Unified Year 1923, Deck of the SS Olympia
Eugene Williams took a sip out of his champagne glass, admiring the 20-year old vintage imported from the Republic. His cheeks were slightly rotund from his passion for the finer delicacies in life. Then, he swallowed, feeling the dark-red liquid run down his throat. Oh, that's good. It tastes… fruity? With a hint of… wood? I think that's what the sommeliers would say. Probably.
A powerfully-built man, he was dressed in a black tuxedo that struggled to fit his large frame, the expensive fabric straining around the waist to accommodate his size. His features were soft and almost bulbous, wrinkle-free in his old age. He looked similar to many of the other men present tonight, which allowed him to enjoy his drink in relative peace and quiet.
Standing underneath a dark sky, stars appearing one after another as the dusk faded into night, he made sure to keep his head clear. Around him, an endless array of lights swirled and flashed, illuminating the deck of the Olympia in a blinding display. Underneath, an ocean pitch-black as tar rocked the ship with barely perceptible waves, the water stretching on into the night.
He slugged down the rest of the drink in one gulp. Then, he called over one of the waiters dressed like penguins in black-and-white tuxedos to take his glass. And that probably isn't how they would recommend finishing the drink. He smiled. But it sure still tasted good.
Checking his wristwatch, an early model he had secured dubbed "The Oyster," he blinked.
Then, he started walking, taking large strides as he pushed aside the crowd of dancing men and women in their expensive suits and flowing dresses that reached the wood of the deck. Colorful fabrics dotted the milling crowd of people, from bright yellows like sunflowers to dresses darker than the wine being served so liberally. Each square inch of cloth was expertly tailored, saved for special occasions.
"Hey, watch where you're going…" A blond-haired man, cheeks red from alcohol tried to berate him after he was pushed aside by a sharp elbow. However, before he could reach out to him, he hiccuped then fell into the arms of a woman dressed in a pure white dress nearby, passed out drunk.
Eugene ignored the mild commotion and continued pushing his way through the mob, toward the large open doors that led to the interior of the ship. Entering the area, he felt a sudden shift in the air as it turned stuffy and hot, a furnace compared to the cool ocean breeze outdoors. Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling far away, flooding the space with their glow. The lights from before seemed like candles compared to the dazzling crystals.
Music swelled up, coming from a small orchestra situated on a raised platform in the middle of the reception room. They played a classical song, shrill notes from violins piercing the hubbub of the room at unbelievable speeds as if their hands were machines designed solely for playing the small wooden instrument.
He walked past the dining tables, where similarly dressed men and women ate from plates full of filet mignon, lobster, creamy soups, flaky pies, with even a wheel of cheese visible on one table. They laughed and joked, socializing amongst themselves.
Suddenly, the music stopped, the sound silenced right at the peak of a crescendo at the climax of the song. As the crowd turned to see what was going on, a bald cellist wearing round, wire-rimmed glasses moved to the center of the stage, taking a seat on a chair one the violinists had moved into position.
I hope this will be good. Eugene stopped, standing between two tables as he watched the event. He breathed out, calming himself.
The man, immaculately dressed as the rest of the ensemble, made a show of reaching into his chest and pulling something out. Everyone squinted as they tried to see what it was. Then, a second after he moved his hands back, settling into a playing position on his cello, everyone gasped.
A green jewel shone on top of the man's white suit, emanating countless beams of light as its facets reflected the glow of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Some of the men sitting on the table to Eugene's right looked fearful, glancing around nervously as they struggled to remember where the exit was.
Then, all thoughts of running left everyone's head.
A single note. Deeper than any baritone they had ever heard, a richer sound than two musicians could accomplish together, a note that was like the crashing of waves, trembling as it struck the lowest chord on the instrument. The sound echoed in the massive room, lasting for long after the cellist had removed his bow from the string.
What seemed like an endless amount of seconds passed, then the applause started pouring in, a few lone claps at first, then a cacophony accompanied by cheering and whistling. Eugene didn't join in but merely waited.
In a blur, the man placed his bow back on the strings and released a rapid series of notes faster than machine-gun fire, outpacing even the violinist from before. Countless sounds blurred into a single melody, soft as the tapping of scurrying mice's feet one moment, then as loud as a crashing waterfall the next, a variation of the song that had been played earlier.
