Duncan Hughes: the British Isles had been through some truly wild times in the 21st century. The leftist coup that momentarily overthrew the government and executed the entire royal family in 2029 was the tinderbox that led to the dissolution of the United Kingdom both politically and as an identity. When the Second Stuart Restoration proved to be little more popular than the original, with an inbred Bavarian tabloid holo-celebrity crowned at rebuilt Westminster, the nation saw a brief but divisive right-wing uprising by the pretender Arthur II, claiming to have survived the Buckingham Purge. Jacobites and neo-Windsorians tussled in the streets, with even a couple Tudor descendants and a Plantagenet claimant all jockeying for the throne as the true king of Britain. British identity broke down amidst the anarchy in the U.K., with Scotland declaring its own independence as a social democracy, unity achieved in Ireland, and even the Welsh knocking on France's door to ask for admission into the Mediterranean States' republic of letters. In the aftermath, the false pretender and the lesser claimants were beaten down, and the English awoke to a much reduced nation with even bigger worries. At this point, the levees had crashed down on climate change, and fierce storms battered the former Britons.

England's future was found to the east, in Scandinavia. Ironically, in the hyper-competitive 21st century the Nordic model was on its way out, to the chagrin of the Free Scottish that once aspired to be among them. The warming waters of the north, while contributing to awful floods, also presented a great opportunity for former naval powers to flex their nautical might. As giant vortices and storms battered the planet, these nations built trade empires on submarine shipping. After centuries of dealing with harsh icy environments, they took their relative economic wealth and well-educated societies and built ingenious protective domes around their vulnerable cities, cutting-edge hybrid land-water habitats, and sophisticated hydrological works to divert the sea away from their low-lying coasts. Seeking their expertise, the English approached them for an alliance, offering its still-considerable population and armed forces and the proud Royal Navy.

This fateful partnership would transform both, mostly England. With the disintegration of Great Britain as a nation, the visible salvation of Swedish engineers building vast seawalls around London, and the thrilling sight of RN submersibles sea-shepherding Norwegian merchant shipping against survivalist raiders and eco-terrorists alike, a Viking craze gripped the country's imagination. If the Celts had gone away, the Normans were preening preachy snobs, and the Saxons intent on dragging them back into the messes of the Continent, then the Englishman must remember his or her Scandinavian roots. A new Danelaw, both internal and external, must be erected. And so began a renewed Anglo-Scandinavian identity flourishing in the arts, pop culture, and politics itself. The abdication of the unpopular Bavarian for his hologenic son meant the ascension of King Canute II, who promptly married a Danish princess, and their new royal family became the region's fan favorite. More substantially, after nearly a century of quasi-neutrality, the nations of Scandinavia were finally ready to again be players, and thus the Norsefire Renaissance Accord was signed.

None of this much interested Duncan Hughes, heir to a shipping empire of his own. A Scotsman relocated to Grimsby, and a rare Scottish Tory, he found his former brethren's bampot separatist desires as tedious as the English succession struggles. The latter's mania for Nordic culture, he suspected, was the insecurity of a defeated people. But Hughes hadn't the time for that, he was too busy building things. North Sea Unlimited was the work of generations of Hughes, a logistical temple that became a ziggurat with England's ascension into the Accord. Forging close partnerships with Scandinavian companies, NSU became one of the premier delivery firms, dominating the Atlantic market with tendrils stretching all the way to the Pacific and Indian Ocean. As the Americans fell among themselves and even Canada convulsed next door, Hughes led the charge to take the Northwest Passage routes, and he essentially did, becoming the principal shipper along those routes under the flag of the NRA.

But Hughes always knew that all the money of the world is nothing without projects to reinvest it in. Under his leadership, NSU massively expanded its construction division, becoming Norsefire's primary contractor. From prototype floating cities for co-aquatic habitation to storm walls for territorial preservation, Hughes was there. After the collapse of the North Sea fishery, NSU's aquaculture division fed Europe, from Norsefire to the Mediterranean, Germany to the Russian Republic. A nascent NSU Geoengineering effort even attempted to build giant reflectors in the northern glaciers of the Finnmark to mitigate increasing sunlight; after it failed, NSU instead decided to convert the fjords into massive natural drydocks for sea-city construction. With their experience in these massive infrastructure works, expertise with all things maritime, and public service, North Sea Unlimited was added to the Unity project's roster of civilian contractors, and Hughes himself was appointed for the mission. And surprising both the new-Norse public and himself, Hughes accepted, stepping down as chairman in favor of his younger brother.

Hughes was appointed Lead Starwright with the rank of Administrator on Unity. His experience in naval engineering and experience overseeing ship and offshore construction designated him for a future of overseeing similar efforts on Chiron. But on Unity, it was back to the workshops as a foreman, one of the roles his father, the elder Duncan Hughes, had him endure in his youth. Known for a gruffness well-respected by the career astro-engineers and spacemen of the crew, Hughes oversaw the ship's necessary retrofitting and reinforcing modifications necessary to endure the voyage. The NSU engineering team that followed him to space performed a laudatory job, adapting their aquatic know-how for the void and for long-term self-sustaining inhabitation.

