiled. This was the market at work. As time passed and new legislation were introduced to regulate things, the market would react and the people would respond. This was why she loved economics. Economics looked at how individuals and communities choose to use the scarce resources that nature and previous generations had provided. As a lawyer, she had to observe how people would react to the law, and how new laws would react on the community. To her, law and economics were intricately intertwined—and politics was the icing on the cake.

As Helga examined her own thoughts, Hans smiled understandingly and said, “Madam Ambassador, it’s getting rather late.”

Helga saw what had attracted his attention. Along the walkway, outside the gate, there was a throng of impatient reporters. They were screaming and shouting and even in the dark, she could see the glittering eyes of the ambitious ones. They were looking for fresh meat, and she had no interest in being their victim tonight. Part of the unruly crowd broke through the cordon. The mainstream media were the leading figures in the group, with their forceful reporters and tough-talking talkback personalities who were the worst dreams of all sane politicians—whom she could see were quickly entering their cars and immediately driving off. The startling scene would have been funny if it had not been so dangerous. She could imagine being caught up in a verbal argument or disagreement and getting too emotional with a dozen reporters hurling questions at her, each one more provocative than the last. It would be more than enough to fill the top five gotcha politics news headlines tomorrow morning.

It looked as if standing here was not the best option right now. She no longer cared that the Laeralian Ambassador was probably waiting to speak with her. She had to get out of here, and she had to get out of here now.

Hans raised his voice to speak above the commotion. “For the love of Christ, don’t just stand there—Dieter, get Ambassador Helga Weiß inside the damn car at once!”

All ambassadors’ drivers in the Nineteen Countries were used to tense situations. Her young chaperone was no different. Helga was a bit slower, and she was taken aback as Dieter roughly forced her into the back seat. He closed the car door on her, and they drove off. Before long, looking back, she could see the unlucky politicians caught off guard by the reporters, and then a company of minders shielding the cowering diplomats, and more gaping Beltway insiders coming out through the exit door. They were all in shock and just stared agape with incredulity. Unless they’d carried their parliamentary immunity cards with them, they would have had to spend at least five minutes or so answering incendiary questions shouted at them by talkback personalities on the ground. There were also the hungry reporters. She could see one approaching a well-dressed old man by the exit door, presumably a hapless politician. Watching from the safety of her car, Helga wondered, would he be able to handle this? She could not wait to see his hapless face plastered all over the news tomorrow morning.

When they had driven past the front gates, Hans grinned at her assuringly, handed her back her folder, and said, “You’re welcome, Madam Ambassador.” The chill night air was cutting her face. She could not understand why the front passenger window was rolled down, until she saw Hans’ bulging eyes and sweating face. Looking at the road ahead, Dieter was sweating too—like he’d just run a mile. Helga realised that she was the only one here sitting clueless.

Still looking straight ahead, Dieter said, “Madam Ambassador, everything all right?”

Yes, I feel indebted. Helga was too embarrassed to say anything. She’d see to it that the young man will have his pay rise next month, and that the diplomatic service will know about Hans’ good work.

“Thank you so much,” Helga said quietly. “That was my first time being in that kind of situation so I didn’t know what to do.”

Dieter chuckled, while Hans just smiled and said, “Madam Ambassador, it’s all right.” He rolled up the front window. “You’re not my first assignment, nor would you be Dieter’s first too.”

Helga turned to Hans, smiling genially.

“I have probably escorted at least fifty ambassadors over the last decade, learning many things along the way,” Hans went on. “Last year, another ambassador by the name of Josiah Johnson was sitting there, on the same seat, laughing at the reporters knocking on the back window of this car. They tried to interview him—like they’d try to do to you tonight, Madam Ambassador.”^[8]

Helga surveyed Hans’ stress-lined face. He must be nearly sixty years of age: just five years before he could withdraw from the superannuation fund, but he was not a wealthy man. He had worked for over ten years as a Diplomatic Security officer—a retired Navy Lieutenant and a diplomatic service employee—plus a number of other things he had done when he was younger.

The same thing could be said of Dieter, too. It hardly looked like he was much older than twenty. Without a sizeable student loan like several of his peers who had undertaken tertiary education, he should be dressed like a king, with a sports watch that would have cost a small fortune, and a custom-tailored suit that’d make even the most arrogant young bankers jealous—but instead, Dieter was a modestly dressed young man, while Hans was still working here, doing the same old things he had done for over a decade. If she had to guess, she would guess they’d been trying to support their families for quite some time now.

“Pardon me for asking,” said Helga, “but do you have children, Mr Schmitt?”

“My wife and I have raised five wonderful children, three sons and two daughters, each of whom have received a university education and have wonderful families of their own,” Hans replied, reluctantly.

