A Shift in Priorities - Sequel
- Thread starter rast
- Start date
A pessimist is an optimist in full possession of the facts.
(Arthur Schopenhauer)
As January 1958 was progressing into February, people in Central Europe were witnessing a picture-book winter. In Stettin, at the KWI Met, Fritz Loewe was exalted: the polar jets had stopped meandering and were flowing in almost straight line, slamming one Atlantic cyclone after another against the Eurasian landmass. The cyclones were bringing rain and sleet to the nearshore lowlands, but heavy snow to the uplands.
At the same time, it wasn’t excessively cold. In Stettin, the thermometer was registering temperatures of just barely below zero Celsius by day and moderate minus five or six degrees by night. It looked like a very stable winter weather situation. There seemed to be no reason for worry. One should relax and enjoy snow sports. – Well, Loewe was planning another expedition to Greenland. That was going to involve some real snow sports…
Loewe thought the Baffin-Barren-Grounds Glacier was stabilising the system. It had become part of the polar vortex – and appeared to be the reason behind the straightening of the polar jet streams. The vortex had grown colder because of it – and the greater the difference in temperature between cold and warm zones the straighter the jets seemed to flow along the borderline.
Nevertheless, Loewe wasn’t convinced that everything was as harmless as it looked. Therefore, he intended to check the facts on Greenland – once again. – If the glaciers were growing, the system hardly could be called stable. Which mechanism made them grow? That was the question harrowing Loewe. Whatever GQDD had thrown into the sky had already come down – for sure. So, why was the system behaving as if it was preparing a cold stage?
The anomaly was Europe indeed, where the Weizsäcker Sun had removed the Scandinavian glaciers – and those on Novaya Zemlya. They were growing again, but this growth was going to take a long time. – North America, the other great landmass near the North Pole, however, seemed to be getting ready for a cold stage. It was unsettling. He had to find out more about the mechanisms at work…
(Arthur Schopenhauer)
As January 1958 was progressing into February, people in Central Europe were witnessing a picture-book winter. In Stettin, at the KWI Met, Fritz Loewe was exalted: the polar jets had stopped meandering and were flowing in almost straight line, slamming one Atlantic cyclone after another against the Eurasian landmass. The cyclones were bringing rain and sleet to the nearshore lowlands, but heavy snow to the uplands.
At the same time, it wasn’t excessively cold. In Stettin, the thermometer was registering temperatures of just barely below zero Celsius by day and moderate minus five or six degrees by night. It looked like a very stable winter weather situation. There seemed to be no reason for worry. One should relax and enjoy snow sports. – Well, Loewe was planning another expedition to Greenland. That was going to involve some real snow sports…
Loewe thought the Baffin-Barren-Grounds Glacier was stabilising the system. It had become part of the polar vortex – and appeared to be the reason behind the straightening of the polar jet streams. The vortex had grown colder because of it – and the greater the difference in temperature between cold and warm zones the straighter the jets seemed to flow along the borderline.
Nevertheless, Loewe wasn’t convinced that everything was as harmless as it looked. Therefore, he intended to check the facts on Greenland – once again. – If the glaciers were growing, the system hardly could be called stable. Which mechanism made them grow? That was the question harrowing Loewe. Whatever GQDD had thrown into the sky had already come down – for sure. So, why was the system behaving as if it was preparing a cold stage?
The anomaly was Europe indeed, where the Weizsäcker Sun had removed the Scandinavian glaciers – and those on Novaya Zemlya. They were growing again, but this growth was going to take a long time. – North America, the other great landmass near the North Pole, however, seemed to be getting ready for a cold stage. It was unsettling. He had to find out more about the mechanisms at work…
The world’s population will multiply more rapidly than the available food supply.
(Thomas Malthus)
Pursuing information he had picked up during his sojourn in Lagos, Anton Mbwesi had set out for Ala Ka Kuma. That nation of nomadic herdsmen and small farmers was grinding poor, but was nevertheless crawling with children, he had been told. His snitchers had claimed this was so because Ala Ka Kuma was a Muslim country. The northern regions of the former British colony of Nigeria, those predominantly inhabited by Muslims, had joined Ala Ka Kuma when it had formed after the breakup of the French colonial empire in Africa. However, there still were many ties to those regions; therefore, one knew what one was talking about.
These Muslims had no grasp of population control. Contraception was unknown. While Middle Africa had successfully constrained population growth, the Ala Ka Kumans were multiplying like rabbits. – Well, Mbwesi had not become a top journalist for failing to do thorough research. First of all, Nigeria – the newly formed commonwealth – was also teeming with children, although mainly Christian and not Muslim. Getting hold of data had proven difficult; there was no centralised data collection. On local level, though, one easily could obtain the coveted information – unsorted and non-standardised.
