The Great Tree

[dcos]

Another short, taking place in the same sort of time-frame as The Trip. I have an idea for a larger narrative but I'm really just toying with the universe just now fleshing it out. Tis a tad longer

The sun is high here, the sky is blue and clear and the air is warm but never too warm. Every aspect of the environment and land is tailored specifically to the growing of things, vast fields of things. In the case of New Georgia, the 62nd state admitted to the Union as of last Thursday, the thing which is grown is wheat, lots and lots of wheat. The fields themselves began to look like some bizarre golden sea to Leyland when he buzzed through them on a piece of hulking agricultural machinery earlier that afternoon. The not insubstantial machine was rendered insignificant by the majestic undulations of the plantation across the welcoming soil. If there was anything remotely of D'ni about the machine he had missed it. The Federal States do not share the Vinculum's fetish for all things D'ni, which is why this Age does not carry the traditional “Er'” prefix, although Leyland would be willing to wager good money that somewhere in the archives of the Amalgamated Guild of Writers the file for this Age was not titled “New Georgia.”

Leyland thought while on his tour that “Er'Bloohdymahshivefields”would perhaps be the most fitting title, but now that he's had a chance to roam the small township he is beginning to feel that that “Er'Nohtnearlyenoughrestrooms” might be more apt. He crosses his legs uncomfortably as he sits in the Governors waiting room, it is empty apart from him and three out of date copies of “The USA Today”, the “Inter-Age” edition of course. He absent-mindedly begins to wonder what kind of circulation Earth based Newspapers get these days in comparison to the many publications of D-Networks. But the realisation that this is just an exercise in self aggrandisement soon dawns on him and he stops himself. The Governors of Federal States do not as a rule normally respond well to the inflated Ego of a Vinc-Kid, and so Layland spends a few more minutes making his mindset as humble as possible and trying very much not to think of the sound of running water. Its a surprisingly easy task.

It is another five minutes of watching the locals make their way between the simple wood and metal buildings of the town before he is called into the Governors office. Everything here still seems new, New Georgia is very much a town grafted onto the surface of the world. It is a far cry from the Hive City of GitsahTiwah or the wind carved cloisters of Leitshar. The Governor himself turns out to be a friendly enough seeming man, rotund and red faced with wispy hair the colour of which resembled the endless fields beyond the borders of the town. His name he volunteers over a ham fisted hand shake, “Benjamin Adams call me Ben.” His vowels are long his actual words not so much so. It takes Leyland a few minutes to persuade him that he really would rather not have a glass of Scotch.

“How have you found our humble homestead Mister. Jones? Is it to your liking?”

“Very much so Governor Adams”

“Ben. Please” he interjects.

“Alright, Ben, its most impressive. The fields are certainly expansive.”

“That they are my boy, that they are. Biggest crop in any Age known to Man. Now which paper is it you said you work for?”

“I didn't sir. D-Net reporters submit their articles to a central pool, its then picked up by any appropriate publications.”

“So this interview could end up in lots of different papers?” Ben's joviality become clouded by something darker for a moment. Leyland considered this, 'was it hunger?' he wonders watching the Governor.

“Yes that's about right”

“Then we best get started. Good publicity is in the interests of our humble township and our fledgling state”

They work their way through the preliminaries covering all the basics of the town, all the demographics and such and carry on to the history of the 62nd State of the Federal Union. Its an interesting enough story, it follows the trials and tribulations of Benjamin Adams and (the now Senator for New Georgia) Washington McKendrick as they sought to convince a doubting President and Congress that a new agricultural Age was really worth the expenditure. And my weren't Adams and McKendrick clever, they'd got it right and everything was now warm and fuzzy and wrapped in bread in the land of the free. There are likely going to be streets named after them.

This is of course just background colour. Most of the information now being recorded onto Leyland's KI is going to be used in the intro to the article he will write, before being recorded in the Archive for any future articles on New Georgia. Just as he's about to get down to asking some slightly more awkward questions, an aide arrives informing Ben that another shipment is almost ready for linking out

“How about it eh Ley? Care to see some of New Georgia's finest produce disappear?” Adams smiles widely and begins to rise, it wasn't really a question. Leyland follows him out, although annoyed somewhat at the governor's insistent use of the nickname “Ley” this trip to the 'Link-port' might provide a good intro to some interesting questions.

The port itself is a large warehouse building with a large entrance on once side for trucks. It is a basic functional design, no ornamentation or imagination to it. It is made out of corrugated iron on a girder frame and as they approach it across the muddy tire tracks Leyland thinks that this is rather how he imagines Earth, except minus the blue skies.

“Impressive isn't it?”

“Yes, yes it is.” Leyland lies.

The inside of the building isn't any better, just darker. The trucks reverse into the building and their load, a large metal container, is transferred onto a loading dock which runs parallel to the entrance. The Governor and Leyland climb a set of metal stairs to a managers office, from which the whole facility can be seen. On the other side of the loading docks are a number of terminals built into the wall, one for each container of grain. They are an arms length away from the containers and secure looking. There are a number of armed guards hanging around looking threatening.

