Transcription: The address of Maurice Pepper
Prime Minister of the New Albion Protectorate
July 20, 2186 (Earth Standard)
We live in what we can only call uncertain times. The shadow of war has fallen across the colonies, and we must all, whoever we are and whatever flag we swear allegiance to, prepare ourselves for very dark times ahead.
It has been only a few short days since New Albion took under its wing the abandoned colony of LV-187, which prompted those who have held power both on Earth and across the colony systems to show their true, warmongering colors at last.
For far too long have the colonies been working for the benefit of their masters, and not for themselves. It is a state of affairs that cannot, and will not, continue. Earth has abandoned us, interested only in the resources we provide to fuel their insatiable appetites. We who work the colony worlds are little more than drones to them, toiling away in our far-off hives.
Earth and its alliances, corporations, and nation states did not realize how tenuous their grip was on its colonies. All that was needed was for someone to stand up and be counted, to turn around, and to say a resounding “No!”
That was New Albion. Since our secession from the Three World Empire, we have been warned and cajoled and subjected to diplomacy and threats, and still we stand firm. Not only that, we are an inspiration to others around us, across the Weyland Isles sector and even beyond.
There have been a number of colony worlds in our corner of space who have seen what we have done and decided that they no longer want to live and work under the yoke of oppression. So they have petitioned New Albion and asked us to offer them the benefit of our military might and political strength.
We are glad to offer the hand of friendship to these worlds. We are stronger together, our resources can be pooled, our peoples integrated, and all under the wise and benevolent leadership of a democracy that has been centuries in the making.
For that reason, we have decided to rename ourselves the New Albion Protectorate, because that is what we offer; a protective, comforting wing to come under, for worlds who feel lost and alone and frightened by the tempestuous political situation. We have built a network of colonies that have taken the decision to break free from their masters, be that the Three World Empire, the United Americas, the Union of Progressive Peoples, or the Independent Core Systems Colonies.
More are coming to us every day, and we extend the hand of welcome to anyone who wishes to join the New Albion Protectorate. Yes, we face trying times, and the might of established empires who direly wish to see us wiped from the face of the galaxy, but we are not rattling sabers nor making empty boasts when it comes to our ability to protect you.
Protection has never been more important. Indiscriminate attacks on colony worlds, once confined to the borders of known space, are becoming more frequent in the more civilized and settled sectors. Former friends are now enemies, former enemies seek to be friends. It is a confusing time and a dangerous time, especially for those colonies that are peopled by families who brought themselves across the wastes of space in search of a better life, promised all manner of things by their empires and corporations, and who are now abandoned to the chaos of impending war.
How can we protect those who join us? By taking preemptive action against those that don’t. In these difficult times, clear, decisive action is needed. Simplicity is key. So here is my message, in very simple terms. You are either part of the New Albion Protectorate, or you are not. Those that are shall reap the rewards and have their safety guaranteed.
More than two hundred and fifty years ago, a decisive operation was carried out that would bring about the end of what was at the time called the Second World War. Allied forces, led by Great Britain, staged an invasion of Nazi-occupied Europe, in a last-ditch attempt to free the world from the yoke of tyranny. That twentieth century invasion was officially known as Operation Overlord, but it came to be known by a much simpler term: D-Day.
The New Albion Protectorate feels as though it is in a similar position to the British Isles of 1944. The thunderclouds of tyranny have gathered over us. To save ourselves and our way of life—and that of our allies—we have no choice. We cannot merely stay in a defensive position. We must go on the offensive.
That is why I am speaking to you today. The New Albion Protectorate has developed a new weapon, one that will turn the tide of this nascent war and bring down in most terrible fashion any who would stand against us. It is not a bomb, nor a missile, nor a gun. It is something that our enemies will not even understand. They will not even know they have been attacked until it is too late. Secrecy demands that I cannot tell you anything more about what we have dubbed Project X, other than to say that anyone who stands with us now shall stand with the victors, and anyone who opposes us shall have hell unleashed upon them.
We are going on the offensive. Tomorrow. We launch our ships and deploy our new weapons. For the New Albion Protectorate, and all who find themselves within our circle of influence, this is a glorious moment: this is a fulfilment of our destiny. This, my friends, is our very own D-Day. It comes with tomorrow’s dawn.