“But today, it’s hard for young families to afford a first home, while raising a new baby, saving for their baby’s future education—and if they can afford a first home in a safe, family-friendly neighbourhood, to save and make enough money to pay off their mortgage while planning for their long-term superannuation fund.”

Helga felt uncomfortable. She was from a wealthy family and had enjoyed a privileged upbringing. Her neck prickled with guilty realisation.

“I’m facing the same problem here,” said Dieter.

Hans and Helga frowned at the young man.

“Not that I plan to marry anytime soon,” Dieter chuckled. “And no—no baby as well. But I’m finding it hard to afford a mortgage for this decent house in Charlotte Bridge over the Main. I want to remain independent, but I don’t think I’ll be getting that house anytime soon, not even ten years from now.”^[9]

Dieter sighed, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “Too many foreign investors playing with the property market in Royal Alexandria.”

Helga felt a twinge of conscience hearing this. Helga herself had never had to work when she was young, but study until she graduated top of her class, with an honours degree in law: her Dean and Head of School recommended her to the Parliamentary Internship Programme; her father the close friend of a local law firm’s senior partner—who was, incidentally, the brother of the local Member of Parliament at the time. Dieter didn’t have her privileged background. All he knew was that he’d have to work much harder to afford his first home.

“That’s the same problem my son and his partner are having,” Hans said.

“How?” Dieter said, dumbfounded. “A professional couple?”

“They couldn’t afford Friedrich Grove,” Hans said.^[10] “Their second choice was Charlotte Bridge over the Main too. They had to give up their first choice: but with a baby and student loan debts to repay, they’d have to save for at least five years to afford a fair mortgage. I had to step in. I had to step in and help because I want them to have their first family home before the prices will go up through the roof again.”

Hans’ face turned red with embarrassment. Helga wanted to say something, but how could she—a blue-blooded diplomat—try to understand their situation? She wished she could say something kind, tell them things would soon improve; but how could she pretend to have been in Dieter’s shoes, or to say that she had to worry about buying her first home, like Hans’ son, too?

“I had voted for Maréchal-Le Men,” Dieter said, “but why are there still so many empty rental properties?”

Helga knew the conversation had taken a bad turn. “The media and some GOP political commentators like to say many foreign investors are coming from Oriental countries, but the Ministry’s data actually showed that more than half of foreign property investors actually come from English-speaking countries. I, too, had voted for the GOP, because there are too many unethical foreign investors in Royal Alexandria. But ill-feeling against recent Muslim migrants or anti-Asian xenophobia is not the answer.”^[11]

“With all due respect, Madam Ambassador—have you ever been to an open house?”

Helga shrugged. “Well, admittedly no.” She looked at the young driver and paused, but finally, she decided to say, “But the figures don’t lie—”

“There are many Asiatics bidding, speaking with rude and foreign accents.” Dieter’s face showed contempt. “They are rich, and they spend their dirty corruption money like there’s no tomorrow. My guess is they’re probably from rising industrial and military powers like Greater Nifon, or—”^[12]

“I’ll not be hearing this conversation in this car again!” Hans looked at Dieter sternly, and said in a hoarse voice, “Young man, we are escorting a distinguished ambassador of this realm—not having a beer in a pub!”

Helga chuckled. “At least he’s honest.”

“I shall say nothing further.” Dieter steered the car towards National Highway One, shifted the gear stick and increased speed.

There was a brief, but awkward silence—then Helga said the only thing that came to mind. “It’s starting to rain.”

“I hope that we’ll have good weather tomorrow morning, Madam Ambassador,” Hans added unnecessarily.

“So I hope.” She looked out the car window. “The weather forecast, however, said it would rain tomorrow too.”

Dieter pushed the car to the limit as he sped along the highway, keeping exactly to the speed limit. His downcast mood had left him already, and his youthful spirit had returned before they reached the first highway exit.

He nodded and said, “To Embassy District.”

“Should be less than twenty minutes’ drive, now,” Hans said jovially. “Well done, young man.”

After what seemed like forever, the car slowed down. Charlotte Bridge over the Main. Helga felt embarrassed and self-conscious. They had entered the expensive, affluent inner suburb; and to make it worse, to their left was the exclusive Lausitzer Neiße Grammar. Her old school. She saw Hans looking admiringly but she said nothing. She pretended to read over some notes from her folder until they were stopped in the usual traffic jam that haunted the central city areas. Looking around, she could see many luxury cars. This was the rich inner-city suburb crowd made up of doctors, entrepreneurs, judges and lawyers—dominated by corporate executives and their trophy wives. “In ten years I will live here,” Dieter said.

The big Colonial houses around them showed they were now getting closer to Embassy District. Seeing the sign for the intersection ahead, Helga knew by heart the Cathedral of Our Lady just one street over, across from the main road. Hans rolled down his window.