Now, Middle Africa currently had a fertility rate of 2.4. That promised a very slow population growth. – But the Nigerian FR seemed to be close to 3.7, meaning a doubling period of 35 years. Hence, in 1993, the Commonwealth of Nigeria was due to have 70 million inhabitants – as opposed to mere 60 million Middle Africans! That was alarming, wasn’t it? – However, his informants hadn’t been lying, not at all. By his random sampling, Ala Ka Kuma’s FR had to be at 5.8. They were due to double in twenty years – or even less, as their population was going to be very young, with almost all people in reproduction age.
It was startling, really. He should have a closer look into these matters. What about the Union of South Africa? And Egypt? And the WAU? – The editorial team of the Geschwätzige Antilope had signalled their lack of interest; they were more interested in society news and skit. But the Dualaer Tageblatt was ready to fund his travels – and publish his findings. – Having a stable population number was a good thing – not least for the environment. But if all your neighbours were multiplying like mad?
(Thomas Malthus)
Pursuing information he had picked up during his sojourn in Lagos, Anton Mbwesi had set out for Ala Ka Kuma. That nation of nomadic herdsmen and small farmers was grinding poor, but was nevertheless crawling with children, he had been told. His snitchers had claimed this was so because Ala Ka Kuma was a Muslim country. The northern regions of the former British colony of Nigeria, those predominantly inhabited by Muslims, had joined Ala Ka Kuma when it had formed after the breakup of the French colonial empire in Africa. However, there still were many ties to those regions; therefore, one knew what one was talking about.
These Muslims had no grasp of population control. Contraception was unknown. While Middle Africa had successfully constrained population growth, the Ala Ka Kumans were multiplying like rabbits. – Well, Mbwesi had not become a top journalist for failing to do thorough research. First of all, Nigeria – the newly formed commonwealth – was also teeming with children, although mainly Christian and not Muslim. Getting hold of data had proven difficult; there was no centralised data collection. On local level, though, one easily could obtain the coveted information – unsorted and non-standardised.
Now, Middle Africa currently had a fertility rate of 2.4. That promised a very slow population growth. – But the Nigerian FR seemed to be close to 3.7, meaning a doubling period of 35 years. Hence, in 1993, the Commonwealth of Nigeria was due to have 70 million inhabitants – as opposed to mere 60 million Middle Africans! That was alarming, wasn’t it? – However, his informants hadn’t been lying, not at all. By his random sampling, Ala Ka Kuma’s FR had to be at 5.8. They were due to double in twenty years – or even less, as their population was going to be very young, with almost all people in reproduction age.
It was startling, really. He should have a closer look into these matters. What about the Union of South Africa? And Egypt? And the WAU? – The editorial team of the Geschwätzige Antilope had signalled their lack of interest; they were more interested in society news and skit. But the Dualaer Tageblatt was ready to fund his travels – and publish his findings. – Having a stable population number was a good thing – not least for the environment. But if all your neighbours were multiplying like mad?
How can great minds be produced in a country where the test of great minds is agreeing in the opinion of small minds?
(John Stuart Mill)
These religious types were an outrage, thought Chayna Kalischer. Nai Bialystok was a modern town, on a par with Moscow and Berlin, only somewhat smaller perhaps. But these sidecurls-wearing scapegraces were making it look like one of the lice-ridden shtetls of old. What were they producing – apart from devout patter? Nothing! The rule of Frum Leitelech and Rechts Weg, the political branches of the faithful morons, had bestowed years of stagnation – and even downswing – on the Heymshtot. A pity one couldn’t shunt them off to Eretz Yisrael. That should be the proper place for them: perpetually sticking prayer notes into the Kotel wouldn’t overtax them. Only that the insidious Ottomans didn’t take them…
But in Yerusholayim they would be, at least, out of the way – and not blemish the capital and the country. Lazy shmocks! Chayna was a keen Linksbundist – and second undersecretary in the ministry of public works. Her main task was building the autovege. These avtomagistrály were a Russian thing. The Dudowitz-Schwartzschild government had decided to link the Heymshtot to the Russian highway network. It was considered important for the economy. The religious dudes were against the construction, of course. The Holy Writ didn’t make mention of autovege, hence they had to be hellish stuff.
