TURNING POINT
Editorial Opinion
The Times
London, July 20, 2186
There will be much hand-wringing in the corridors of power about the news filtering in from the Weyland Isles Sector of deep space and the New Albion colony which has found itself at the center of a diplomatic row which could see ripples spreading out across the entirety of known space.
It is quite possible that many ordinary people in Britain had not even heard of New Albion—just another distant colony among the stars, one of many operating under the auspices of the Three World Empire, sending back resources to be used on Earth.
However, New Albion was never just one of those utilitarian colonies on an inhospitable rock circling a distant sun. It always had grander ambitions than that. Over the past decade many influential British families, who can trace their roots back to the glorious high points of our illustrious history, have been quietly investing in the colony, as have some of our most profitable and successful corporations and businesses.
New Albion is not just a means to an end. It is, it appears, an opportunity to recreate everything that is best about Britain without the shackles and chains this country has heaped upon itself for more than a century.
So it should come as no surprise to anyone that Maurice Pepper, the elected Prime Minister of New Albion, has—with the support of his cabinet—declared full independence from the Three World Empire.
As a news organization with Britain’s best interests at heart, we should perhaps be decrying this move that potentially threatens the stability of the socio-economic bloc of which we are a part. But this country—and this newspaper—has a more venerable history and a longer memory than our relatively recent association with the Three World Empire.
So like many people reading this, we find it difficult to not sympathise with Maurice Pepper and the people of New Albion, and to wonder what effects this situation might have on the politics of Earth, and Britain, and our sometimes uncomfortable place in a world we might no longer recognize as the one we had a major role in building.
HOP OFF, SPACE FROGS!
The Sun
July 20, 2186
The Union Flag was flying over a former French colony in the Weyland Isles Sector today as a plucky band of Brits claimed the oil-rich planet for breakaway settlement New Albion.
One government source said that there wasn’t a Frenchie to be seen on LV-187 when the brave crew of the Victory put down to answer a distress call, adding, “It was like Dunkirk all over again. Whatever trouble the French had been in, they’d all turned tail and run by the time help arrived.” Sounds familiar, eh?
While the Independent Core Systems Colonies conglomerate said that it would retake LV-187 by force, New Albion’s Prime Minister Maurice Pepper showed true bulldog spirit by telling them in no uncertain terms to “Hop off!”
BLUSTER AND BUFFOONERY
New Albion could signal the greatest crisis
in the history of the Colonies
The Guardian
July 20, 2186
At any given time, somewhere in the world—or beyond—there is a leader who is a figure of fun. A buffoon. A blusterer who even their political enemies find somehow endearing, despite themselves.
These are the most dangerous people of all.
People like Maurice Pepper do not get to the office of Prime Minister of a colony such as New Albion—named last year by the Dow Jones as one of the top one hundred most potentially economically and politically influential off-world colonies—without exercising a razor-sharp ruthlessness somewhere along the line.
And when that is dressed up in clownish behavior, sly winks to the camera, ruffled hair and shabby suits, it is usually no accident at all.
The secession of New Albion from the Three World Empire might appear to be the hollow posturing of an empty vessel, but make no mistake. This Weyland Isles Sector world has suddenly become the sounding board for the entire colony network, and from the United Americas to the Union of Progressive Peoples, everyone is nervously eyeing Pepper’s administration to see what happens next on New Albion… and what might happen elsewhere.
“Would you like to see any more?” Maurice Pepper’s press secretary asked.
“Are there any more?” Pepper responded, leaning back in his chair in the cabinet office of the huge concrete edifice called the Mother of Parliaments, the window behind him looking out onto what would be the River Thames when construction work was eventually completed.
“Lots,” the secretary said. “The Washington Post has a piece headlined ‘Assault On Pepper’”—everyone in the cabinet groaned—“which is actually very supportive, the Colonies Free News Network says that New Albion is about to be, and I quote, ‘a force to be reckoned with in the Weyland Isles, and beyond,’ and one online site has even posted a quiz entitled ‘How Maurice Pepper are you?’”
The prime minster ran a hand through his unruly straw-colored hair and guffawed. “I should take that.”
“I already took the liberty of filling it in for you,” the press secretary said. “You are thirty-eight percent Maurice Pepper, apparently.”
Everyone laughed again and someone threw a screwed-up ball of paper at Pepper, which bounced off his head. He stuck up two fingers at the perpetrator, the secretary for trade and industry.
“Pipe down, you lot,” he bellowed indignantly. “We’ve got serious business to discuss.”
“At last,” the defense secretary muttered.
Pepper looked at him. “Yes, quite, Roger. We’ll get to you in a minute. First I want to hear from Charlotte, if she’s quite finished throwing balls at my head.”
The secretary for trade and industry coughed and called up some graphs on the big screen on the wall of the room.
“Early signs are very encouraging indeed,” she said. “Aside from hardcore ICSC worlds which have been instructed in no uncertain terms not to deal with us, we’re getting very positive responses from a lot of very big players in the Weyland Isles, who are keen to open up trade negotiations. Our stockpiles of oil and metal ores are looking like very attractive propositions, and prices on the former are rocketing as the markets took a major plunge the day after we announced our secession.”
Pepper beamed broadly around the room. “We did that!”
