Hey. Hey. Ho. Ho. New Prussia has gotta go.
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The Doorbot warbles and blinks, getting @Rumpthwaite 's attention. The old moose looks at a display behind his bar, looks puzzled, then nods at the doorbot.
A holographic display of Mr Jules Karekin, dressed over-formerly as is expected at Court, appears before he bar.
Hello Fellow Leviathan members. I apologize for the impromtu and forward nature of this communication, but I am confident this channel is secure against the New Prussian Signal Corps. Matters are urgent.
Ambassador Honeyvenom and I have been in close contact and are co-ordinating our efforts, she at the governor’s Mansion, I here at Court.
If we act with dispatch, the swirl of factions here at Court can be brought into alignment, but Weatherby must lead the way.
The Admiralty and the hard-line Tories are spoiling for a fight with New Prussia.
More importantly, many are discomfited by the New Prussian appeal to the under-represented classes - a weakness that exists throughout the Empire. The Whigs have long agitated for broader suffrage and more rights; Should a Weatherby government emerge that supported that platform, the Whigs would be the loudest voices to rescue the “precious Weatherby experiment.”
I have planted this idea – that a fairer, more egalitarian Weatherby loyal to the Queen is the key so securing all of the empire - in all the right ears.
But only the Leading Members on Weatherby can make this happen.
Your fate – and the fate of my family Johanne and Shmuel, who will remain in Weatherby for the duration – is in your hands.
Jules looks aside, begins to bow to someone out of view, and the transmission breaks up
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As the signal fades out, St-Patrick-Hartbrooke slams his fists onto the table in outrage, standing up.
“How dare he?! How dare any of them?!”
All heads, previously turned to the hologram, now turn towards the Space Griffin.
“I spend the day marching through the streets, rallying Tee Seas and Sea Peas in the Queen’s name, laying the ground for Weatherby to remain loyal in even the worst of scenarios, and promising Her Majesty’s assistance in exchange, and that damned Karekin wants to play politics with the situation?!”
St-Patrick-Hartbrooke lets his eyes sweep the room, glaring at each Member present in turn.
“He knows as well as we do that we elected our Mayor two years ago, and there isn’t another election for two more. I would be the first to want Tidewell thrown out of that office, and I’ve made no secret of that, but doing so now, using force to achieve our political goals instead of ballots, would be an act of rebellion against the Crown and Her Majesty’s Government. And to state that his support in Court is contingent on such a rebellion?”
The Taaa’keee leans forward, letting his weight rest on his knuckles atop the table, and continues in a growl. “If Karekin wishes to ask Mayor Tidewell to step aside in favour of Mr. Weatherby, with his platform of equality, suffrage, war against New Prussia, and loyalty to Queen Catherine, he has my unconditional support. I will march with signs and dedicate all of my resources towards that goal. But that message must be delivered to her and to the Governor, not to us. We few remaining here have not enough political clout to force her out without it coming to blows. And he knows this.”
Stepping back from the table, St-Patrick-Hartbrooke walks to each table in turn. “Karekin and the Whigs have shown their true colours. They will not support us unless we dance to their tune, spill our own countrymen’s blood in the streets before our enemies even have a chance to fire a shot. And I, for one, will not be a part of this.”
The gentlebird has reached the door, and Doorbot, having anticipated his arrival, presents him with his hat and coat. “If anyone needs me, I will be out there, preparing the people of the City to resist New Prussia, united as Weatherbeans and subjects of Queen Catherine, until Her Majesty can send us reinforcements. She will come to my aid, and I will prove it, if necessary, by my own blood, not by Tidewell’s.”
With that, St-Patrick-Hartbrooke sweeps out of the room, and conversation resumes.
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Ssskidwish is grateful for the distraction.
In a quiet corner, he awaits the arrival of Dr Franksenketchup (@Old).
Eventually, in his own good (but incalculably unpredictable) time, the doctor arrives, somewhat disheveled and out of breath. The reptilian old attache discreetly hands the good doctor a sizable jar of what appears to be his dear old mum’s Cloacal Aioli. The jar passes hands oh, so very gingerly. The lizard and the scientist lock eyes for a brief moment, then with a wordless nod, they depart: Ssskidwish out the side alley door, Dr Franksenketchup the way he arrived.
