A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

rast

Markets can remain irrational longer than you can remain solvent.
(John Maynard Keynes)

It was unfair, utterly unfair – and cruel, mused Alice whiningly and downed another shot of gin. Yeah, she was drunk, and she was determined to get more drunk. She chuckled maliciously. – It could have been so terrific. The plan, the preparations and the execution had been excellent. Everything had been working to flush money into their pockets... – But then, these fucking morons had blown up the world. And now, Toby was dead, and she was sitting here, poor and forlorn.

Australia was an inhospitable environment, for the most part. But it offered a wealth of natural resources: copper, tin, zinc, iron, gold, silver, uranium, nickel, tungsten, manganese, chromium, molybdenum, coal, bauxite, diamond, opal, you name it... However, exploitation was far behind of what was really possible. Of course, gold and gemstones had been mined ever since they had been discovered. And coal, black and brown, was used as domestic fuel. But for the rest, the forbidding environment and lack of transport had impeded exploitation.

In addition, fear of Asian covetousness had led to rampant understatement. Seven million Australians living in 1940 had faced 550 million Chinese, 73 million Japanese, 24 million Vietnamese, and many more Asian peoples. It had seemed that these vast masses would naturally be attracted by Australia, which was as good as unpopulated. Hence, one had sought protection and had allied with the US – after Britain had dropped out as protecting power. But then, the US had withdrawn – and the Asian masses hadn't come.

Slowly, a change of thinking had occurred. If the Asians weren't keen on overrunning Australia, perhaps one could even trade with them? This was the gap Alice and Toby had tried to exploit: guiding Asian enterprises that intended to mine Australian resources. Alice had studied sinology and was fairly fluent in Mandarin, or rather Běijīnghuà, the dialect spoken in the former Qing capital. Toby had grown up in Osaka until the age of nine; his Japanese was flawless – on mudlark level.

Oh, it had worked well. Until those idiots had activated the Great Qing Doomsday Device. All of a sudden, nobody had been interested in natural resources anymore. And Alice and Toby had been deep in debts, because they had generously invested – in some office stuff and a lot of luxury... While the farmers in New South Wales had started filling their barns with bank notes, Alice and Toby had been hunted by debt holders and the justice. Eventually, Toby, the dastard, had hung himself, and had left her alone...

She emptied another shot, burped and refilled the glass. Holy shit!
 

sloreck

While the Chinese market is gone, proximity counts for something and Japan/Korea can get back in slowly. Will they be the big dog again, no, but they can hope to get some good out of it. Of course right now China has lots of needs but not much money to pay for them.
 

rast

The Indians - quite conscious of racial discrimination, they're Arians after all - have mainly looked towards the Union of South Africa, where Indians are welcome, and to the Banda States, which form their backyard anyway. And the Ottoman Empire is looking towards the countries of the Pan-Turan Commonwealth for acquiring natural resources.
 

rast

Suffer or triumph, be the hammer or the anvil.
(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Unpertubedly, Fähnrich Jochen Zeislitz was watching the Sphere close in. The voice in his ear was counting down. On 'Go' he fired the retro rockets, until 'Stop' told him to cease. Slowly, Raumschrat–93 seemed to come to a standstill. But that was an illusion, it had only just been decelerated to match the speed of Sphere and Raumpunkt 1. The space station was to his left, had to be, he couldn't see it. Neither could he see the cradle, only the bulging shape of the Sphere.

Okay, there still was a speed difference, said the voice. Another braking session followed, until the voice said he was safe. Another voice chimed in now. Oberleutnant von Bülow on Raumpunkt 1. Yeah, getting ready for EVA. Not enough that they had trained him to be a Raumschrat jockey, they also had drilled him to be a storeman in outer space. The payload had to be unlocked and fired towards the rim of the Sphere, where the construction team was waiting for it.

This was the part he had to do without the guidance of the voice. Two simple jets he had to fire for moving the payload towards the construction folks. He was to do it with visual estimate. The payload was slow. It would rise approximately twenty metres, until the jets automatically reversed and stopped it. The construction team would then catch it with ropes and start the dismantling process, while Zeislitz re–entered Raumschrat–93 and started getting ready for planetfall.