“May I see your identification, please, sir?” said the big African-Yohannesian man.

“Here you go, officer,” Hans replied.

As they were about to pass through the checkpoint, Helga could hear the officer’s dog barking at the car just behind them. She couldn’t resist looking, so she looked back at the car as they passed. It was Emmanuel Liu’s diplomatic car. Helga smiled. It seemed he had survived tonight’s onslaught. The forceful reporters and tough-talking talkback personalities back in Parliament House had not got him.

They turned left onto Diplomacy Road and at the first roundabout, onto Embassy Row. Hans seemed to be staring at the windmill in front of him. De Moor, which belonged to the Embassy of the Dutch Democratic Republic of Knootoss,^[13] was a full-sized eighteenth-century colonial windmill located next to her house—a house that she had inherited from her parents. All the lights outside her house were blazing, as Dieter parked the car just in front of the main gate, lightly decorated with Christmas greenery. The garage door opened with a piercing rattle.

Helga got out of the car first. She sighed with relief: she was home.

A loud voice from behind boomed, “Madam Weiß!”

It was Emmanuel Liu. She looked blankly at the Ambassador of Laeral, who was striding towards them as she gave Dieter her house key. Hans put his hand in his pocket. Helga said nothing.

“Happy night,” Emmanuel said in his heavily accented voice. Then he looked curiously at Hans and grinned. “Don’t worry—I’m not here to mug Ambassador Helga Weiß.”

She tried not to laugh. Glancing behind Emmanuel she could see his wife and two minders going inside the Laeralian Embassy building.

Wanting to talk privately, she raised her index finger, giving her two minders the hand signals. She succeeded only in getting Hans’ attention. “Dieter is too busy checking his phone to notice your order, Madam Ambassador,” said Hans in a friendly voice; and, to her amusement, as they went inside the house, Helga could see Dieter’s face go red.

The night was almost over, but tomorrow, business would resume. “Impressive State of the Realm Address by the Yohannesian Emperor,” Emmanuel said. “Though there were not enough parliamentary minders around to handle the rampaging reporters after, if I may so.”

Helga shook her head. “Last year’s State of the Realm Address paled in comparison to this one. I knew Marion Maréchal-Le Men would be a very popular commander-in-chief. But the unannounced Yohannesian Peace speech—modelled after Pax Britannica as they’d say—did it.”

Emmanuel gave a small nod. He said, “My wife has been asking me all week about you, requesting that I introduce you to her as soon as possible.”

“For a cuppa tea?” Helga laughed.

Emmanuel grinned. “‘I want to meet this old university friend of yours,’ she said last night, ‘because I hear this lady is an Ambassador too, now!’”

Helga took out her pocket diary. She could always reschedule her flight back to Catalonia for the next morning. And anyway, Hans and Dieter would not mind having an extra day to rest.

“Noted,” she said happily, “I look forward to talking with your beautiful wife, Ambassador Liu. Besides, there will be small diplomatic things to talk about. I’m an ambassador now too!”

They shook hands and parted ways. Tomorrow they would talk about many important things. Helga looked up. The rain had stopped falling and the sky had cleared, letting the stars shine forth with lustre. She could not wait to see her husband, but he was probably already asleep, she thought as she headed towards the front door. She’d told him to put Claudia and Mario to bed early tonight. She hoped he’d completed the job. Then she saw the silhouettes of two children fighting through the curtains in the upstairs window. “Oh bugga, not tonight,” Helga whispered to herself over and over again.

Men can be useless sometimes.

-✨✨✨✨✨✨✨-

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2 • Adrian Goldwert’s Yohannesian Peace
Last edited on Friday, 27/03/2020: Updated a few thread links.

Posts · by **Yohannes** » Wed Oct 16, 2019 4:03 am

Chapter 1

I

The Royal Port of Alexandria was a place of great activity.

Construction foremen yelled out orders to their crews and observed the manuals of the Merchant Navy. Every few minutes, a stevedore looking for a new job would find himself staring at a new ship under construction and would shake his head forebodingly. Freighters and bulk carriers were ambitiously commissioned ahead of immediate capacity, visited by inspection officers, their intermodal containers ready to be used. The maritime facilities of the port were humming with industrial activity and financed enterprise. Somewhere in the middle of the naval buildup, Rear Admiral Jörg Neumann was carefully listening to the Emperor’s State of the Realm Address. Quietly leading a small group of officers in charge of engineering and construction in unassuming civilian clothing, he moved from one construction site to the next. He was surrounded by a pack of hungry reporters, among them conservative commentators, who were eager to report on the new two-power standard policy of the Commonwealth Navy.