Rumpthwaite misses nothing. He wonders idly to what purpose the somewhat manic scientist could put such an… inflammatory ingredient. There was more than enough in that jar to…
Rumpthwaite ceases that line of thought. As long as it was no longer underneath the roof of his establishment (and hopefully well on its way to Castle Ponsfleischmann by now), he was happy to consider it Somebody Else’s Problem.
He did not envy that Somebody.
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A CourierBot, anonymously hired and paid for, emerges from the servant’s entrance of Leviathan’s, and posts the following on the Bulletin Board:
True Citizens of Weatherby!
Distinguished Members of the Leviathan Club!
Join the Resistance against the invading New Prussian forces! Lead your own team! Strike back for the Queen!
Sign up with @Bartlebot, and receive a welcome packet with resources for building a cell and engaging in resistance. For your own safety and the safety of your comrades-at-arms, expect no further contact from other cells in the Resistance.
Our lads and ladies in the Dragoons and Hussars are willing to give their all for your Liberty, but they can’t do it alone!
Will you have a part in Victory?
Option 5 - Vive la Résistance!:
Risks:
Every month that you engage in resistance activities, you’ll find:
- an Outside chance that you are captured.
- a Longshot chance that your family is used against you (a choice between continuing to engage in resistance or the death of your family).
Essentially three checks per season against each of the above.
Benefits:
For every month that both checks are passed, you receive:
- All Weatherbean defenses are considered to be at 125% of normal strength.
- +1 progress toward your Legacy (as a Hero of Weatherby) per month - but only in the event that New Prussia is repelled.
This choice counts the same as Option 1 for bringing those traitorous dogs who choose Option 4 to justice.
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a hologram screen crackes. A visibly tired by but impeccably attired display of a member of Leviathan’s appears, shockingly lo-res
Time is short, I’ll be brief.
The many factions of the court are ready to act, but they need a push. Something I can put in the right hands, to gel the factions, that can be transmitted back to the Govenor’s Mansion on Weatherby – thereby making any requests to alter current policies – or current officials that serve at the pleasure of the Crown – constitutional.
But I can not be the author – only the vehcile.
A Proposal. A Manifesto. A Declaration.
The Hour for Weatherby has arrived – and I can not do it alone.
-Jules
@Nightflyer @daneel @nimelennar @MalevolentPixy @Hadley
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St-Patrick-Hartbrooke, having attended to his own household’s preparations in case of bombardment or invasion, is now out going door-to-door assisting others to take care of their own disaster preparedness. Madeline is doing the same in one of the Sea Pea quarters of the city, while Father and his butler Jeremy, visiting from the countryside, are caring for Luna back at the apartment.
In any event, he is not in Leviathan’s, and does not hear the message.
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Sea Teas Flibbertigibbet
Special Edition
Two Space Lizard murdered.
Found in their possession was a ledger detailing recent financial transactions within the house of Honeyvenom, several of which seem particularly suspicious.
It appears that Honeyvenom has been using diplomatic immunity to launder money while serving as ambassador. Given the source of several of the payments, it’s almost certain that Honeyvenom is likely in the pocket of New Prussia.
———————————-
Official declaration
When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people, and a few other species, to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of space, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Sandfish entitle them, they have no need of offering any explanation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all speciecies and robots are created equal, except for a few that we will decide about later, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Sentients, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. — Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government.
Basically guys, you are doing a crappy job protecting us from new Prussia, so peace out. Go find another colony to boss around.
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St-Patrick-Hartbrooke, having reached the end of Madam Farnsworth’s latest paper, looks in confusion upon that last line, and scans the “declaration” above again. The final two sentences seem to be presenting themselves as a conclusion drawn as a result of the previous paragraph, but the said paragraph speaks to “absolute Despotism,” and not in any way to civil defense. “You are being too controlling, by which I mean you are not protecting us adequately” is an utterly nonsensical statement on its face.
Not to mention the rather out-of-place reference to “human events” while seeming to speak for multiple species, and “one people and a few other species,” and “all speciecies and robots are created equal, except for a few that we will decide about later,” and “no need of offering any explanation” followed by a rather verbose (if incomplete) explanation.