It was a simple logistic enterprise. Raumschrat–94 was due to arrive in twelve hours, until then the parts of this delivery had to be installed. – It was Zeislitz' second mission. Next time he went up, it would be to join the construction team. That would make him a veteran, if he survived. But chances weren't that bad, most spacers died during the launch. Once you had made to orbit, you were relatively safe – until the hydrogen transports started. That was the worst part.

All right, vacuum had been established. Zeislitz unbuckled, floated to the hatch and started to unbolt it. Thank goodness they had self–sufficient EVA suits nowadays. The first missions had been accomplished without: one man on EVA and his partner inside the vehicle to monitor the life support systems, what a fuss. He fixed the safety lanyard and heaved out of the Raumschrat.

Ah, now he could see everything. Earth below him, the Sphere above. Raumpunkt 1 indeed was where it should be. He worked forward. The payload was attached in front of the Raumschrat, a cylinder six metres long with a diameter of 2.5 metres. No tools were required for the work he had to do now, the cylinder was a true miracle of engineering. He looked up again. The construction team was waiting. Okay, the show could begin...
 

rast

They are trying to make me into a fixed star. I am an irregular planet.
(Martin Luther)

The Foul Play Riots had died down eventually without achieving any change to the national government. Herbert Weller, who had anticipated nothing else, had not wasted time: he already had begun aiming at the Prussian state election due for September 26th, 1954. – Prussia, by far the largest and most populous German state, was since an incredibly long time ruled by Otto Braun of the SPD. Starting in 1920, chairing varying coalitions, Braun had been – and still was – Minister–President of Prussia.

He had vigorously staved off all attempts to divide Prussia. It was true that Prussia was too large and too economically powerful to permit a balanced relationship between the German states. But who said there had to be balance? Frequently clashing with Konrad Adenauer and other separatists, Braun always had prevailed – and had steered the Prussian ship of state through all trials and tribulations. But now, aged eighty–two and seriously ill, Braun was not running again.

It was a lucky break for the AFV. It might overturn the situation in Germany. Snatching Braun's position would make the party immensely powerful. One was the strongest party in the Reichstag already – and now one could also become the biggest pike in the Prussian carp pond. Space exploitation would become law. Germans would travel to the planets. One would whoop the other parties to the launch sites. The population wanted it, no doubt.

To tell the truth, it was a kind of miracle. Futuristic novels and movies were not that popular in Germany. There were no prominent contemporary writers like the aliens Isaak Ozimov, Robert Heinlein or that English expatriate Arthur C. Clarke. There had been Hans Dominik, who had died in 1945, and Paul Sieg, who had died in 1950, whose novels were rather plain and virtuous, too virtuous to enchant.

And well, there was Karl–Herbert Scheer, the most successful German science fiction author of today; an unbridled glorifier of violence between the stars. Weller didn't like this violence stuff. Space faring was dangerous and exciting enough, even without exuberant phantasies of brute force... But folks seemed to dig the rubbish, and there was no one else...

The most successful German movie had been Fritz Lang's 'Frau im Mond', a silent monochrome film! That truly had been a blockbuster, back then, motivating people like Wernher von Braun to engage in cosmic rocketry. But ever since, Babelsberg hadn't produced a striking new futuristic movie. Well, even Hollywood was doing better with swashbuckler and period films, but at least they were producing some dashing B movie series like Flash Gordon and Captain America.

Yeah, Germans were too serious – or pedestrian? – for such horseplay, evidently. Yet, these earnest folks had decided they wanted space travel. Okay, aspiring to become a global power had ended in the Great War, in which Germany had defeated the rest of the world – only to abjure imperialistic politics in the aftermath. Consequently, the colonial empire in Africa had been abandoned – and the indigenes been uplifted.

What then might result from the current drive to the stars? Uplifting Venusian ooze diggers? Or being enslaved by vicious Marsian super creatures?
 