They said, “Is it true the Shipbuilding Guarantee Fund and other existing navy investment funds will be involved in the government’s Estimates of Appropriations in relation to the two-power standard?”^[1] Jörg ignored their questions and continued to stride ahead, reaching the main entrance to the construction site of RPC Wiebke.^[2] As he looked at the outfitting work for each block, he instructed his officers: to call the engineers, to ask about the computer-aided assembly planners, to inspect the ribbed slabs, to review the manufacturing schedule for the assembly of the next block. For a quick summary he would ask a random foreman working nearby. The project began with the division of RPC Wiebke into countless blocks. These constructed blocks would then be assembled in their respective workshops, and put together here for construction. If the foreman could not provide the same answer to this basic question, they would be gone the next day. He left fear in the heart of every assembly supervisor, and made their labourers work harder.

It gave Jörg the feeling that he was keeping up with the government’s deadlines; and, as an old man, that gave him a lot of quiet satisfaction. He was sixty years old, and tall like his twin brother. His twin brother, who had been working with the diplomatic service for over ten years, was taller than most Yohannesian men. Whenever they met they were a perfect pair. They had the same sense of humour, too: both of them liked to tell dark jokes, and they enjoyed making people laugh. The main difference between them was that Jörg had no family of his own—no wife, no children, no extra expenses, and no potentially expensive divorce to settle. Jörg liked it that way. By contrast, his brother had raised five children. Jörg remembered meeting his brother last Christmas. “The broke man thought lending money for his sons’ mortgages had been the smart thing to do,” Jörg mused. With a new baby he’ll never afford Friedrich Grove, his brother had said about his oldest son then. To this day, Jörg remained baffled about his brother’s decision.

The weather became colder, and light snow continued to build a feathery covering over the ground, as if the sky above could hear his thoughts. Jörg disliked Christmas. He’d remember the time he had spent with his twin brother when they were young. After the separation of their parents, things became different for them. His naval officer father elected to take Jörg to live with him, while his mother took Jörg’s brother to live with her and her new husband. His brother had taken the surname of his stepfather, and was raised in a different manner than Jörg. Maybe that was why he could not understand his brother sometimes. But, Jörg quickly realised, as much as he cared for his brother, the last thing he needed now was to get sentimental over memories.

A voice behind him said, “Admiral Neumann, it is certainly a pleasure to see you here this morning, sir.”

Jörg turned around to see a young technical officer trainee standing erect. The young man looked scared but brave.

Jörg looked down at his name badge and replied, “Trainee Officer Groß, I’m here to inspect your work. How do your commanding officers assemble the block for your station?”

“Sir, I must refer to the training manual of the Commonwealth Navy—”

“It is the manual of the Merchant Navy—not Commonwealth Navy’s,” Jörg said. “Answer the question, trainee officer, or you’ll lose your assignment here tonight.”

The young man went white with fear, but said confidently, “Sir, yes, sir—blocks in stations are assembled by welding our many industrial grade steel plates and sections. We received design information from our technicians to judge the right assembly units and successfully complete the block assembly process.”

Jörg immediately liked this young man.

“Good!” he said. “That’s my boy!”

As he said those words, a slow, creeping silence descended on them. All around the Harbour, to the Old Pier, Jörg could see container and shipyard cranes being lowered. He turned and looked expectantly. Far from shore, the silhouette of a ship appeared on the horizon. The aircraft carrier RPS Commonwealth.^[3] “How far is she from shore?” he mused. Then the ground beneath them began to shake. The unmistakable sound of ceremonial gunfire filled the air.

That was when the Navy Band began to sing.^[4]

But descried the sages of Antiquity,
Built upon Her treasure dear:
But seek first the kingdom of God,
On Her eternal enterprises free!

But confirms Her Covenant,
Which she swore to Her ancestors?
But was Industry founded here,
From this Aged & Builded Wealth?

Make Her the Gun of statesmanship:
Make Her the Dreams of a life:
The Garden of Ships: O the deep blue seas:
Make Her the Land of plenty!

She shall not flee from Great Trial,
Nor shall Her Sword rest on Her knee:
Till she has crossed the deep blue seas,
With Her dear & eternal Wealth.

When the song ended, Jörg looked at the Assistant Chief of Naval Staff and Third Naval Member.^[5] He nodded and walked towards the exit gate, ready to question other unsuspecting assembly supervisors. Jörg had plenty of things to ask today: the structure of the ship under construction; its hydraulic and propulsion; and, of course, the money that must be wasted on the skilled technicians responsible for equipment and machinery. There should at least be ten sites to visit before noon. Every Marine Engineer Officer in attendance would try to show off their knowledge on their assigned ship’s structure, propulsion, habitability systems and hydraulic; and Jörg would catch the indolent ones.

Now he had a plan of action. He felt his good mood returning.

As he left the exit gate, he saw the Assistant Chief of Naval Staff waiting for him. He approached his superior, saluted, and said, “Good morning, Admiral Schäfer.”