“You use Guild shipping techniques I take it?” Leyland asks watching a truck load a container onto the last available space on the dock.

“Of course”

“What kind of impact do you think the recent decision by the Vinculum's Steering Council to deny incorporated status to Ages of the Federal States will have on your operation here?”

The questions Leyland had asked so far had been fairly innocuous so this one was unexpected. Ben continues to stare at Leyland a long moment, looking somewhat betrayed, before replying.

“It won't. Our 'operation' as you call it has nothing to do with the Vinculum.”
“But you are reliant on the Guild allowing your goods to travel through their Customs Age and also on them providing you with Linking Books, as I understand it they only lease books intended for transport the never sell them.”

“I fail to see your point. The Guild and the Vincs are not the same thing.”

Leyland tries very hard not to be offended by the term 'Vincs.' “But you can't deny that they are very closely affiliated, they were both founded by the Called...”

“As was the D-Networks” Benjamin reminds him “Even if things between the States and the Vincs deteriorates there are other ways of attaining Books... and other ways of moving cargo.”

“Are you advocating the use of Tay written Ages?”

“Of course not.”

A moments silence is maintained between them both as they watch a small crowd of people, customs official, emerge from a room at the back of the building then after examining a container each they take up a position between their cargo and the terminals.

“Do you have any comment on the Steering Council's decision?”

“None beyond that it is important that both sides continue to move forward with attitudes of openness and understanding”

“Do you have any comment on the articles of the Constitution which the Council took exception to?”

“The American Dream provided unparalleled opportunities to those on Earth, those whom it touched enjoyed the most freedom and the highest standard of living in the history of our native Age. There is no reason that should not be true out among the Ages.”

Party line statements, both of them. The customs officials bellow are busy entering something into their terminals, the nearby guards watch closely.

“Do you think that the economy of The Federal States is capable of surviving outside of the Vinculum's linking network?”

“Of course it worked for the Second British Empire, the New Roman Empire... heck even the Ages of The Rising Sun had a fair shot at it before that plague.”

“Again just to verify Governor, are you giving your support to the writing of illegal Ages?”

“No”

“Or the subjugation of indigenous people?”

“Of course not”

“And Feudal Government?”

“Look, out here, in all these little universes in bottles we call Ages, you find out who your people really are. Its not my fault if the Brits remembered that they rather like playing Imperial overlord, its also not my fault if all those Japanese businessmen decided to go play Samurai. Out here we can make the American Dream a reality just as much as we did back home. Whether you Vincs want to play or not.” Ben gets himself worked up, starting to sweat a fair bit.

“What is this Age's flaw?” Leyland delivers the question calmly his KI silently recording everything.

“What?” The question been enough of a non-sequitur following Ben's rant that it rather throws him.

“What is this Age's flaw? The Guild never write an Age without first getting approval from the Age Writer Economists to balance the markets. What is this Age's flaw?”

“It doesn't have one. It is exactly what we asked for, an agricultural Age. The climate is perfect, the seasons just right and there is even a mineral in the water which encourages plant growth.”

“Ah... the mineral is poisonous to humans isn't it?” he sounds smug, he can't help himself.

“What? How did you? ... Alright, it is... but all water intended for human usage is purified first. That's what the plant on the east side of town is for. How did you know?”

“I've yet to find a washroom... I guess they are so expensive to run that you must keep the number low?”

Ben nods, placing his hands on the railing, turning his attention to the Customs officials. At this moment he is wishing he'd fobbed the interview off on McKinins, but for some reason he doesn't want to end it quite yet.

“Keeps the population low as well, means you have to keep your methods machine intensive, and all machines have to go through Guild Customs...” Leyland muses standing watching the bustle bellow.

“...paying Guild Tax” Ben resentful finishes.

“Of course, and means that you can't use relatively cheap... depending on your method... human labour in order to avoid the cost” Leyland's implication is subtle but it strikes the Governor as if he'd outright called him a slaver, or rather a wanna-be.

Governor Benjamin Adams fixes the young reporter with a steady gaze, "I saw you flinch when I used the word Vinc earlier, you think me prejudice? A rascist perhaps? Question is do you think that because I'm from Earth or because I'm from the South." Ben straightens his tie “In order for there to be a South young man you need there to be a North and that rather depends on everyone being on the same planet., don't you think?” No reply from Leyland another moment of staring “You disappoint me Mister. Jones Good Day.”

Leyland watches Ben begin to descend the stairs but his attention is drawn quickly back to the dock bellow as the almighty roar of a huge cargo container being linked rings through the open space. He turns in time to see the first container fading. Down bellow the officials are one by one laying a hand on the container next to them and then their other hand onto the book which is now extended from the terminal to their other side. One by one the containers disappear. Leyland rather thinks its about his time for him to do the same.