Transcription: The full address of Prime Minister
Maurice Pepper
New Albion
July 17, 2186 (Earth standard)
In three short years, it will be a century since the United Kingdom joined forces with Japan to form the political, commercial, and military alliance that would become known as the Three World Empire—named for the first three planets to be controlled by humanity: Earth, Mars, and Titan.
For many on Earth and the widespread colonies to which mankind has spread in the last hundred years, this will be a cause for celebration, a revelry of pomp and circumstance, an opportunity to unfurl the flags of our nations and let them flutter in the breeze of continued co-operation and mutual benefit.
So you would think here on New Albion. This colony is home to some of the most venerable and wealthiest families who helped to build Britain’s rich and illustrious history, the legacy on which the Three World Empire was built.
Yes, much has come out of that alliance, notably the formation of the Weyland-Yutani Corporation which was created through the efforts of two of each country’s greatest minds. But while the trumpets blare and the drums roll on Earth in commemoration of this successful alliance, there is less cause for festivities on New Albion—and, I’ll warrant, on many other colonies under the sway of the 3WE.
Despite the obvious benefits that arose from the coupling of Britain and Japan, in 2088 there were many misgivings among the influential families and corporations that called this sceptre’d isle home. Why? Because Britain has never been a “joiner.” We have always worked best as a leader, not as a follower. A little under seven decades before the formation of the Three World Empire, Britain voted resoundingly to leave the confines of Europe and go it alone, with remarkably successful results that assuaged any doubts that Britain was just as much of a force to be reckoned with as when it was at the head of an Empire that spanned the entire world.
They called it the Age of Discovery in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries when Britain, along with the other dominant European powers, began to expand across Earth and declare dominion over the lesser nations.
By the eighteenth century, we held sway in India and, despite the loss of the American colonies thanks to the treachery of the rebels, Britain went on to slap down its greatest rival France and become the dominant military and trade force in the world. For almost a century, the world enjoyed the safety and security of what they called Pax Britannia. Britain bought peace to the planet, until the First World War in the early part of the twentieth century changed the political landscape forever.
Why the history lesson? Because it is time for Pax Britannia once more. Thanks to the warmongering of the Independent Core Systems Colonies and the United Americas, sparked by the Hasanova incident, the universe is on the brink of chaos that brings to mind the horrors of what the world faced in 1914. But Earth was just one planet. Now the diaspora of humanity may plunge into war on an even more massive scale as colonies become disenfranchised with their ruling blocs, treated merely as resources to feed the ever-growing hunger for oil, minerals, and food back on Earth. To them we are out of sight, out of mind.
This unsettled political landscape, coupled with the so-called border bombings which have seen unexplained “black goo” raining down on innocent communities, and which seem obscured behind a fog of willful misinformation by the authorities, reveals that New Albion has only one path forward.
As of today, we are formally seceding from the control of both Britain and the Three World Empire. The United Kingdom has lost its way; this once-mighty lion is now little more than a neutered house cat, and Britannia herself weeps with sadness and frustration at what they have let us become.
Yet all is not lost. New Albion shall be the new face of Britain, here among the stars. We shall become what Britain has forgotten it used to be. We have wealth and resources and the desire to expand our borders, creating a new British Empire even more glorious than the first. We are entering into what might be called an Age of Re-Discovery—both of the principles and spirit which made our nation great, and of the galaxy around us, rich with untapped resources ready for the taking.
To that end, I am pleased to inform you that New Albion has already made its first foray into widening our sphere of influence. The valiant crew of one of our trade ships, the Victory, just yesterday responded to a distress call from our nearest planetary neighbor, LV-187, a small, inhospitable satellite under the control of the ICSC.
Our brave men and women found the colony utterly deserted, for reasons unknown. We are not ones to look a gift horse in the mouth here on New Albion, and for that reason—as you can see from this footage transmitted to us last night—the Union flag now flies over the abandoned colony. We have claimed salvage rights on LV-187 and its rich resources of crude oil.
