Новоaрхангельск, Русская Америка
13 Декабря, 1875
New Archangel, Russian Alaska
13th December, 1875 C.E. (Julian Calender)

New Archangel, winter.
Christmas was descending upon the tiny colonial outpost of New Archangel, and the usual decorations of ornaments and pine trees had already been set up. Even in the scant environment of Russia’s westernmost outpost, few had forgotten the date of the Lord and Saviour’s birth. But today, that cheer was tinged with a bitter undertone. As the few Lutheran settlers prepare to give thanks twelve days in advance, a young girl with light brown hair bunches stood alone in front of the Russian tricolour flying outside. Flapping in the icy winds, the flag defaced with the Byzantine two-headed eagle was all that marked Russia’s borders in the New World. Staring longingly at the flag, the child was hard to think it would all change soon, as soldiers and sailors in uniform rehearsed their drills for the flag-lowering ceremony, the last they will hold in New Archangel.
“I’m going to miss this place,” she muttered, sensing a shadow behind her. An elderly, bearded man in a large fur coat and round-rimmed spectacles, the figure behind quietly dug his feet through the snow, standing beside her as he reminisced over the flag. Bowing his head, he tried to assure her, “all things change, my girl. We tried our best. But this lonely outpost is simply not worth saving; not to the Kremlin, or to the company.”
“I refuse to hand it over,” she muttered bitterly, “what will happen to Daniel, and the other kids. The Americans and Britons are already this cruel to them. Who’s to say they’ll not do the same.”
Shutting his eyes, the elderly professor could only relent at her words. His daughter, Avelina, was young, bright and idealistic. She had little idea of the machinations adults would perpetrate for a cause. Russians like himself may indulge in notions of delivering civilization to the unwashed natives of the East. But the long years in Alaska had shown him otherwise. Imposing God and Tsar upon those who could not resist them, Alaska was pacified, if not by arms, but by culture and paternalism. Lina only saw the results of that, not the process itself.
“They will know how to handle themselves, Lina,” the doctor told his child, stepping down in a squat to meet her eye to eye, “fear not their fates. This is their home, whatever happens. They can take care of themselves.”
Despite his words, the doctor could tell she was doubtful. Too much had happened since they came to the mission in New Archangel, and Lina had little to love of those along its border. The English-speaking trappers of Russian America were anything but friendly. Eager for riches, spoiled for land and greedy for both, the British Canadians and Americans were slowly eating away at their soil, hoping to press the Russians into the Bering Sea in due time. The Americans especially, were aggressive settlers, unwavering in their belief in elected government, and a destiny to deliver civilization to the New World and shut out the Old. Their treatment of the natives was despicable, though hardly the exception. It made the Russian mission look exceedingly benign by comparison, despite holding the same ulterior motive of suppressing resistance.
“I…” Lina blurted, unable to restrain herself as tears leaked from her violet eyes, “I don’t want to leave them… I don’t want to leave.”
Watching her struggle to wipe the freezing teardrops from her eyes, the elder could only bow his head in disappointment. In all, he too felt there was more that could be done. The colony’s profits were beginning to pick up again, and the failure of sale negotiations with Washington, a government saddled with rebuilding a country divided by civil war, seemed to have forestalled the sale for good. But beyond Alaska loomed the mighty British Empire. And while the rival Hudson Bay Company had no issues working with them, their motherland might consider otherwise. In the end, Alaska was too much of a liability, too vulnerable to the predations of the New World colonists.
Alaska had to be disposed of, if only to pass the headache to another.
Embracing his crying daughter, the old man struggled to hold back his own tears. It pained him to see her so hurt, having to leave the one place she had always called home. Russia would have seemed so distant, so alien… a homeland she had never seen in her young life. Perhaps time would allow her to become used to it, but even he was not sure she could forget New Archangel, her Aleut schoolmates and the mission.
“I’m sorry, sir,” an approaching Russian officer spoke, feeling a little guilty disrupting their moment, “I’m going to have to ask you to step aside. The flag-changing ceremony is about to start.”