So, you had not only tree-huggers but also praying mobs blockading construction sites. Chayna could – to a certain degree – understand the reasoning of the ecological crusaders. And there were ways to come to an agreement with them: trading natural reserves for construction zones, constructing wildlife crossings, et cetera… But there was no way to come to terms with the Holy Joes. They were not amenable to rational arguments. – Unfortunately, the frigging police were treating them with kid gloves. The same officers who had no qualms bloodying up Linksbundists and other decent folks were regularly sparing the bigots. Yeah, most of them had been recruited during the period of governance of Frum Leitelech and Rechts Weg.
One would have to purge them on occasion. Yet, one thing at a time – and first things first. The Russians had agreed to build an avtomagistrál from Baranavichy to the border east of Slonim. One had to meet them there with the autoveg coming from Bialystok. It was a matter of pride. These capitalists must not believe socialists were laggards.
(John Stuart Mill)
These religious types were an outrage, thought Chayna Kalischer. Nai Bialystok was a modern town, on a par with Moscow and Berlin, only somewhat smaller perhaps. But these sidecurls-wearing scapegraces were making it look like one of the lice-ridden shtetls of old. What were they producing – apart from devout patter? Nothing! The rule of Frum Leitelech and Rechts Weg, the political branches of the faithful morons, had bestowed years of stagnation – and even downswing – on the Heymshtot. A pity one couldn’t shunt them off to Eretz Yisrael. That should be the proper place for them: perpetually sticking prayer notes into the Kotel wouldn’t overtax them. Only that the insidious Ottomans didn’t take them…
But in Yerusholayim they would be, at least, out of the way – and not blemish the capital and the country. Lazy shmocks! Chayna was a keen Linksbundist – and second undersecretary in the ministry of public works. Her main task was building the autovege. These avtomagistrály were a Russian thing. The Dudowitz-Schwartzschild government had decided to link the Heymshtot to the Russian highway network. It was considered important for the economy. The religious dudes were against the construction, of course. The Holy Writ didn’t make mention of autovege, hence they had to be hellish stuff.
So, you had not only tree-huggers but also praying mobs blockading construction sites. Chayna could – to a certain degree – understand the reasoning of the ecological crusaders. And there were ways to come to an agreement with them: trading natural reserves for construction zones, constructing wildlife crossings, et cetera… But there was no way to come to terms with the Holy Joes. They were not amenable to rational arguments. – Unfortunately, the frigging police were treating them with kid gloves. The same officers who had no qualms bloodying up Linksbundists and other decent folks were regularly sparing the bigots. Yeah, most of them had been recruited during the period of governance of Frum Leitelech and Rechts Weg.
One would have to purge them on occasion. Yet, one thing at a time – and first things first. The Russians had agreed to build an avtomagistrál from Baranavichy to the border east of Slonim. One had to meet them there with the autoveg coming from Bialystok. It was a matter of pride. These capitalists must not believe socialists were laggards.
Firmness in decision is often merely a form of stupidity. It indicates an inability to think the same thing twice.
(H. L. Mencken)
Prince Mohammad Ebrahim Mirza Amirteymour Kalali, the Persian prime minister, was not a man to be easily nonplussed. But this delegation of divines – Ayatollah Sayyed Husayn Borujerd, Ayatollah Abol-Ghasem Kashani and Sayyid Ruhollah Mūsavi Khomeini – was apt to baffle him – or rather their demand was. They had asked for an appointment in order to discuss matters with him, matters of national interest. That in itself wasn’t unusual; it used to happen about every other month.
The government of His Majesty Fereydoun Mirza Shah Qajar was taking great care to observe the rules of Islam. It was the righteous thing to do. One couldn’t separate politics from religion, they were one. And the ayatollahs were wondrously inventive in making ends match – normally. But this time, the learned men seemed to be out for spat. Okay, one had to concede that they weren’t casually demanding something; they had zealously studied the issue and had discussed it for a long time. Their finding, however, was devastating: the oil industry had to be nationalised.
Now, Persia was doing extremely well in the partnership with Hokushinkai Mining Inc. The Japanese were exploiting the oil wells – and were in turn funding the development of the country. That had worked extremely well for three decades. – Why then was it suddenly indispensable to nationalise the oil industry? Hokushinkai, obviously, was the goose that laid golden eggs. – Well, the Japanese were infidels, howling savages so to speak, a people without the book. Allah had, beyond any doubt, stricken them – with the big bomb, with a great earthquake and with a plague of cancer. The signs were explicit: the Japanese could no longer own Persian property.
Okay, this issue was clear then, even if extremely unpleasant. But how should Persia recompense Hokushinkai? It definitely was going to ruin the country. – Oh, it was not the task of the Mullahs to arrange such business. But why should the Japanese be recompensed at all? They could, of course, continue using the infrastructure – and rake in the profits. It was not imperative that they leave the country, only the property had to change owner. In future, hence, they should pay rent. And – perhaps – this rent could be lowered? Just to provide recompense?