Citizens, this is a glorious day, but merely the first one of the rest of our lives. New Albion is ascendant, and the sun shall never set upon the new British Empire. We fully expect bleating and threats from the interstellar community. We are prepared to meet them full on, with the bulldog spirit that has lain dormant in us for so long but has now come growling back with a vengeance.
New Albion must protect itself and its burgeoning collection of territories. New Albion will protect itself, and it will protect you, our people.
There may be dark days ahead for all of us, but we will rise to the challenge and the light will triumph. Today is a day for celebration, people of New Albion. If our enemies want war, they shall get it, but for today I am declaring a national holiday. You must see it as your right, nay, your duty, to raise a glass and toast our magnificent future, which starts right now.
The very best of British to you all.
* * *
“They didn’t need telling twice,” Davis said, paws up on the windowsill. “Everyone is on the streets. Waving flags. And drinking. There appears to be a lot of drinking.”
Cher scrolled through her phone. “They’re already calling it 3WExit,” she said, looking up. “There’s a Reuters stringer here on New Albion. I should go find her, pool our resources.”
Chad looked away from the video screen, which was again showing the footage of the crew of the Victory raising the Union flag on the rain-swept landing platform of the LV-187 colony. He froze the image.
“What?”
Cher looked up at him. “I’m a journalist, Chad. This is a major breaking story, and I’m right here at ground zero. A colony with the influence of New Albion, breaking away from the Three World Empire, is big news.”
“Bigger than the Xenomorphs?”
Cher said nothing, so Chad pressed. “I thought you were here for your sister. Not just for your own benefit.”
She scowled at him and he wondered if he’d pushed too far.
“Chad, I’m a journalist… it’s in my blood. I can’t ignore a story like this. Besides, I told you I wanted to see these things first-hand before I could even think about doing anything. How were you planning to make that happen? Do you know where we can even find these Xenomorphs?”
“If I was a betting man,” Chad said, pointing to the frozen image of the Union Flag at the LV-187 colony, “I’d put my money on there.”
* * *
Cher stared at the screen for a long time.
Chad was right, of course. She was here to get justice for Shy, and getting evidence of the Xenomorphs seemed to be the only way to blow this whole conspiracy wide open. But she was a journalist, and driven by needs and hungers normal people didn’t understand. A story was like a barrel of chum thrown into the path of a starving great white shark. When you got that scent as a journalist, your eyes rolled back and you clamped on, and literally nothing else mattered.
“How can you be sure there are Xenomorphs on LV-187?” she said.
Chad shrugged. “People don’t suddenly abandon lucrative, oil-rich colonies en masse,” he said. “So, they send out a distress call and by the time help arrives they’ve all… what? Been picked up by someone else? Gone home for a vacation? Disappeared into thin air?” He nodded at the dog. “Davis and me, we’ve seen this too many times.”
“Which also blows open the whole question of what happened to the Clara?” Davis said as he trotted up and sat on the rug in front of the screen.
“Clara?” Cher said, looking at them both.
“The reason we’re here on New Albion,” Chad said, getting up to pour her a coffee from the cafetière he’d had brewing. “Back on the Tark-Weyland Station, we deciphered a load of random communications that pointed to a stock of Ovomorphs—”
“Eggs,” Cher said.
“Eggs,” Chad agreed. “On a remote, uncolonized world. A private salvage company was sent to collect some ore from a crashed ship. They brought the eggs back with them—unofficially. Except they never made it home. Someone boarded the Clara and crashed it out in the sticks on New Albion. The eggs were gone.” He pointed to the screen. “I think that’s where.”
Cher pointed at Davis. “You said this blew your theories open. What did you mean?”
“Our initial thought was that the Clara had been commissioned via a pyramid of fake front companies to salvage the crashed ship, knowing they’d get the Ovomorphs too,” Davis said. “We thought Weyland-Yutani was behind it.”
“You thought that,” Chad grumbled. Cher ignored him
“Isn’t it a lot of trouble to go to?” she said. “For Weyland-Yutani? Why not just go and get the eggs themselves?”