Dain

So, I detect an early start to Perry Rhodan (most successful Sci-Fi book series worldwide) in spite of or maybe because of Scheer's - and Germany's - drastically changed circumstances? :)
 

chibile

Scheer needed (and needs ITL) the collaboration with Ernsting and most importantly Voltz to mellow things out and create a more well rounded story(line).
But then again nearly all early SciFi was quite militaristic, not even Lem escaped that.
 

rast

Nature cares nothing for logic, our human logic: she has her own, which we do not recognise and do not acknowledge until we are crushed under its wheel.
(Ivan Turgenev)

Dmitri Trofimovich Shepilov had become Prime Minister of Russia by virtue of being unable to avert his nomination. It had been a contest of finding reasons for not being chosen – and Shepilov had ultimately lost. Maryana, his wife, upon hearing the bad tidings, had bawled in stupefied dismay – and had accused him of imbecility. But wailing didn't help; he had it now, he had to manage, somehow...

Chasing Vatutin out of office hadn't changed anything. It was still too cold; the peasants were still in despair; the space effort was still interrupted because of the ongoing German little sun project. One was still spending far more than one was earning; importing foodstuffs was an expensive venture. – In fact, one was rather helpless at the moment and depending on the success of the German little sun project.

That was annoying and humiliating. The mirror approach wasn't bad, but it was not compatible with the Weizsäcker Sun. Hence, one was beached – and had to wait for Fritz to do something. The peasants were grumbling; the soldiers were impatient; the industrialists were disaffected; the church was incessantly praying to God and cursing the world. Nobody was happy. And Shepilov was forlorn.

The plans to move south had been shelved long ago. It wasn't doable. Individuals could move, nations couldn't. Even the most blinkered generals had understood this dire fact. If one really was forced to run away from the ice, Russia was past history, stop, full stop, finish! – Well, a lot of individuals were getting ready to move. The Okhrana had the details. They demonstrated how frayed the effort was. Rozhdestvenskaya was buying real estate in Australia. Popov was doing the same in Argentina. Obukhov had done it in the Cape Republic.

No, Russia was forced to wait, sad to say. One could only hope that the Germans knew what they were doing... Russia's major neighbours always had been dangerous. The Chinese had got things into a complete mess. Now, one had to pray that Fritz didn't make it worse. Ice was nasty, but being roasted wasn't any better...
 

rast

Close thine eyes, and whilst thou sleepest Heaven will change thy fortune from evil to good.
(The Arabian Nights)

Okay, they wouldn't come, at least not in force. Cemal Gürsel Paşa had figured that out at long last. There would be no full–scale invasion by Russia – or Germany. They had decided they couldn't do it. Or rather, they could, but the result would not be as desired. – Well, the ancient Turks, the esteemed forefathers, had migrated from Central Asia to Anatolia. But they had been nomads back then. Sedentary civilisations couldn't be put on wheels, said the sages, without cracking up.

That didn't mean nobody would come. Once affairs were turning to the rough up north, quite a lot of people could be expected to start wandering. Even whole armies might arrive, led by warlords, possibly even armed with nuclear weapons. But also folks unarmed, if only arriving in numbers large enough, would pose a grave danger. The Ottoman Empire wasn't the US, where 110 million indigenes had to deal with 10 million fugitive Canadians only. No, the 30 million inhabitants of the empire might well be confronted with 100 or 150 million migrants.

There was no doubt that such an event would destroy the empire. It could even be much worse than a well planned invasion executed by professional soldiers. – Could one stave off such an intrusion? The military had war gamed the problem. One was too weak to do it. People would come across the Balkan Peninsula, by boat over the Black Sea, across the Caucasus land bridge, by boat over the Caspian Sea, and across the countries of the Pan–Turan Commonwealth. One was most probably capable of defending the İstanbul Strait, but that was about all.

Along the Black Sea coast, one might be able to check the assault, if one scuttled all vessels encountered and saved nobody. But already the Caucasus land bridge was far too wide – and the terrain too rough – to be protected by the armed forces, even if one mobilised all reserves. And the Caspian Sea was beyond control, as was all of Central Asia – and consequently the border to Persia. – In short, it was hopeless.