He played on, the horse-hair tearing into the strings of his expensive instrument without abandon. As he swayed and pushed he threw his entire body into the effort, forcing more and more from the exquisitely carved piece of wood. Sweat glistened on his brow as he started to pant from the exertion, but he continued to play as if he were trying to become one with his instrument and reach a pinnacle of music.
After a minute, or perhaps ten, the audience couldn't tell, he finally stopped playing. Limp in his chair, he ended how he started, with a long note that continued to echo for seconds on end.
Taking his cue, Eugene strode powerfully toward the stage, taking a place under the lights next to the cellist. The large man flashed him a grin, to which the musician responded with a weak nod, smiling back.
He faced the crowd. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, was an excerpt from Bach's Cello Suite Number 1 in G major, performed by one Mr. Kasals!" he boomed, projecting his deep voice toward the crowd.
Applause broke out once again, louder than before as the wine continued to do its work. There was some surprise as they recognized the identity of the man on the stage, but they waited to see what he would do.
When the clapping died down, he continued, "Now, besides Mr. Kasal's talent, what helped make this performance possible is-!" With a flourish, he pulled out a green-jeweled computation orb from his suit pocket, the same as the one the cellist was wearing. "-This! The Mk. 1 'Precision' computation orb, designed by my own Williams Weapons Corp. What it does is allow the user, in this case, Mr. Kasals, to strengthen their body and amplify certain frequencies. Even with only a bit of magic, anyone can use this to a similar effect!"
Excitement filled the room, a barely constrained wave of chatter being held back by the anticipation of his next words. The issue of how to get their hands on one of the devices was on everyone's mind.
Eugene waved around the expensive piece of technology. "Think about the possibilities! No other computation orb in the world can do anything like what you've just witnessed today!" Because everyone else's orbs are for military use only and they can't be bothered to make something like this. "I have teams, good Americans that I trust, working on new, wonderful technology every day! But, progress is expensive. If you want to see more, then I ask you, to invest in these people, and give them the resources they need."
Then, he promptly walked off-stage, going over to one of the doors that led to a series of private cabins inside the ship. He parted with a shout as he opened the door, "Williams Weapons Corp. is going public next week, so buy then!"
Entering the corridor and shutting the polished oak behind him, he grinned as he heard a mass of voices in the room. They talked as if they had just witnessed a miracle occurring, their high-pitched murmurs like music to his ears.
It had been a tough series of months for his scientists and engineers, to say the least, even building a civilian-grade orb with limited functionality.
He chuckled, They said it couldn't be done, but look where we are now. Walking down the hallway of mahogany and blood-red carpet, he made his way to a door that looked the same as any of the other dozens of doors in the corridor.
Straightening up his suit, he knocked, rapping his knuckles three times against the wood.
"Come in." A man's voice called out from the inside. The sound was muffled by the walls, but the speaker was loud enough so that his words were understandable.
Entering, Eugene saw an extravagant room modeled similarly to the reception room, a miniature crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The somewhat gaudy lighting reflected off of wallpaper patterned with delicate pink roses. Despite the quality of the construction, the area was devoid of any furniture besides a large round table in the center of the area, two chairs facing each other around the mass of mahogany.
Eugene smiled, false bravado painting his face, "It's nice to meet you in person. How'd you like the little show I put on?" He forced himself to not lick his now-dry lips. Maybe the wine wasn't such a good idea, at least, it probably wasn't my best one. Still tasted good.
"Very impressive, if I do say so myself. But I wouldn't expect anything less." Sitting on the far end of the room was a middle-aged man. He had graying, thoroughly combed hair on the top of his head, which was on the verge of thinning out from age. A brown three-piece suit darker than the mahogany table was visible on the portion of his body above it, seeming too big for his frame like an ill-fitting book cover.
"Thank you for the praise, Mr. Former Assistant Secretary." He took a seat. "Frankly, I'm surprised. You look quite healthy for a sick man, not at all like what I expected. Looks like you weren't messing with me after all."
The brown-suited man grunted, the guttural sound of a trombone. "Hah! You'd be surprised at what magic and medicine can do nowadays," he replied. "I'm not how I used to be, but I can still manage to sit down and have a good talk with someone."