“Don’t call me by that name, Jörg.”

“Yes—Marc.”

Marc chuckled. “Thank you, Rear Admiral.”

They walked to another assembly site, watching the construction of OGS Frieda.^[6] Her team of marine engineers had applied metal active gas welding for the nearby block joints, and they were preparing the three backing strip layers and forty-five V-shape techniques required for the next butt welding process. At this rate, she would not be commissioned by Christmas next year, Jörg thought dispiritedly.

He glanced at his superior’s irate expression. The first thing Marc did, when the nearby technicians walked up to him, was to take out a copy of the Navy White Paper and read it out loud. Then he would observe the block joints nearby, remind them of why the joints must withstand their specified load cycle and still stand true twenty years from now, and ask a random foreman to show him the subcontractor’s measurement of pre-deformations paper. His superior could ask the right questions, Jörg could see, because he had an extensive background in naval architecture.

Reading the summary report, Jörg himself realised the preliminary structural design overview had conveniently failed to mention that the project was three weeks behind schedule. This amused him. He stared at a young technician nearby. “Trainee Officer Dennis Hofmann, sir—the decision to adjust the hull geometry was finalised late, resulting in higher estimated costs,” the young technician said without being asked. “We are currently preparing a new, more accurate cost estimate, which will show the revised cost structure including design, materials and construction.”

“When will it be ready?”

“Next week, sir.” He pointed to the large assembly blocks in the assembly shop. “With the revised cost structure, we’ll hopefully avoid further interruptions; and there will be no further increase in labour and resource costs. The block assembly deadline will not be changed much.”

Jörg remained faintly sceptical, but was impressed by the impressive articulacy of this young man. Shipbuilding was a fascinating thing to see, especially with these intelligent young officers, who were able to talk in great detail about the subject.

The structural parts of the hull, which was divided into hundreds of blocks like the one he saw here, were constructed through countless welding operations. Without a doubt, Jörg thought, many small delays like what the young man had said would negatively influence the construction time of Frieda. Then he remembered the irate look on Marc’s face, and that his superior had been yelling at the assembly supervisor the whole time.

When Marc had finished berating the hapless man, he turned and looked at the unfinished hull. Frieda’s hull was designed to meet the Navy’s fuel consumption and performance requirements. This was done by improving flow characteristics around the ship. The hapless assembly supervisor gave Marc a second piece of paper, identical to the one Jörg held in his hand. It contained many production material information such as centre of gravity and welding joint length. According to the summary report, the ship would be assembled from more than one hundred building blocks at the final assembly site: a dock, somewhere in the Harbour. The construction process of Frieda was similar to the process of building from a set of Lego blocks. Jörg could see that the first, initial planning stage had largely been completed. Maybe the young man was stretching the truth a tiny bit—but he did not lie about the revised cost structure and the deadline.

Jörg went up the platform stairs to see the rest of the assembly site. In the world of ship construction and maintenance, the sight of an industrious labour force never ceased to amaze him. He could see hundreds of men and a few women from up here, but so many things had now fallen behind schedule that he felt like there was something pointless about this frenzy. Jörg realised that Marc and the rest of the Navy Board were in trouble: the targets were too ambitious, and the costs higher than anticipated. After extending the construction period twice, he had hoped for Frieda to be commissioned next year, but now he could see that even that conservative target date would not be met. Across the Harbour, in many other assembly shops and docks, no doubt, many assembly supervisors were also struggling to do the same with their new construction ships.

“Parliament will be infuriated,” Marc interrupted Jörg’s thoughts. He ranted, but most of all he was angry with himself because he could do nothing to prevent it. He knew what would happen next. The Navy needed more money. It’d give more power to the crooked liberal politicians in Royal Alexandria.

Marc said, “Before long, you’ll have one of those Green politicians protesting again, saying they fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.” He shook his head exasperatedly. “This appropriation is limited to the generation of Navy capabilities in relation to self-defence, and the protection of our trade and investment in more than one hundred countries out there—but no, according to the Greenies, we’re extreme militaristic nationalists.”^[7]

“Admiral Schäfer—Marc, we can complain endlessly here,” Jörg said bluntly. “Or we can do something about it, and go back to Royal Alexandria again?”

“The Greenies and Rainbow politicians will mock us—again.”

Jörg could not help but smile. “Even they know that force projection is power. We have the money and we have the invested wealth. Even the World Assembly recognised this fact. We need to protect our interests.”

A half-mocking expression played on Marc’s face. “They are the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender crowd,” he said. “Ruled by the weaker sex—women—and controlled by champagne socialists. ‘The World Assembly believes that the law should be power,’ they said.”

“What a load of rubbish!” Jörg laughed heartily. “The Navy is power, and wealth is power—power is power.”

“We’re two old farts, they would say.”