After the learned men had left, Amirteymour Kalali called for Mohammad Mosaddegh, the minister for energy and infrastructure. Mosaddegh was chummy with the Hokushinkai dudes. It would be his job to break the news to them. – Really, one could only hope the Japanese possessed a sense of humour.
(H. L. Mencken)
Prince Mohammad Ebrahim Mirza Amirteymour Kalali, the Persian prime minister, was not a man to be easily nonplussed. But this delegation of divines – Ayatollah Sayyed Husayn Borujerd, Ayatollah Abol-Ghasem Kashani and Sayyid Ruhollah Mūsavi Khomeini – was apt to baffle him – or rather their demand was. They had asked for an appointment in order to discuss matters with him, matters of national interest. That in itself wasn’t unusual; it used to happen about every other month.
The government of His Majesty Fereydoun Mirza Shah Qajar was taking great care to observe the rules of Islam. It was the righteous thing to do. One couldn’t separate politics from religion, they were one. And the ayatollahs were wondrously inventive in making ends match – normally. But this time, the learned men seemed to be out for spat. Okay, one had to concede that they weren’t casually demanding something; they had zealously studied the issue and had discussed it for a long time. Their finding, however, was devastating: the oil industry had to be nationalised.
Now, Persia was doing extremely well in the partnership with Hokushinkai Mining Inc. The Japanese were exploiting the oil wells – and were in turn funding the development of the country. That had worked extremely well for three decades. – Why then was it suddenly indispensable to nationalise the oil industry? Hokushinkai, obviously, was the goose that laid golden eggs. – Well, the Japanese were infidels, howling savages so to speak, a people without the book. Allah had, beyond any doubt, stricken them – with the big bomb, with a great earthquake and with a plague of cancer. The signs were explicit: the Japanese could no longer own Persian property.
Okay, this issue was clear then, even if extremely unpleasant. But how should Persia recompense Hokushinkai? It definitely was going to ruin the country. – Oh, it was not the task of the Mullahs to arrange such business. But why should the Japanese be recompensed at all? They could, of course, continue using the infrastructure – and rake in the profits. It was not imperative that they leave the country, only the property had to change owner. In future, hence, they should pay rent. And – perhaps – this rent could be lowered? Just to provide recompense?
After the learned men had left, Amirteymour Kalali called for Mohammad Mosaddegh, the minister for energy and infrastructure. Mosaddegh was chummy with the Hokushinkai dudes. It would be his job to break the news to them. – Really, one could only hope the Japanese possessed a sense of humour.
Could they fight a war so far away with so may strains? plus that might bring the ottomans and germans into it...that would be fun
They could also bring in the Indians. Aren't they in the same faction? "The League of Aryans" or something.
With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?
(Oscar Wilde)
These Kuryérs were true sardine tins, mused Podporuchik Igor Vladimirovich Zamsolov. Originally designed for a crew of two, they could – at a pinch – accommodate three. But a lunar circumnavigation was not a pinch. It was a veritable expedition. And in addition, to cap it all, one was supposed to conduct EVA. Zamsolov was sitting in the central position, the one added supplementally. To his left sat Yelena Borisova Folkin, to the right Anton Petrovich Chekhovsky. It was uncomfortable, damned uncomfortable. In compensation, he was the one designated for EVA.
It was the third circumnavigation done by NASA. The first one had been accomplished with only two kosmonauts on board, quite conventionally. For the second turn, however, a third kosmonaut had been added. – Fortunately, the Kuryérs couldn’t accept more passengers. The new Lunobegúns were projected for five persons, hence the authorities had been tempted to crowd the same number into a Kuryér, but it wouldn’t work. One couldn’t simulate a Lunobegún with a Kuryér. – But one could make the journey less monotonous by adding an extra vehicular activity…
No real Lunobegún was ready yet; and the decision on definite crew composition was still pending. One had to practise with what was at hand: the Kuryérs. Igor had already worked together with Yelena. They had accomplished a joint mission during NSÓ enhancement. She was a reliable companion, even if rather chatty. Anton was an experienced hand as well, but neither Yelena nor Igor had done a mission with him before. – It was a kind of muddle right now. But Generál Tikhonravov wouldn’t agree to a tentative crew appointment. Get your job done, was his motto, everything else will happen in due time.