So, the grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire could only pray to Allah – and hope that the German little sun project was a success. Well, the Germans were notorious for their grandiose undertakings, which left normal people gaping in wonder, without that the end always justified the means. Would the Weizsäcker Sun work as desired? Or would it scorch Europe? Or spin out of control and destroy the world?
 

rast

Intercourse with a woman is sometimes a satisfactory substitute for masturbation. But it takes a lot of imagination to make it work.
(Karl Kraus)

Klara was smelling awfully of booze. Was she drunk? Difficult to tell. Those ancient DVP folks had an insane capacity for imbibing booze without showing any effect. Gudrun had never seen Klara perceptibly sloshed, as far as she could recall. Might there be a problem? – Well, yes, there might be a big problem. Klara was hopelessly in love with Herbert, but Herbert had never shown affection for Klara. A pat on the shoulder, a blown kiss, smiles, that was about all.

But Herbert was sleeping with Gudrun. Oh, he was also sleeping with Elke, Emmi or Vera at times, but Gudrun clearly was his favourite – at present. As a lover, he wasn't really overwhelming, but his charisma made more than good for lack of steadfastness. Being in bed with him simply made you feel good, like being on cloud nine. Klara undoubtedly knew about the affair, and Gudrun couldn't imagine she appreciated.

Gudrun had just come back from a business trip to Frankfurt am Main, where she had tried to bail out a bunch of Foul Play rioters. It hadn't been a complete success, the judges wouldn't drop arson charges, but a good deal had been achieved for the rest of the lot. – Klara clearly had been waiting for her. It was almost midnight. Gudrun needed to store her papers in the vault.

"Hey, bitch! Back to spread your thighs for the boss?" Gudrun decided that Klara was pissed as a newt. But before she could only try to formulate an answer, the blonde valkyrie ran into her and tossed her down to the ground. Gudrun winced as Klara's boots were hitting her. Klara kept kicking and cursing swearily, until Gudrun managed to slip under a table.

Klara yelled angrily, when her boot hit a table leg at full tilt, but she didn't stop kicking. Gudrun bobbed on the other side of the table and hurled a chair at Klara. It struck Klara straight in the face, she hadn't even attempted to fend it off. Gudrun dashed forward, grabbed Klara's blonde thatch and forced the woman down. Klara yelped, but was too slow to counteract.

Putting a wristlock on Klara, Gudrun was finally able to immobilise the heavy woman. To her surprise, Klara suddenly started snoring. – It was no fake, the valkyrie had fallen asleep. Stupor, decided Gudrun, drunken stupor. Klara's nose was bleeding, her lower lip was lacerated. Gudrun looked down on herself: her suit was tattered, her left knee was bleeding, her renal pelvis was hurting like hell.

Letting Klara lie and snore, she went to the vault room, stored her stuff – and left the AFV party headquarters. She had to see a doctor. And then, she had to see Herbert, before Klara got at him.
 

Bmao

And just when we thought Herbert Weller was Germany's Golden Boy... This is a sex scandal waiting to happen, and if the opposition finds out about it... hooo boy.
 

rast

No one who does good work will ever come to a bad end, either here or in the world to come.
(Bhagavad Gita)

The Tista River Dam project had been completed, at least as far as the construction team from Samsung was concerned. But one wasn't going home. A new contract had been signed, for building another power plant for another dam project, this time on the Subansiri River, another tributary of the Brahmaputra. This was a far more ambitious enterprise than the previous one had been. Choe Kyung–jae liked it. For him, it meant spending two more well–paid years in India.

By now, he had become inured to living in India and among Indians. Even better, he knew now how to deal with Japanese engineers. Once again, Fuji was to provide the hardware, which Kyung–jae and his team would install in the power plant they were going to erect. – It would be routine, more or less, even if the new plant was to be four times as large as the one on the Tista. One was already on the move, breaking camp and moving house.

Of course, most of the money he was earning went to his family in Taechon, but his allowance nevertheless permitted him to lead a comfortable life here in India. Falah, his Indian girl servant, was working just for board and lodging, and kept thanking her gods for this magnificent job. Using the numerous Indian holidays and the time off work on weekends, he could travel a lot and see India.