Marc’s resigned air upset Jörg again. He ignored his distressed superior and observed the sea. Looking out through his binoculars, Jörg could see that the waves had calmed and the horizon was more visible; and the aircraft carrier RPS Commonwealth stood still. He could see the distinct shape of what must be an early warning aircraft—one of four which belonged to her early warning and control squadron—landing on her flight deck. Parliament had authorised her funding for the Estimates of Appropriations ended 14 June 2005, he could still remember the day. The Greens had tried to frustrate her advance construction, but they failed. And now, the majestic supercarrier was here, appearing in front of his eyes. Jörg mused, “If we could do it back then, we can do it again now, and beg the conservative Freedom Caucus to support our case.”

Marc said, “You’re well acquainted with the Freedom Caucus and their influential Archbishop Emeritus of Burmecia.”

Jörg did not like the direction the conversation was taking. “Yes, the Archbishop Emeritus of Burmecia does owe me something.”

“You helped him outmanoeuvre his Rainbow critics in Parliament. ‘The Archbishop and His Mission,’ the mainstream media said about him. Whatever. I hear that he’s back from the Empire of the Nazi Philippines this week. I have said it, Jörg, and I will say the same thing again: you don’t have to believe in Papa God and his little sacrificial lambs, but we need all the friends we can get in our political war inside the Beltway—and if that means kissing the behind of that fat religious son of a bitch, then so be it.”

Jörg felt like he was being manipulated to do Marc’s dirty work for him. “You’re really afraid of the influential gays, Greenies, and women in Parliament, aren’t you—”

Parliament is in the Navy’s way!” Marc interrupted, but for a moment Jörg had seen the irrational anxiety and fear beneath his superior’s calm exterior. Marc could not stand all this wheeling and dealing going on behind closed doors in Parliament.

Jörg decided to switch topics. “Parliament is the only reason the sleeping giant is not awakened, and filled with a terrible resolve,” he said.

“So what?”

“The Greens would tell us to learn from the lessons of history—do not repeat the same mistakes previous nation-states made in their never-ending quests for glory.”

Marc raised his eyebrows. “Correct,” he said. “Jörg, the profound influence of sea commerce upon the wealth of this nation is what the Navy and her coloured squadrons exist for.”

Jörg knew he had no choice but to do this. “Do you really think it will work out?”

Marc smiled. He said, “Jörg, you know what comes next.”

“You want me to come to Parliament and make a submission to the select committee again?”

“To Royal Alexandria it is!” Marc said passionately. “And this is not a request, Rear Admiral.”

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3 • Adrian Goldwert’s Yohannesian Peace
Last edited on Friday, 27/03/2020: Updated the Greens’ thread link.

Posts · by **Yohannes** » Wed Oct 16, 2019 1:44 pm

Maréchal-Le Men
Parliament House
ONLINE

Wrote a shout out just a while ago:

“On behalf of the Members and Elected Collegians of the Realm in Parliament assembled, I am pleased to welcome the new Ambassador of Buda His Excellency Mr Ösotriev Vydelutsi. I have received the letter of credence appointing His Excellency as Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Republic of Buda to the Realm of Yohannes.”^[1]

“I hope that the Republic of Buda and the Nineteen Countries will enjoy good relations built on a solid foundation of bilateral friendship. I have admired for many years the robustness of the Budanese economy, and I look forward to increasing trade and capital flows in the years ahead.”

“Yohannesian merchants, shippers and bankers and the Commonwealth Navy will welcome with open arms the opportunity to engage in commerce with their Budanese counterparts beyond the International Incidents.”

—@Maréchal-Le Men Parliament House in Business to the Select Committee on Navy and Merchant Navy.

#YohannesianPeace #NationStates2019

19K Hits

-+-PUNCH CORPORATION ALL RIGHTS RESERVED-+-

II

Archbishop Emeritus Thaddäus Neumayer looked with dismay at the two frontbench Members of Parliament in the debating chamber. “They’re congratulating the illegitimate head of government,” said Günter. “She is the sacrilegious pestilence, Your Grace.”^[2]

They were quietly minding their own business in the back seats of Parliament House, Archbishop Emeritus Thaddäus in his purple robes and his archdeacon Günter holding his golden mitre, flanked by half a dozen of his most trusted southern presbyters. They had come here to represent the Father in heaven and his Church in Burmecia, under the watchful eye of the Son of God, and the New Testament, which said that the abusers of themselves with mankind in this world shall not inherit the kingdom of heaven; but he could clearly see the lesbian reprobate occupying the Chancellor’s front seat this morning.