The secretary for trade and industry nodded to the foreign secretary. “Karen and I have been working closely, because we’re getting a lot of early suggestions that people might be willing to enter into deeper alliances than merely for trade.”
“Yes,” the foreign secretary agreed. “So far we’ve had semi-formal communications from New Amsterdam, Constantinople, New Kemet…”
Pepper held up his hand. “Be polite, but firm. I don’t want us entering into alliances. Not yet. New Albion isn’t swapping one confederation of worlds for another. We are not being subsumed in a faceless mass of colonies. The entire point of this exercise, dear Karen, was for New Albion to go it alone. To lead. To stand proud. We do not want partners in this enterprise. We want acquisitions.”
There was a volley of cheers and fists banging on the table and Pepper turned to the defense secretary. “Which brings us to you, Roger. Pipe down, you lot! So. We currently have a rag-tag band of highly unreliable trader types holding our first acquisition as an independent power. What are we doing to beef up our forces on LV-187?”
“We have two transports ready for flight, each able to carry thirty troops, and we’ve cancelled all leave for the Duke of Wellingtons for the foreseeable future, so we’re ready to go when able.”
Pepper put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “And why, dear Roger, are our troops still sitting on their arses on New Albion, rather than about to touch down on LV-187?”
The defense secretary tapped on his tablet and the image on the big screen changed to an image of deep space, the grey ball of LV-187 filling the monitor.
“We’ve got a drone out there sending back footage.” The defense secretary tapped his screen again and the image updated. “This is why we haven’t got any boots on the ground yet.” Everyone stared at the huge cruiser hanging in space in high orbit around LV-187.
“That’s the USC Cronulla,” the defense secretary continued. “A Bougainville Class Attack Transport. The United States Colonial Marine Corps are in a holding pattern above LV-187 as of three hours ago.”
Pepper narrowed his eyes. “I thought the United Americas were keeping out of this?”
“They are,” the defense secretary acknowledged. “The USCMC is essentially a private military service. Working mainly for the United Americas, yes, but also in the service of Weyland-Yutani Corporation.”
Pepper sat back in his chair and swiveled it so he could look out of the window. “Why is Weyland-Yutani interested in LV-187? It’s never been one of their worlds. It’s ICSC. I could see the Three World Empire sending a warship, but not Weyland-Yutani. Have they attempted planetfall yet? Any dropships?”
“That’s the other thing, Maurice,” the defense secretary said. “There’s an incredible storm raging over the colony. No fliers are going to get in or out until it’s over, and it’s completely knocked out all communications.”
“So this is why we haven’t sent the Duke of Wellingtons yet,” Pepper said. “We’re not going to get past the Weyland-Yutani blockade.”
“Not in one piece,” Roger said. “I mean, I’ve been asking you for years for funding for a proper air force, Maurice. For God’s sake, we’ve closed our airspace and we don’t have the ships to even enforce that, let alone escort a troop drop to LV-187, where we might get involved in an exchange of fire.” The defense secretary shook his head. “It’s not as if there isn’t any money on New Albion. We could have instituted a proper military expansion program a decade ago. Instead we throw it all at recreating Big Ben and the Thames.”
“Roger, don’t ever underestimate the power of symbolism.” Pepper stood up and walked to the window, surveying the colony spread out below him. “Symbols are a standard for people to rally around. They are a shield to offer protection. Symbols shine like a beacon, giving hope and confidence to the people in even the darkest times.” He turned to face the entire cabinet. “Symbols give hope and succor and comfort. In the shadow of a symbol, people will come together to fight a common enemy. In the light of a symbol, they will surrender their freedoms for the greater good, and when it comes to it, in the embrace of a symbol they will die for it, should that be required.”
There was a smattering of applause, and the defense secretary sighed. “Symbols don’t win wars, Maurice.”
“Are you sure about that?” Pepper said. “King Arthur’s Excalibur? Boudicca’s chariot? HMS Victory? The Spitfire? HMS Ark Royal? Symbols do win wars, Roger. They do.”
“And you have a symbol for New Albion that is going to win this war?” Roger countered. “Not a river or a clock tower?”
Pepper smiled. “That I do.” He leaned forward to the table and pressed a button on the intercom. “Send him in.”
The doors opened and in marched a tall man wearing a royal blue dress uniform with a wide white belt and a black-peaked cap, a red band around the white cover. He stood to attention and saluted the cabinet. Then when Pepper nodded to him he stood at ease, legs parted, hands clasped behind his back. He had a lined, chiseled face, one scar running from his right temple to his jaw.
“The Royal Marines,” the defense secretary said, looking at Pepper. “What’s this? You’ve already entered into some kind of negotiations with the Three World Empire? Why weren’t we told?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Augustus Trent,” Pepper said. “There is no negotiation. No surrender. No accord. Captain Trent—”
“I know that name,” the defense secretary said, half standing.
Pepper smiled. “I should expect so. He is one of the most decorated officers of the Royal Marines, and a veteran of some of the bloodiest fighting in the past thirty years. He is the skipper of one of the most famous ships in the Three World Empire fleet.” Pepper leaned on his fists on the table. “Or rather, that was in the Three World Empire fleet. Ladies and gentlemen, God’s Hammer and her crew now fight for New Albion.
“And the best of bloody British to them.”