A pub somewhere nearby, the Council of Elders is gathered; Maitland called the mob to order. “Settle down, settle down, it’s just the rescue team come for this bloke, Captain James Cook. It’s up to you of course, Captain, whether you wish to leave or not, but we’re not putting up with any of their bullshit claiming our country for their fuckin’ king.” The roar of approval nearly bringing the roof down; and was this a tinge of sadness in Maitland’s voice as he spoke of their now legendary Captain leaving? “So it’s your first play, Captain, you meet and greet on the beach, then they fuck off, with or without you. And we don’t want another fuck up like the Honourable Minister for Foreign Affairs effort when you arrived.”
Cecil stood and took the Bronx cheer from the crowd, but actually seemed quite relieved at not having to take on that responsibility a second time; and Captain Cook smiled appreciatively at being given the honour. He knew exactly what he would do; he had played this scene over and over in his mind and was sure he had it just perfect. He was a Captain of His Majesty’s Navy, an Officer and a Diplomat, a man to be respected. He would convince the fleet commander of the futility of any attempt at claiming this land, his new home, and very politely but firmly send them back where they came from; and he was certain his would-be rescuer would listen.
“But just in case they don’t want to listen, Old Faithful and The Enforcer will be your backup.” Maitland added to a roar of approval from the mob. Business done, Maitland adjourned the meeting. “The Enforcer is waiting for you outside Captain; I hereby adjourn this emergency session of Parliament to the Cronulla Surf Club Bar”.
That suggestion did bring the damn roof down.