“The sinner and her Rainbow movement may have won a battle, but the war has just begun,” Thaddäus said between clenched teeth. He wished Chancellor Annabelle Thorndon-Stevensonn could not see him. It was embarrassing enough for him to be in the same room with a homosexual woman, but the thought of seeing her occupying her seat on the government bench made his spine tingle with fear. Nursing his wounded pride, Thaddäus remembered his confrontation with the gay Mayor of Royal Alexandria. He did not want a repeat of the most embarrassing moment of his life.^[3]

Three late members entered the chamber through the front door to the right of the presiding officer’s chair and walked towards him. They were dressed in very expensive-looking suits, as though they were about to attend an exclusive fine art and jewellery auction in Charlotte Bridge over the Main, but none was dressed as well as the decorated naval officer trailing behind. Sitting in the same row as Thaddäus, they looked at him expectantly, nodding indicatively until he realised who they were.

The oldest Freedom Caucus politician gave a note to Günter.

Thaddäus hated the Freedom Caucus. Like every politician they were an opportunist bunch, and there was always that vague air of corruption hiding in the dark corners of their bedroom: an older man who had divorced his dying wife so he could commit sin with his much younger secretary, or an ex-businessman who had defrauded his clients of more than a million dollar. Worst of all, Freedom Caucus members supported the Church not because they believed in the final judgment, but because they wanted to keep their million-dollar allowance and pension fund. They left a trail of social misery in their wakes, and he hated their pride and arrogance—their worldly corruption and perverse speech.

He looked back at the gathering members in front of him just in time for the start of the proceedings. The Speaker had read the prayer and the sitting had begun.^[4] At first he simply stared at Annabelle Thorndon-Stevensonn. He raked the lesbian Chancellor a long, steady gaze through vengeful eyes. After a few moments something else caught his eye. The naval officer next to the old Freedom Caucus politician rose. He started to walk to the front of the chamber. Thaddäus was a little bemused. He’s presenting a submission. What would happen now?

At last the Speaker raised his hand and the Executive Clerk stood, holding the Shield of Claudia in his right hand and the Sword of Yohannes in his left.^[5] As soon as the naval officer had seated himself beside the clerk, Speaker Saul Ryan began. “Before I welcome the Ambassador of Buda, who are present in the Speaker’s gallery, I have received a submission from Rear Admiral Jörg Neumann, with a supporting letter from the Honourable Bernhardt Kempf of the Parliamentary Freedom Caucus, seeking to debate under Standing Order 53 business under urgency, the Member’s individual minor bill—the proposal for the procurement of services or work in which vessels are used, and to authorise the acquisition of new vessels and amend the composition of the Commonwealth Navy and its Merchant Navy.”^[6]^[7]

The crowd in the chamber gasped.

“Your Grace,” Günter whispered to Thaddäus. “The Caucus Chair wishes to speak with you immediately after the motion has lapsed.”

Everyone turned to stare at the seated naval officer. Thaddäus could see that the man was nervous: his old face had turned red with embarrassment, and his hands gripped the sides of his chair tightly. He had accepted to be a party to this farcical show. His part would soon come, to show why the crowd in this chamber should support his submission. As a private citizen, he’d have his say and try to influence the laws passed by Parliament.

Now standing, Bernhardt Kempf said loudly, “I move, that Parliament make progress on business under urgency, and hear the submission of Rear Admiral Jörg Neumann.”

The naval officer rose to address the chamber. “To the Members in this present Parliament assembled,” he said. “It is both an honour and a privilege to stand before you today as we discuss the importance of the Commonwealth Navy to Yohannesian prosperity and stability. Our navy is governed by the Continental Navy Act 1812, which came into effect on 17 February 1815. The main threats to our economic and national security have changed considerably since the early days of independence. Regional coups d’etat and the emergence of cyber-threats have highlighted the need to keep up with changes.”

Speaker Ryan looked at the Rear Admiral, then clapped his hands loudly.

Jörg went on. “In 1918 Great Britain commissioned the first dedicated aircraft carrier, while it was just seventy years or so ago that a nuclear bomb was detonated over Hiroshima by the United States of America. As we look back, and say to our children, ‘We didn’t have this back then,’ it can be said that the more things change, the more stays the same. As a matter of principle the Commonwealth Navy Board believes that our Navy today is in good shape, and that we will have over the next several years a small but definite window of opportunity to try to tackle head-on the emerging threats of this century. The aims of the Two-Ocean Navy Bill—or as the media would like to call it, the Two-Power Standard—are to modernise the Navy’s critical infrastructure vis-à-vis cybersecurity, to amend the original Continental Navy Act 1812 for the purposes of fleet modernisation and the rapid expansion of overhaul, repair and sustainment assets; and to ultimately double the size of the Commonwealth Navy by 2030.”

So that was why he had begged the Freedom Caucus for support, Thaddäus realised. He glanced at Bernhardt, and from the corner of his eye saw the caucus chairman scribbling another note for him. “Jörg and his ragtag band of Navy followers would need my support for the first reading of this overarching bill,” Thaddäus mused. They were ambitious.