All in all, it reeks rather noxiously of Space Human nationalism, which is exceedingly bizarre for a paper published by a Space Lizard. One of Madam Farnsworth’s co-editors must have taken over while she was preparing for battle against the foe.
The Space Griffin starts to compose a missive to Madam Farnsworth offering himself as a second for the inevitable duel she must declare at some point against her duplicitous co-editor, but then stops and strikes through the text, setting aside the paper to use for scrap. As an Ensign in the Hussars, she surely has better things to worry about than a duel which could only happen if both participants survive the upcoming conflict. In any event, by participating in the war, she will surely suffer no loss of reputation from actions she most certainly could not have taken herself while on duty.
Instead, he folds the newspaper neatly and stacks it next to the fireplace, to act as tinder for his hearth in the cold days ahead.
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One again, a screen crackles in front of the bar. The audio is even worse, and the image is only of a … the back of a morning coat?
The poor audio seems to only be one side of conversation.
“Yes First Minister”
wrorrarer
“Of course, First Minister”
Thaeraa aeae erowrw. feraeaar !"
“I can explain, First Min–”
An interplanetary butt-dial.
First Minister. Here are the key facts.
Weatherby remains completely united in opposition to New Prussia. Even as we speak, many are paying the ultimate price.
There is a diversity of opinion on how to resist New Prussia, as there should be with any free people. The pre-ponderance of opinion is Whig – Citizen-Pretenders need to be allowed to participate in equal measure with their contribution – but loyalty to the Crown remains strong. You do recall our street demonstrations
From Plague to Blight to Foreign Invasion fleet, New Brittania has been reliably, um, phlegmatic, in its support of Weatherby. This has allowed… more extreme… voices to find small audiences.
Among those heeding, … novel… voices are a notably Visible Hussar and notably Invisible Dragoon.
As we speak, there is a very fashionable conversation occurring at the Governor’s mansion with the Queen’s deeply unpopular two headed appointee. Understand that current fashion on Weatherby favors laser carbines over bon mots
Another development: researchers on Weatherby have confirmed that some among Weatherby’s sandfish are not only sentient, but capable of communicating across Space and Time. The UFOS science directorate was more right than they realized.
All of which means, First Minister, you have lost the ability to force Weatherby to be as it was. The old ways cannot come back. Without decisive action, immediately, New Brittania won’t be a part of the new ways, either.
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[late at night]
An undulating school of sandfish flowed and rolled through the dark alley outside of The Leviathan Club. As it reached the entrance, it coalesced into a vaguely pear-shaped structure and, as if hovering, proceeded through the door upright. The Doorbot’s sensors chirped and whirred as it attempted to identify the entit(ies) making an entrance.
"Evening ration delivery … Sirs/Madams … fish? … one-hundred seventy-eight … seventy-seven … good Monseigneur aquatic … fish of undisclosed, fish location … accompanied by NaN … "
Acrid smoke began to issue from the Doorbot’s processing center as its speech became further garbled.
Like the petals of a flower, the top of the sandfish mass shifted and peeled open. Nestled in the center of his protective cocoon of armored sandfish, Moon Shadow gazed out at the quiet and empty club. Distant concussions made the hanging glassware sway and clink.
Though his guards looked around nervously as they frantically calculated escape vectors and probabilities, Moon Shadow was calm. Important business awaited him elsewhere, yet a strange compulsion had drawn him to this location. His sandfish chariot slowly slid around the club, leaving the occasional husk of a spent datafish in its wake.
The stage. An equipment closet. A *smell*?
The door opened to reveal carefully folded haptic suits and their associated hardware. Well preserved, but sharp eyes noticed carbon scoring and evidence of significant repairs.
[you feel a sense of loss]
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[An impact nearby, closer and more powerful than before dislodges another mass of plaster from the ceiling which impacts the bar in a dusty whoompf. Still wearing his Weatherbean Civil Defence helmet, an agitated Rumpthwaite advances toward the offending spot and immediately puts it to right with a hand brush and dustpan. It’s been so long since he’s heard word from the front and fighting these small battles keeps his mind from assuming the worst. He may be too old to be called into service one last time, but at least he can perform his own duty here until the very end.]
[And should the brave Leviathans return, surely they will have many a story to tell and it’s only proper that the rooms be in the best possible shape when that time comes.]