He checked the clock. Still twenty-eight hours until EVA. Perhaps he should take a nap. There was nothing he could do. The third seat had no access to any controls. One was riding in spacesuits; only the helmets were off – and the gloves. The Moon wasn’t visible through the small front window, she had to be somewhere to the left. Yeah, uncomfortable and dull…
(Oscar Wilde)
These Kuryérs were true sardine tins, mused Podporuchik Igor Vladimirovich Zamsolov. Originally designed for a crew of two, they could – at a pinch – accommodate three. But a lunar circumnavigation was not a pinch. It was a veritable expedition. And in addition, to cap it all, one was supposed to conduct EVA. Zamsolov was sitting in the central position, the one added supplementally. To his left sat Yelena Borisova Folkin, to the right Anton Petrovich Chekhovsky. It was uncomfortable, damned uncomfortable. In compensation, he was the one designated for EVA.
It was the third circumnavigation done by NASA. The first one had been accomplished with only two kosmonauts on board, quite conventionally. For the second turn, however, a third kosmonaut had been added. – Fortunately, the Kuryérs couldn’t accept more passengers. The new Lunobegúns were projected for five persons, hence the authorities had been tempted to crowd the same number into a Kuryér, but it wouldn’t work. One couldn’t simulate a Lunobegún with a Kuryér. – But one could make the journey less monotonous by adding an extra vehicular activity…
No real Lunobegún was ready yet; and the decision on definite crew composition was still pending. One had to practise with what was at hand: the Kuryérs. Igor had already worked together with Yelena. They had accomplished a joint mission during NSÓ enhancement. She was a reliable companion, even if rather chatty. Anton was an experienced hand as well, but neither Yelena nor Igor had done a mission with him before. – It was a kind of muddle right now. But Generál Tikhonravov wouldn’t agree to a tentative crew appointment. Get your job done, was his motto, everything else will happen in due time.
He checked the clock. Still twenty-eight hours until EVA. Perhaps he should take a nap. There was nothing he could do. The third seat had no access to any controls. One was riding in spacesuits; only the helmets were off – and the gloves. The Moon wasn’t visible through the small front window, she had to be somewhere to the left. Yeah, uncomfortable and dull…
In order to eliminate the negative influences, simply ignore them.
(Laozi)
The Shukkei-en was an ancient small garden in Hiroshima. It dated back to the seventeenth century and was said to represent all exemplary landscapes of Nippon. Today, in its tea house, the Seifū-kan, a group of business men had gathered to discuss events, which had occurred in a far away country. – The Hokushinkai Mining Consortium headquarters building in Tokyo had been destroyed in the Great Honshu Earthquake. Consequently, the company had moved house and was now residing in downtown Hiroshima. The adjacent garden had been bought from the Asano family and become part of the HQ complex.
The tea ceremony was finished. Now, everybody was waiting for Kuhara Fusanosuke, the old man, to open the debate. In 1921, Hokushinkai, the Polar Star Consortium, had been founded as a joint enterprise of Kuhara Kōkyō, Mitsubishi Mining, Okura Mining and the Nippon Oil Company. Ever since, Kuhara Fusanosuke had been serving as chairman of the board. He not only was a powerful industrial tycoon with close ties to the Nissan zaibatsu, but also a seasoned politician of the conservative alignment.
News received from Teheran and Masjed Soleyman was confusing, Kuhara informed the assembly. It seemed that the Persian Empire had confiscated Hokushinkai’s infrastructure – but was at the same time encouraging the Hokushinkai staff to continue operations. One had been expropriated – but not ousted. According to well informed sources in Teheran, religious intervention was at the roots of this mess. The good news, however, was that oil production could go on, ostensibly – and that the Persian Empire apparently had not the intention to curb Hokushinkai’s profit.
Problems, though, were due to arise in future. If Persia owned the installations, one could surmise that serious failures were about to happen sooner or later. As far as Hokushinkai was concerned, the investment wasn’t lost as long as exploitation could continue. – In short, one should charge off the infrastructure – and continue business as usual. If malfunctions occurrred, one still could offer technical assistance to the Persians – against remuneration, of course. – Should the Persians, however, force up taxes – and make operations unprofitable, one ought to disengage.
There was an oil glut as demand had shrunk considerably over the recent years – while production had surged. Nippon‘s crude oil demand could be satisfied even without the Persian wells. Hence, he, Kuhara Fusanosuke, was counselling to ignore the Persian chaos – and to carry on as if nothing had happened.