The Indians were a nuclear power, but it took Kyung–jae quite some time to discover some high–tech sites. He had been involved in the construction of the new nuclear reprocessing plant at Goheung, hence he knew for what he had to look. In fact, he found three nuclear plants along the Brahmaputra, which was providing the cooling water. And that was only in the section between Tista and Subansiri, where Kyung–jae was travelling a lot.

They were breeding uranium–233 from thorium–232. Kyung–jae was no nuclear scientist, but a well educated civil engineer with profound experience in constructing nuclear sites. Therefore, he knew the basics. India possessed rich deposits of thorium. Therefore, the Indians had decided to go for the thorium cycle. Their nuclear plants were producing weapon–grade uranium–233, but hardly any energy. That was why the Indians were wanting all those conventional hydroelectric plants.

It was an interesting approach. At home, the three nuclear sites along the Yeongsan River were generating steropium and electrical energy at the same time. The Indians were splitting that. Well, they had mighty rivers coming down from the Himalaya. These formed a rich source for hydroelectric energy – and for irrigation. Catching the water in artificial lakes was killing two birds with one stone. And it allowed them to keep their nuclear sites pretty small.

The Indians, this Kyung–jae had established in many conservations, did not believe in a new ice age. But they were mightily impressed by the space effort shown by Germany and Russia. There were many voices demanding an Indian space programme. India was every inch as good as those countries up north. One might be a latecomer to the game, but one should by all means be a participant. Even Falah, devoid of all school education, was prating of Indian Vimānas, flying chariots, cruising through space and landing on the Moon.
 
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rast

Do something wonderful, people may imitate it.
(Albert Schweitzer)

While the Germans were getting ready for the big eruption of the little sun, now tentatively scheduled for October 5th, 1954, the Middle Africans were preparing for their national election, fixed for Sunday, October 24th. – Max Sikuku was touring up and down the country without cease, as could be expected from a leading MALU party functionary and officeholder in the Mwaya government. While being minister for education, health, families, and sport wasn't the scream in cabinet, it gave you ideal opportunities to get into contact with people.

Not that everybody should be happy and content, quite the contrary was often the case, yet, you could learn what was bothering folks. Responding to people's needs was important, when you wanted them to vote for you. The MALU had a reputation for being the party of the entrepreneurs and the top executives. But liberal values were not restricted to the rich. In fact, social pampering, the special feature of the socialists, was a danger especially for the poor, whose self–reliance was at stake. And the attitudes of the religious parties were hardly any better...

It wasn't an easy campaign. Middle Africans had been educated by German emissaries chosen by socialist or socialist–religious governments in Berlin. Hence, social pampering had been engrained in their political awareness from the start. – The German model wasn't really foul, but it was inflexible. In Germany various events, not least the food crisis and the space effort, were enforcing change. But in Middle Africa, one was happily stagnating.

Why was one falling behind in science and technology? And why did nobody care that this was happening? Why were zusies and other high–tech stuff not produced in Middle Africa? Why didn't Middle Africa participate in the space effort? – One wasn't moving forward, one wasn't moving at all. Max had been warning of this development since several years. – However, right now people seemed to listen for the first time.

The space effort was making the difference, evidently. People were fascinated by this super fuss. They knew the names of the spacers and the numbers of their vessels by heart. It was an ubiquitous discussion topic everywhere. And of course they were realising that Middle Africa had no part in this. One was furnishing bananas and other foodstuffs – and earning money like mad, that was about all. But space heroes were so cute!

One was sitting in the first row and watching the spectacle on TV, but one couldn't participate. It was utterly unsatisfactory. – Well, Max had the complete picture: Middle Africa was hopelessly behind. One couldn't even dream of taking part in the space game. But this wasn't the message folks wanted to hear. Oh yes, the MALU was going to initiate a Middle African space programme. Oh yes, Middle Africans were going to fly to the stars. Just make your cross in the proper place...
 

rast

It's not that we have a short time to live, but that we waste a lot of it.
(Lucius Annaeus Seneca)

A trickle, it was a blithering trickle... Where was this going to end? Birinci Ferik Kadir Muharip shook out his member, stored it circuitously inside the trousers and closed the fly. It was the enlarged prostate gland, said his doctor. He should be happy that no cancer was involved. It was perfectly normal for men his age... Sheep scat! It was dripping. Not always, but often, too often...