All the same, without the guarantee of support from the majority of Marion Maréchal-Le Men’s Grand Coalition, the Navy Board’s hope would be dashed. If Chancellor Annabelle Thorndon-Stevensonn had already committed herself to oppose Jörg’s submission, she would demolish the Navy Board, and with the help of her confidence-and-supply partner, she’d also be able to fight both the Church and the entire Freedom Caucus to a bloody draw.^[8] Thaddäus by himself would not be able to help this sad, sad little Navy man. The paleoconservative Freedom Caucus and the Church could not possibly face the combined might of the hippie environmental and lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender movements.

He saw the Speaker’s wife, Janna Margaret, watching from the press gallery. She had been the second most powerful woman in the Grand Coalition since her husband won the speakership four years or so ago. Would she convince Speaker Ryan to endorse the ambitious submission of a senior Navy officer? What a stupid question, Thaddäus surmised. Without a doubt she would—her son was a celebrated junior civil engineering officer in the Navy.

He returned his attention to Rear Admiral Jörg Neumann and the frontbench members.

Jörg was now reading from an appropriation proposal paper.^[9] “The visions and goals of this Vote Navy and Merchant Navy proposal are simple,” he said. “The protection of Yohannesian commerce, industry and investment in over one hundred World Assembly member states, and the safety of our diplomatic missions in sometimes unstable, dynamic regions such as the Orient. Along the way, the Navy must maintain its alignment and respect the existence of navies from our historical trade partners, such as Allanea, Automagfreek, Knootoss, Stevid and The State of Monavia—”

“We don’t have the time to wait for you to list them all!” Annabelle heckled loudly.

Speaker Ryan said, “Order! The Chancellor will resume her seat—”

“I raise a point of order, Mr Speaker.” Green Party Leader Zoe Nilsson stood. “I seek leave to table a collection of pamphlets relating to Rear Admiral Jörg Neumann’s significant Neocon sentiment.”

The Christian Democratic frontbench roared with laughter, stamping their feet and clapping their hands.

“Order!” Speaker Ryan pounded the gavel on his desk. “I say—order! I cannot accept seeing a senior member—yes, I am looking straight at you, Ms Nilsson—distracting this assembly with their tomfoolery.”

“She wants migrants from the Orient in so long as they don’t live next to her house!” the Grand Coalition frontbench shouted. “Bring the Sand Desert in too! We must save them all from global warming—”

“Order!” Speaker Ryan interjected. “I have warned an erring member before, in that if a point of order has been raised, I will have to answer first.” He looked up at the assembled press gallery and paused, but finally, he decided to say, “And unless I can expect some assistance from members on both sides, I will be forced to remove every offending member from this assembly—especially when we have visitors from Buda and Laeral watching from the gallery.”

The sad, sad little Navy Admiral stood silent through it all. Jörg was a famed senior commissioned officer. Thaddäus could not understand why a person like him would want to waste their time here. Trying to convince the sinners of the Navy’s needs was like squashing water. He might just as well talk to a brick wall.

Jörg said, “Thank you, Mr Speaker, for your support and allowing me to address the members in this present Parliament assembled again.” He waved a piece of paper as if to indicate its significance. “Turning to long-term funding, this proposal will draw from existing funds—our invested wealth—such as the Shipbuilding Guarantee Fund and the Industrial Care and Revitalisation Fund, which Parliament have left largely untouched.^[10] Our country has enjoyed an extremely strong net foreign asset position since the dark days of 2012. We must invest more of our wealth back into protecting our maritime trade routes.”

While Jörg was speaking, Thaddäus read the note Günter gave him. It began by congratulating him on becoming the Ambassador to the Nazi Philippines. He did not know where Bernhardt Kempf was all this time, but Thaddäus was quite sure the media had sensationalised his appointment for weeks. Thaddäus was famous. The Freedom Caucus Chair should know not to say such stupid things. The Freedom Caucus had nominated him as an ambassador, and now they were asking for his support in return. Thaddäus would wait. The signs of God would guide him, and through their guidance he could do no wrong.

Jörg continued. “This nation’s investment and wealth funds in many foreign economies were created to partially prefund future government spending and help smooth the cost of the—otherwise unaffordable—Commonwealth Navy between today’s taxpayers and future generations. Parliament is set to take money from these funds by the second half of 2035 as they continue to increase in size in the fifteen-year period to 2050. By statutory obligations the Bank of Yohannes’ international investment vehicles and our taxpayers must then resume their contributions, and Parliament must close the coffers of these funds again, until they are forecast to peak in size to real gross domestic product by 2060.”

Out-of-Character (OOC) information: Under construction draft; posted for safe record keeping.

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