(Laozi)
The Shukkei-en was an ancient small garden in Hiroshima. It dated back to the seventeenth century and was said to represent all exemplary landscapes of Nippon. Today, in its tea house, the Seifū-kan, a group of business men had gathered to discuss events, which had occurred in a far away country. – The Hokushinkai Mining Consortium headquarters building in Tokyo had been destroyed in the Great Honshu Earthquake. Consequently, the company had moved house and was now residing in downtown Hiroshima. The adjacent garden had been bought from the Asano family and become part of the HQ complex.
The tea ceremony was finished. Now, everybody was waiting for Kuhara Fusanosuke, the old man, to open the debate. In 1921, Hokushinkai, the Polar Star Consortium, had been founded as a joint enterprise of Kuhara Kōkyō, Mitsubishi Mining, Okura Mining and the Nippon Oil Company. Ever since, Kuhara Fusanosuke had been serving as chairman of the board. He not only was a powerful industrial tycoon with close ties to the Nissan zaibatsu, but also a seasoned politician of the conservative alignment.
News received from Teheran and Masjed Soleyman was confusing, Kuhara informed the assembly. It seemed that the Persian Empire had confiscated Hokushinkai’s infrastructure – but was at the same time encouraging the Hokushinkai staff to continue operations. One had been expropriated – but not ousted. According to well informed sources in Teheran, religious intervention was at the roots of this mess. The good news, however, was that oil production could go on, ostensibly – and that the Persian Empire apparently had not the intention to curb Hokushinkai’s profit.
Problems, though, were due to arise in future. If Persia owned the installations, one could surmise that serious failures were about to happen sooner or later. As far as Hokushinkai was concerned, the investment wasn’t lost as long as exploitation could continue. – In short, one should charge off the infrastructure – and continue business as usual. If malfunctions occurrred, one still could offer technical assistance to the Persians – against remuneration, of course. – Should the Persians, however, force up taxes – and make operations unprofitable, one ought to disengage.
There was an oil glut as demand had shrunk considerably over the recent years – while production had surged. Nippon‘s crude oil demand could be satisfied even without the Persian wells. Hence, he, Kuhara Fusanosuke, was counselling to ignore the Persian chaos – and to carry on as if nothing had happened.
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Really like the use of Hiroshima in this update. It is crazy to think of the development it could go through without the events of 1945 OTL.
And how japanese shurged it off, was even better, yeah if persia fumble this, their fault....we will get the oil anyway...yeah seems japan just want to do business after so many chaos
Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work.
(Thomas A. Edison)
Nukes! The bloody Chinese were suffering from a cancer epidemic, so it seemed. It was caused by the residues of their freaky super bomb, manifestly. So, what in heaven was riding them to toy with nukes yet again? – On the stealth, to cap it all, they had tested a nuclear bomb some time ago; and their arsenal was estimated to encompass about twenty-odd atomic warheads. The FSO had sifted this out only recently. And Sinclair Weeks, the US plenipotentiary to China, had just been informed.
Washington was upset, of course. He was to catechise Premier Deng. The scoundrels were pocketing US aid on a massive scale – but for lack of anything better to do were building nukes… It was treachery, black treachery! And at the same time, they were swamping the States with cheap merchandise. – Well, Deng was out of town. So, delivering the curtain-lecture had to be postponed. – It had been a mistake, thought Weeks, to engage in China. He had the figures on his desk: they were soaking up more US aid than they were buying US goods; and merchandise made in China had become ubiquitous in the States.
They had lost 200 million people because of the super bomb and its aftermath, nevertheless they were already aggressively back on the international stage – and evidently they were directing their efforts towards conquering the US market. Weeks had been to Peking and Shanghai the other week; both had been rebuilt and were thriving like crazy. You wouldn’t believe they had been utterly destroyed only some few years ago. And here in Nanking, the capital, a construction boom was creating one new skyscraper each month. It was unbelievable…
Weeks hadn’t been prepared for this. China was a pitiable country, struck by the super bomb and the breakdown of public order, depending wholesale on US help; that had been his picture of China. But it wasn’t true. They were maniacs, human machines, working like mad, everywhere, all day long, seven days a week. Most were, it was true, grinding poor, in particular the farmers, yet, they all were dreaming of getting rich – and fat. There still were 350 millions of them, perhaps even 380 million already, as they were multiplying without restraint.
The cancer wouldn’t stop that. The bulk of the affections were hitting older folks, and young ones could still reproduce even if sick. – One should disengage, this was Weeks’ lesson learnt. Get out of here and close the door behind you, tightly. Small enterprises at home were already groaning under the competition. – But Washington wouldn’t listen to his counsel. The fuzzy dream of the colossal Chinese market was still prevailing. Yet, did people in the States know that the Chinese were dreaming of the boundless US market?