Join us, and we shall step forward into our bright new future together. Oppose us and… may God be with you. You shall need Him.
The best of British to one and all.
* * *
As dawn broke over New Albion, Maurice Pepper was at his desk, reading through the reports arising from his broadcast twenty-four hours earlier. Thirteen colonies had applied to join the Protectorate, with more expected to follow suit. There had been various cessations of diplomatic ties and outright declarations of war.
Good.
They were quaking in their boots out there, and that was as it should be. He hoped they were watching back on Earth, in the corridors of Whitehall. This was how it should be done. Not kowtowing to former enemies and joining forces as the junior partner. Who knew what repercussions this would have in Britain? They would be cheering him on the streets of London, demanding to know why their weak leaders weren’t displaying the bulldog spirit of Maurice Pepper.
There was a knock at his doors and then he entered. Captain Augustus Trent of the HMS God’s Hammer. With him were three others, all in Royal Marine dress uniform.
“Captain Trent.” Pepper nodded. “Tea?”
“That would be lovely, Prime Minister.”
Pepper gave the order and it was brought in. “So, who have you brought to see me?” Pepper asked.
Trent introduced the two men and one woman standing to attention beside him. “Captains Ronald Marlborough, of the Queen Charlotte, Peter Wellington of the London Eye, and Karen Trainor of the Albert Square. Fine captains of fine Royal Marine frigates, with loyal and trustworthy bodies of men and women under them.”
“And you would all serve the New Albion Protectorate now?” Pepper said.
“Yes, sir, Prime Minister,” the three said in unison.
“There will be more defections,” Trent said. “It would not surprise me if we have the entire Royal Marines fleet under New Albion command by the end of the week.”
“And we shall need them,” Pepper said, sipping his tea. “There will be war on several fronts, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you and your crews are ready for that.”
“More than that, we relish it, Prime Minister,” Trent said.
Pepper nodded. “Good. Captains Marlborough, Wellington, and Trainor, my minister of defense would like to see you. Captain Trent, a word, please.”
When the others had gone, Pepper stood and walked to the window, looking out over the grey, rainswept streets of New Albion.
“You disobeyed a direct order, Captain Trent,” he said mildly. “With regards to survivors on LV-187.”
Trent hesitated, then replied, “Yes, Prime Minister, I did. I made an executive decision such as can only be understood by someone who knows war first-hand.”
Pepper made a harrumph noise. “You had your reasons, and I don’t intend to second-guess them, but it is my understanding that this McLaren and his new compatriots could be bothersome. I hope that, should your paths cross again, you will consider whatever debt you owed McLaren to be paid up, and will deal with him and his friends accordingly, as enemies of New Albion.”
“Very good, Prime Minister.”
Out across the city was the spaceport, and as the clock in his office chimed eight, he could see the activity beginning there. Small ships began to rise up in ones and twos. Pepper watched for a while.
“They called them the Little Ships,” he said. “Eight hundred and fifty fishing boats, pleasure cruisers, barges… anything that could float and had a shallow enough draft to allow them to reach the shore at Dunkirk, where more than three hundred thousand Allied troops were stranded on the beaches.”
“Yes, Prime Minister. I had an ancestor at Dunkirk.”
Pepper turned around and smiled. “Of course you did, Captain Trent.” He cast his arm back, indicating the vessels taking off from the space port. “These are our Little Ships, Captain. Traders, towing craft, haulage ships, tourist vessels. Stripped of their nomenclature, flying under flags of convenience or registered to independent worlds. Each one with a deadly cargo to be delivered by stealth and in shadow. To destroy our enemies from within.”
“Dunkirk was a rescue mission, Prime Minister. This is… slaughter. I have seen them. I hoped never to see them again.”
“You sound as though you disapprove, Captain Trent.”
“It’s not my place to approve or not, Prime Minister. Merely to follow orders.”
“Good man,” Pepper said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And make sure you remember that.”
Pepper turned to the window once more, watching the vessels rise from the port, swarming into the skies above New Albion, bound for the colonies strung out across the heavens that had not yet declared their allegiance to the Protectorate.
“Our own D-Day,” Pepper said, almost to himself. “I was quite proud of that one.” He looked over his shoulder at Captain Trent, and grinned. “They’re really not going to know what hit them, are they?”