Yeah, and his knees were aching, most of the time, even when he was not standing or walking. – There was no denying, he was getting old, was, in fact, rapidly approaching retirement age. – Who should become his successor? That was the question bothering him. The grand vizier had said he was waiting for his proposal. But whom should he propose? Who was qualified? Who had what it took to run the service?

Things had changed a lot. He remembered the beginnings very well. Back then, he had still been working for Mustafa Kemal Paşa, who hadn't cared a damn for his life or health. That had been an aggressive bastard! – Oh dear, he had been young, in those days, young and reckless... Later, he had begun establishing the service. That had been under Grand Vizier İsmail Enver Paşa. Yes, Enver Paşa had been a visionary, not as tough as Kemal Paşa, but a solid and diligent empire builder...

Today, everything was paperwork, dull routine. He didn't need a daredevil, he needed a paper pusher for successor, an indifferent and efficient bureaucrat. When had he last been in the field? – Ages ago... During the War for Uyghurstan Independence, if he recalled correctly. Now, that had been much ado about nothing. The country had been hard hit by the GQDD, had been almost completely evacuated...

The world was no longer the same. The old game of power and politics was in abeyance. The service could only watch as Germans and Russians were conquering space. There had been no cries of dismay when the Germans had transported nukes into space – and had created an artificial sun. Right now, they were shooting up nukes again. And people didn't see what precedence that created. Everybody was praying for German success. But provided the Weizsäcker Project worked, who would stop the Germans from hoisting up nukes a third time?

Manned space stations and nukes, what else was required to establish world domination? The Germans would have it – and the Russians, because the Germans wouldn't hinder them to bring nukes into orbit. Muharip knew from experience and spywork that the Germans weren't interested in dominating other world regions. But the Russians? The traditional enemies of the Ottoman Empire? Who would trust them?

The answer was obvious: the Sublime Porte had to initiate a space programme of their own. And the service had to move into orbit as well.
 

rast

All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.
(Benjamin Franklin)

Caught in the gallimaufry of the Canadian refugee crisis, the US media did not really zone in on the space effort. But also the political class in Washington wouldn't divert much attention to the activities going on in Europe and Asia. Managing the domestic disorder clearly had top priority. – Fedrock and FSO were monitoring the wiggy activities of Germans and Russians, that had to suffice for the time being. The alleged ice age the Europeans were fighting had to be considered a chimaera anyway.

All states were intimately involved; even those that originally had been overrun were back in the ring, if only in exile still. And after a time of utter mayhem, one was making progress now. – Nevertheless, casualties had been grievous. About one third of the fugitive Canadians had perished, it seemed. Those accounted for added up to 6.22 millions. At the same time, approximately 1.46 million US citizens were believed to have gone missing. Absent registration data – and corpses – the exacts figures would perhaps never been known.

Undoubtedly, there had occurred countless cases of cannibalism, as had murder, manslaughter and all other kinds of crime. Yet, throwing light on the matter was almost impossible, and most important people agreed that persecution wasn't promising. Even where survivors were able to deliver testimony, finding the culprits was near on impossible. Blanketing the horrible events was perhaps the most opportune solution. One had to look ahead. Agitating past squalor didn't help.

Would the Canadians go back one day? Not now, as long as it was too cold for growing seeds, that was obvious. But what about later? What about communist rule? That infamous woman general was still residing in Ottawa. – The British expatriate community was eager to set up training camps. If the Canadian refugees could be trained and armed, SUP rule in Canada might be brought to a quick end. However, at the moment, the Canadians didn't show much interest. Most seemed determined to stay in the US.

The British government was shipping workers and foodstuffs to Canada, and extraction of natural resources was happening, even if on a very low level still. The communists had withheld about two million folks, who were serving the camps, the mines and the transport infrastructure. Hence, British Canada was still a political reality. Most citizens had fled, but some core functions were still kept working. The communists, one had to admit, were tenacious.
 
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