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The doorbot hums nervously as Rockford steps into the foyer.
“Excuse me, Mr. Doorbot. Is my former lord here at the moment?”
< BOOP > < BING > Yes. Hieronymoose Farnsworth is in the main room.
“Thank you, Doorbot. I just need to see him briefly.”
Rockford enters the room. Rocco on his back in the baby carrier, his left arm in a red sling, punctuated by the black armband of mourning so many wore. He spots Hieronymoose and walks over to his table.
“Rockford!” exclaims Hieron with a bit too much enthusiasm and hugs him close. “Please, sit down. Join me for a dram.”
Uncomfortably, Rockford unslings baby Rocco, removes his sling for the moment and sits down.
“Rockford. You know you have my deepest sympathies on the passing of the Commander.”
Rockford blinked. He really didn’t expect that from the old Hieron.
“A toast then.” Hieronymoose stands up as Rockford picks up the Glencairn of amber liquid that had appeared before him.
“Excuse me. Everyone.” < ting > < ting > as he taps his glass. “We our honored by the widower of the late, great Commander Damrel Capstanturnbuckle (@pogo) here today and his sole child.”
A hush came over the general murmur.
“To the Commander and his selfless role in the defense of Weatherby. May he forever remain in our thoughts and minds.”
“Here! Here!” came the muffled reply.
As Hieronymoose sat down, Rockford mumbled a word of thanks as he held back tears.
“So, then, my fine Squirrel. What brings you around to these parts?”
“I thought you should be the first to know, that once my studies are completed…”
Rockford pulled out a letter, smeared with teardrops. Smoothed it on the table and slid it across to Hieron.
As Hieronymoose finishes it, he looks Rockford in the eye. “So, it be Nephropidae 7 for you, Hmmm?”
Rockford nodded. “It is what Damerl wanted for Rocco, so I’m duty bound to accept.”
“Nephropidae 7? Hmmm.”, mutters Hieron while looking up something on his Comm. “Excellent location. I know you’ve had excellent marks at the Concern, so I don’t think it would too forward to ask if you might want to head up my UPS location there, would it?”
Rockford’s eyes grew wide.
“No favor to you though. Just because you’re family doesn’t mean I’d let you off easy. This is good. The investors would like a nicely placed hub such as Nephropidae 7. While not a crustacean, I do believe the laws there - as custodian of young Rocco here - grant you near equal footing. Widower and orphan of the late, great Commander… how could they say no”
“Of course, Hieron. Any thing for you.”
“Well, then, Boyo. You had best finish classes with top marks. I’ll be sending you some overviews of the shipping empire we will build.”
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[ Rounder enters the club, stops at the bar and requests a fortified wine from Rumpthwaite. He heads for a table, expecting his spouse and their child to join him there later. While he waits, he starts writing, hoping to capture his wartime experiences for future publication. ]
[ After a short while, his mind clears and fades to black. His breathing slows so much as to be barely noticeable. All is still except his hand, gripping a pen and filling the page with alarming speed. ]
[ Unmoving, eyes staring into a familiar interdimensional void, he waits. ]
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(‘Beans on a Log’ becomes popular song)
[ Bean on a Log plays… a distinctly nationalistic, yet catchy tune, with an incredibly confusing chorus describing both edible beans and what might have been secret battle plans. ]
Oh glob, it’s like everywhere! They weren’t there, and I was like totally kidding about making a song in the salon! But oh glob, @Rumpthwaite I need a drink.
Success! (Undamaged in orbital battle, MIL+1)
Like, if only everyone else was a fabulous as me in battle! Oh @Tom_Ratchetcrank, what if we were a bit faster? Like do you think we could have saved them? But glob, it’s over now…
LSP is injured in the bombardment!
Tom… Tom, we’re so lucky LSP is a space lump. We’re made of sterner stuff. If she’d been human, why that bombardment that left that new skyroof in our fabulous apartment would have made her a meat pancake. And not even our witch nanny could protect her!
[ The duchess’ hand shakes, spilling a bit of drink ]
Oh @Tom_Ratchetcrank it’s like all over, right? Glob, all of this was so dumb. I just wanted my beans, and look what they made us do!
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