“Because although they have big muscles and deep pockets, and can make problems go away…”
Problems like Amanda Ripley? Cher thought.
“…they still have to keep a relatively clean profile where the Xenomorphs are concerned,” he finished. “They have to be indirect and covert, especially in heavily-populated systems like this.”
“But now you’ve changed your minds?” Cher said.
Davis did his doggy-shrug again. “It’s still on the table, but I suspect Chad is looking at the possibility that it was New Albion who boarded the Clara all along. And it was them who planted the Ovomorphs on LV-187. Maybe not yesterday. Maybe some weeks ago.”
“Then it’s not a salvage operation,” Cher said. “It’s an invasion.”
“Only one way to find out,” Chad said. “We go to LV-187. If we find there’s been a Xenomorph infestation, and New Albion is responsible for it, then lucky you. Two scoops for the price of one. More coffee?”
“Yeah,” Cher said, as the strains of “Land of Hope and Glory” rose up from the crowds massing in the street outside. “Lots of it.”
* * *
“You have a ship?” Cher said.
“The Elvik,” Chad said. “Docked at the terminal. LV-187 is close, so we don’t even need to hypersleep.”
“Good. I’ll go and get ready.” When she’d disappeared back into her room, Chad felt Davis staring at him.
“What?” he said, glaring at the dog. “You still can’t outstare me, you know.”
“I like her,” Davis said haltingly. “She’s a good person.”
Chad shrugged. “She’s going to be a good ally. If we can get the proof we need from LV-187, then we can start to really think about taking Weyland-Yutani down.”
“She’s a good person,” Davis said again. “I think we owe it to her to tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Cher said suddenly, standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of combat trousers and a vest, a shirt wrapped around her waist.
Chad sighed. “How dangerous this is going to be,” Davis said.
“I get it,” Cher said. “Hurty-hurty killy-killy alien monsters with acid for blood. Running along corridors, screaming, dying. I pretty much got the picture from all your stories last night. Look, we’re not going to LV-187 to have a picnic with these things. I just want to see them for myself, hopefully after they’re already dead. Maybe grab some video and photographic evidence, then we can get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Davis is right.” Chad bit his lip. “It’s not just the Xenomorphs. Assuming we survive LV-187—and that’s a very big if, I’m sorry to have to tell you—then it’s what comes afterward that’s going to be the real problem.”
Cher raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Weyland-Yutani has been conducting its Xenomorph program for decades,” Chad said. “There have been untold trillions of dollars poured into it—likely more. They’re not going to take too kindly to what we’re about to do, to put it mildly.”
“You mean my life will be in danger?”
“Yes,” he said. “I should have laid this out from the get-go.”
Cher seemed to think about it for a moment. She walked to the window and looked out at the singing crowds.
“Sometimes you have to climb the silo even when you don’t want to.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Chad said, frowning.
“It doesn’t matter,” Cher said. “I’m in.”
Chad started to organize the necessary take-off clearances, watching with one eye as Davis padded over to Cher.
“Last night,” the dog commented, “you said that maybe what makes people human is the willingness to sacrifice themselves for those they love.”
Cher nodded, and look down at Davis. “But as we established, you sacrificed yourself for Zula many times.”
“Perhaps…” Davis said slowly. “Perhaps what actually makes us human is the willingness to sacrifice ourselves, not just for those we love, but for everyone. For the greater good.”
“You think that’s what I’m doing by agreeing to go to LV-187?”
“Maybe. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but just the fact you’re going to do it…” Davis trailed off. “This requires further analysis.”
What were those two talking about last night? Chad was about to say something when his attention was drawn back to his screen by a volley of pings and vibrations. He read the notifications, then read them again, and looked up. “Shit,” he said. “We have a problem.”
Cher and Davis looked at him.
“In anticipation of Three World Empire retaliation following this morning’s announcement, New Albion has closed its airspace to both arriving and outgoing traffic.” He looked at both of them. “We’re trapped here. New Albion is on lockdown.”