(Thomas A. Edison)
Nukes! The bloody Chinese were suffering from a cancer epidemic, so it seemed. It was caused by the residues of their freaky super bomb, manifestly. So, what in heaven was riding them to toy with nukes yet again? – On the stealth, to cap it all, they had tested a nuclear bomb some time ago; and their arsenal was estimated to encompass about twenty-odd atomic warheads. The FSO had sifted this out only recently. And Sinclair Weeks, the US plenipotentiary to China, had just been informed.
Washington was upset, of course. He was to catechise Premier Deng. The scoundrels were pocketing US aid on a massive scale – but for lack of anything better to do were building nukes… It was treachery, black treachery! And at the same time, they were swamping the States with cheap merchandise. – Well, Deng was out of town. So, delivering the curtain-lecture had to be postponed. – It had been a mistake, thought Weeks, to engage in China. He had the figures on his desk: they were soaking up more US aid than they were buying US goods; and merchandise made in China had become ubiquitous in the States.
They had lost 200 million people because of the super bomb and its aftermath, nevertheless they were already aggressively back on the international stage – and evidently they were directing their efforts towards conquering the US market. Weeks had been to Peking and Shanghai the other week; both had been rebuilt and were thriving like crazy. You wouldn’t believe they had been utterly destroyed only some few years ago. And here in Nanking, the capital, a construction boom was creating one new skyscraper each month. It was unbelievable…
Weeks hadn’t been prepared for this. China was a pitiable country, struck by the super bomb and the breakdown of public order, depending wholesale on US help; that had been his picture of China. But it wasn’t true. They were maniacs, human machines, working like mad, everywhere, all day long, seven days a week. Most were, it was true, grinding poor, in particular the farmers, yet, they all were dreaming of getting rich – and fat. There still were 350 millions of them, perhaps even 380 million already, as they were multiplying without restraint.
The cancer wouldn’t stop that. The bulk of the affections were hitting older folks, and young ones could still reproduce even if sick. – One should disengage, this was Weeks’ lesson learnt. Get out of here and close the door behind you, tightly. Small enterprises at home were already groaning under the competition. – But Washington wouldn’t listen to his counsel. The fuzzy dream of the colossal Chinese market was still prevailing. Yet, did people in the States know that the Chinese were dreaming of the boundless US market?
Whatever tears one may shed, in the end one always blows one’s nose.
(Heinrich Heine)
No matter how you looked at it, Kenya was an independent nation – even if a big bunch of Askaris were running about on the littoral – and rundown bands of Somalis were hiding in the outback. But there was nobody to take matters in hand. Whichever political parties the former British masters had fostered in the past, they had melted away like ice in the sun. What remained were the tribes. And they – their chiefs, of course – were not inclined to form a unified nation.
Not even a commonwealth after the model of Nigeria was being discussed. There was no fortune of oil money to be distributed. The tribes were happy to do their own thing. Why bother to cooperate and coordinate with the neighbours? – It was a reasonable approach – in a country left alone by the world, thought Musa M’Kiribua M’Muchiri. However, with Middle Africa to the south, the Empire of Abyssinia to the north, the Emirate of Egypt in the northwest and the anarchy of Somalia in the northeast, Kenya hardly could be called an island in the sun.
And, yes, there was Uganda, another flashpoint, to the west. But the chiefs wouldn’t rally to form a common nation. – Well, perhaps, one had to force them. His militia was loyal – to him. That was a reliable nucleus to work with. There were two other commanders who would accept his leadership. The rest could be forced to come along – or be eliminated. The Askaris wouldn’t intervene, this he had ascertained in a visit to Mombasa. In fact, they would welcome to have only one counterpart. Preparations were well under way…
(Heinrich Heine)
No matter how you looked at it, Kenya was an independent nation – even if a big bunch of Askaris were running about on the littoral – and rundown bands of Somalis were hiding in the outback. But there was nobody to take matters in hand. Whichever political parties the former British masters had fostered in the past, they had melted away like ice in the sun. What remained were the tribes. And they – their chiefs, of course – were not inclined to form a unified nation.
Not even a commonwealth after the model of Nigeria was being discussed. There was no fortune of oil money to be distributed. The tribes were happy to do their own thing. Why bother to cooperate and coordinate with the neighbours? – It was a reasonable approach – in a country left alone by the world, thought Musa M’Kiribua M’Muchiri. However, with Middle Africa to the south, the Empire of Abyssinia to the north, the Emirate of Egypt in the northwest and the anarchy of Somalia in the northeast, Kenya hardly could be called an island in the sun.