Eugene rubbed his palms against his pants, then asked, "Good enough to run for office?" He looked straight at the man across from him, his beady brown eyes searching for the truth.
He seemed amused. "Down to business already? How am I supposed to prove that? Do a couple of jumping jacks?" Raising his bushy eyebrows, he pantomimed with his arms, waving them back and forth.
"It would sure make me feel better," laughed Eugene, throwing back his head. Then, he leaned forward, moving his large body as close as possible. "But I guess a yes or no would be good enough."
"Well then, I suppose I'll have to say yes." The brown-suited man smiled in turn. Wrinkles that had been invisible before popped into existence, his face a mass of curling lines.
The businessman eyed the politician again, a vulture looking for any sign of weakness in his prey. Would he show a limp, sickness, or wound? In the almost stifling heat of the closed room, the black-suited man ignored beads of sweat building up on his own body.
Then, Eugene laughed, a hearty chuckle that filled the room. "That's what I like to hear!" he exclaimed.
"Then, are we good to move on? Or will I have to keep sitting here until we both get bored?"
"I'm all ears," Eugene replied.
"All right." Reaching into his inner suit pocket, he produced a newspaper article, the paper rustling as he set it on the maple-colored table. "This is what we're both concerned about, isn't it?"
Glancing at the title, he replied, "Yep. Certainly true. That piece certainly is quite… interesting." The article was small, a single column in the New York Times. Full of numbers and statistics, it was the type of story that would bore most readers into defeat. Reading more like a military report, it was surprising that it had been published. Most relevant statistics would be glossed over and hidden by any involved governments.
"The Empire is playing defense," said the brown-suited man. "But they have plenty of resources to spare."
Eugene grimaced, his jowls folding up. "Based on those attrition rates," he replied. "The Republic might as well be bashing itself against a brick wall for a couple of millimeters on a map."
"I'm glad to see we're on the same page." The man pushed aside the paper, then set his elbows on the table. "The problem is, they have a plan, the Empire's leadership."
"So the maps are going to have to be changed soon?"
"I'm afraid that possibility is very real," he replied. "A war-mongering nation with power is dangerous enough, but the real threat comes when that nation uses its power carefully, instead of rushing headlong into fights."
Eugene gave in to the urge to lick his lips, wetting them with a small pink tongue. "So then, you willing to enter the war?"
The brown-suited man breathed in deeply, filling out the fabric of his suit for the first time. "What I'm saying is that if I win the next election, then I'll be open to the idea when the public comes around," he replied. "What I can guarantee are government contracts for your companies and a position for you in the Defense Department."
Eugene licked his lips again, this time to contain the satisfaction welling up inside of his chest. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, a kind of nervousness that he encountered whenever he was about to land a windfall.
"And in exchange, I provide the hard cash for your campaign?" he asked.
The politician nodded, "Sounds about right."
Pretending to think, Eugene rubbed his chin like some sort of Greek philosopher. For a few seconds, the other man waited while he made a small show, acting torn about the loss of his money. Then, the moment passed, and he made eye contact again.
"Well then, we'll hash out the details later," said the bulky man. "But I'll take the deal." He stood up, rocking the table as he clipped it, then walked over to the man on the other side.
The politician stood up and offered a hand, revealing legs of undeterminable size under the baggy fabric of his brown pants. "It was good doing business with you," he said, his voice as firm as his grip. He stood an inch higher than the businessman, who himself was by no means small.
A sudden burst of applause from the reception room managed to reach their ears.
They looked at each other, then laughed. "Looks like we're not the only ones that are excited!" said Eugene.
"Certainly seems so," he replied, his chuckle seeming more natural now. They continued twitching like schoolboys for a few moments, albeit dignified schoolboys.
"You know what," said Eugene after they had finished. "I'll bet that everyone else will be excited too when they have a fire under their pants soon enough. It's going to drive everyone awake, that's for sure." He gestured something incomprehensible with his arms, a broken windmill-like motion.
Not bothering to think about what he was doing, the politician sighed, "One way or another, I guess." Then, squinting his bushy eyebrows shut, he paused before continuing, "One way or the other."