“Right, right,” he confirmed with the young man, standing up as he held his daughter’s hand, “It’s time to go, Lina. Must be cold out here.”
“M-Mh…” muttered the child, clutching the doctor’s hand. As the duo made their way to the sidelines, a heavy heart hung over the dark clouds as the men prepare the final handover. Gathered in the crowds around the lone flag post, the settlers could only watch as the tricolour slowly sank from its flagpole. As the winds blew overhead, the flag snagged on its rope, unwilling to be hoisted down from its pedestal for good. A lone sailor climbed the frigid pole as he untangled the eagle’s cloth ‘talons’. As it finally reached the hands of the waiting officer, a few weeping murmurs could be heard, no doubt from the girl in the crowd.
“中尉の番です,” the officer spoke to his counterpart in what little Oriental tongue he knew, a waiting, slightly tanned East Asian in uniform as his entourage prepared to hoist their flag on the mast. In regal fashion, the Hinomaru – the flag of a rising, red sun over a white sky – took the Russian tricolour’s place as New Archangel’s new owners. With a silent salute from the Japanese officer, the ceremony came to its silent, almost anticlimactic conclusion.
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Peering into the departing crowds of Russian and native settlers, the Japanese ensign with short, black hair could hardly tell what they were feeling. Few, he doubted, would be elated at surrendering their lands to a foreigner, much less ‘inferiors’ like them, and yet, he could barely see a tear or a yell of outrage. Only the sobbing child stood out among the otherwise sullen looks of the inhabitants, an exception from the norm. He could hardly blame her. In the eyes of the Nanban, they were invaders, opportunists who seized on the chance to snatch what was essentially barren arctic wastes at a fire sale price as the fate of islands closer to home were up for contention. He was unsure if the Russians had deceived them with a worthless colony, or if there was a potential waiting to be uncovered. Neither the Americans or British were too happy with the decision regardless, and he was sure they have plans to force more rights to the new colony out of them, a proud people forced to bow to Western domination like the rest.
“Strange,” went another officer as he clutched his European-style sabre by the hip, “I thought they’d be angrier. Maybe they just want to leave. I can see why. Place is more desolate than Ezo.”
“Maybe,” the lieutenant mused, “besides, their government already sold us the colony. If there’s anyone they should be angry at, it’s them. We’re just the buyers; for a piece of frozen shit… If they’re not happy staying here, home’s right across the sea. They’re welcome to leave whenever they want.”
“I guess,” his mate went, “but what’re we going to do with it? There’s nothing here.”
“We’ll let the politicians figure that out,” grunted the lad, “we’re just here to keep things in order.”
Spotting the watery-eyed Nanban girl walking away with her guardian, the lieutenant was not sure if he should feel guilty. Despite his comrade’s observation, he could tell there were still those who wanted to stay. He could hardly blame her – the powers-that-be chose to sell her home to the Japanese. If life under Tokyo was too much for her family, it was likely the family would leave like the rest. Their homes would be cleared for new settlers from the Home Islands, just as they did to the natives before. In all honesty, he felt a tinge of dishonour putting a young girl through this, however his allegiance to his countrymen.
“’A piece of frozen shit’,” he wondered, a bit doubtful at his own description of the place, “still a home for someone.”
Shitoka would remain home for Alaska’s native populous, and would be for many settlers to come.
シトカ、太北道、大日本帝国
12月25日、明治8年
Shitoka, Daihokudō, Empire of Japan
25th December, Meiji 8 (1875 C.E., Gregorian Calender)
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Alternate Alaska Purchase, among the AH ideas I find quite interesting, if somewhat remote in possibility for this one. Not much in the way of explanation, thou, besides Seward failing to reach an agreement (perhaps bogged down by lack of support from Washington) with the Russians and the Japanese buying it instead in the signing of the Treaty of St Petersberg in 1975. Don't really know if I'll expand this. I already have a lot to work with.