And, yes, there was Uganda, another flashpoint, to the west. But the chiefs wouldn’t rally to form a common nation. – Well, perhaps, one had to force them. His militia was loyal – to him. That was a reliable nucleus to work with. There were two other commanders who would accept his leadership. The rest could be forced to come along – or be eliminated. The Askaris wouldn’t intervene, this he had ascertained in a visit to Mombasa. In fact, they would welcome to have only one counterpart. Preparations were well under way…
It is legal because I wish it.
(Louis XIV)
Disassembling and assembling the M52 assault rifle was a nice drill, Fahnenjunker (officer cadet) Wilhelm G’Norebbe liked it. He was the instructor. Hence it was his job to demonstrate the procedure – and then supervise and coach the recruits while they were trying to replicate it. Once the procedure had been interiorised, one could step up the training – with bandaged eyes, behind the back, with one hand only. That was really fun. Of course, the recruits were keen to beat the timings he was setting in the demonstrations. Everyone succeeding would be freed from further drill – and could have an extended smoke break. But that wasn’t easy; Wilhelm was very good at it.
Wilhelm, still known as Little Willy in the family, because he was the youngest of the children, was twenty years old. Just one more year and he was going to be promoted to Leutnant. – Well, if it had gone his own way, he would have tried to become a fighter pilot – or any other pilot. But his dad wouldn’t have it. Infantry – Askari – was the best – and only – branch to choose. A true Askari could become everything – general, president of a country, hero of liberty, professor… It was okay. In fact, he soon had found out that he was good at working with men – and that he liked it.
Being dad’s son was a kind of handicap, yet rather in the more taxing way. Nobody in the army would privilege him for this fact, but – all of them – were demanding more from him than from his fameless peers. But he was physically fit and he was a bright lad; so, no need to worry. – It was the fate of the G’Norebbe kids; his sisters, Paula and Henriette, were telling the same story. Being identified as Musa’s and Olga’s offspring qualified you for special treatment – more effort, more output, better performance. Paula was a doctor now, doctor of economics, and was working for the government. Henny was studying physics in Deygbo; she wanted to become a rocket scientist.
Mom and Dad lately had moved to the Fouta Djallon Mountains, where Dad was to recuperate from his surgery. Last time Wilhelm had seen him, he had been kind of weak – and soft… quite a rare occurrence. Yeah, he had become old and inert. And the big boss, the Old Man, aged eighty-nine, was still signalling not the least intention to die. Might it be that General von Bauer was going to outlive Dad? – Wilhelm checked his watch. It was time to end the training. Chow time was due.
(Louis XIV)
Disassembling and assembling the M52 assault rifle was a nice drill, Fahnenjunker (officer cadet) Wilhelm G’Norebbe liked it. He was the instructor. Hence it was his job to demonstrate the procedure – and then supervise and coach the recruits while they were trying to replicate it. Once the procedure had been interiorised, one could step up the training – with bandaged eyes, behind the back, with one hand only. That was really fun. Of course, the recruits were keen to beat the timings he was setting in the demonstrations. Everyone succeeding would be freed from further drill – and could have an extended smoke break. But that wasn’t easy; Wilhelm was very good at it.
Wilhelm, still known as Little Willy in the family, because he was the youngest of the children, was twenty years old. Just one more year and he was going to be promoted to Leutnant. – Well, if it had gone his own way, he would have tried to become a fighter pilot – or any other pilot. But his dad wouldn’t have it. Infantry – Askari – was the best – and only – branch to choose. A true Askari could become everything – general, president of a country, hero of liberty, professor… It was okay. In fact, he soon had found out that he was good at working with men – and that he liked it.
Being dad’s son was a kind of handicap, yet rather in the more taxing way. Nobody in the army would privilege him for this fact, but – all of them – were demanding more from him than from his fameless peers. But he was physically fit and he was a bright lad; so, no need to worry. – It was the fate of the G’Norebbe kids; his sisters, Paula and Henriette, were telling the same story. Being identified as Musa’s and Olga’s offspring qualified you for special treatment – more effort, more output, better performance. Paula was a doctor now, doctor of economics, and was working for the government. Henny was studying physics in Deygbo; she wanted to become a rocket scientist.
Mom and Dad lately had moved to the Fouta Djallon Mountains, where Dad was to recuperate from his surgery. Last time Wilhelm had seen him, he had been kind of weak – and soft… quite a rare occurrence. Yeah, he had become old and inert. And the big boss, the Old Man, aged eighty-nine, was still signalling not the least intention to die. Might it be that General von Bauer was going to outlive Dad? – Wilhelm checked his watch. It was time to end the training. Chow time was due.