Hughes was often in the audience of Captain Garland himself, who appreciated a civilian subordinate who was unafraid of confrontation and experiencing disagreement, unlike so many obsequious others. There were some tense confrontations, but Garland always found a way to deescalate with grace or magnanimously yield without appearing to, deferring to Hughes' knowledge of construction and supply chains. His reputation among the command staff was less genial but still professional. Hughes was most at home with fellow materialists. Chief of Engineering Daoming and Chief Science Officer Zakharov both approved of his matter-of-fact concerns, and he likewise respected their practical priorities, different as they were. Executive Officer Yang, like Garland himself, often gave him a fair hearing when discussing the maintenance needs of Unity, even intervening on several occasions to ensure that his construction crews were amply provisioned. Similarly, Hughes thought Administrator Barre had the right idea of governing based on pragmatic concerns instead of wooly-headed dogma. When off-duty, Hughes could talk shop and bizzo easily enough with Public Affairs Officer Hutama, though he grew to find the man too wily a fandan. The others he considered to be either idealists or toy soldiers, either head in the clouds or eyes on their shiny boots, not worth speaking to.

He woke late into Planetfall, when it had become clear that his construction crews should have been making repairs days ago. Order had already broken down as warring camps created more damage and looted critical supplies in panic. Hughes mustered his builders and fixers to endure fire and failure to make crucial structural repairs, attempting on-the-fly modifications to the ship to reroute around damage. Under shredder blasts and the threat of shredders he stoically carried on. But it was impossible. And Garland, the true bossman, was gone. In his wake were naught but dafty fools and that huckster Morgan, who couldn't even get admitted onto the Unity by dint of honest work.

Seeing the crisis as both a tragedy and a unique opportunity, Hughes made true of his new-Norse roots and armed his starwrights, leading them into the cargo bays to secure supplies, initially under mission command but then under the corporate flag of North Sea Unlimited. Meanwhile, a secondary crew began emergency modification on a landing pod to Hughes' specific requirements.

This act of privateering and unauthorized modding was interrupted by the arrival of a security team led by none other but Executive Officer and provisional Chief of Security Sheng-Ji Yang himself, who cooly asked what the Unity construction staff was doing. Caught redhanded but calm, Hughes answered they were preparing for an emergency water landing, not pausing the work even as his own men nervously clutched their weapons against the red-jackets. Surprising all, Yang simply gave a smile, deflating the tension. He asked Hughes what his intentions were upon reaching the planet, and the old Scotsman merely shrugged, and said, "To live."

Simply that? came the raised eyebrow. A life existing only for self-perpetuation is scarcely more than a nullity: an empty state without death, and of everything else. Yang looked Hughes straight in the eye and offered him a chance to join a great undertaking, the Human Hive. The creation of a society devoted to life, to survival, but also to build. Absent of political games or petty ideological concerns. In a world where unlimited riches could be shared unlimitedly, where-

Hughes snorted at that, shaking his head. Yang smiled again.

Yes, he understood that the businessman would not find much value in his utopian designs. So he changed his argument. In a strange, penetrating tone, the X.O. told Hughes that his pursuit of wealth was not for luxury's sake like Morgan's, not for the love of riches. It wasn't even for the need to dominate. Those instincts were merely a product of his breeding, of being born into plutocratic aristocracy. Yang said he saw in Hughes a different desire- to build, to create, to construct. That pure intention overshadowed games of commerce. After all, he had brought NSU's engineers but not his corporate team.

Gesturing around the room where the construction crews toiled at converting the lander for aquatic capabilities, Yang once again invited Hughes to consider what wonders he could build with different leadership. Someone who would respect his talent and diligence. Someone who would provide all the resources he could want. Someone who would brush away all of the petty political games, leaving him to his work.

Despite all of his own bluster, and the presumption of such a nonentity of a man daring to condescend to a titan of industry, Hughes was struck by Yang's words. He did indeed see the truth in the character study. And with the resources of the Unity X.O. alongside...

The Blue-Steel Merman landed perfectly in Eurytion Bay, becoming the settlement of New Aberdeen. It was the capital of the nautical fiefdom of the Human Hive designated the Commandery of the Seas, presided by the Chairman's hand-picked custodian, Grand Secretary of the Seas Duncan Hughes. From then on, Hughes was entrusted with the Hive's interests over the oceans, given simple production quotas from Hive central and ably fulfilling them. Yang gets the seas tamed and all waterborne citizens praising his name, and Hughes gets near-complete leeway and flexibility in how his corner of utopia is built. Even NSU, now in search of more appropriate names to fit its acronym, is permitted to exist as a state-owned corporation, dubbed a factional champion of the Hive.

The arrangement is notoriously loose, and both sides are aware of it. The partnership is heartbeats away from ending, so there always seems to be a political officer, an ideological commissar, or just a cloying assistant from Human Hive or People's Teeming perched by Hughes' door. At the same time, Hive-NSU vessels have a tendency to go beyond their predetermined routes and engage in the occasional raiding action that was never approved by the Grand Secretary of War. Rumors of secret bases and unreported floating cities abound, and when asked by Peacekeeper journalists or Morgan gossipers, Hughes always grins and calls them "nothing more than Fata Morgana."

But both find the situation mutually beneficial, for now. Far from the subterranean compounds of the Hive proper, the NSU finds the freedom to focus on development and discovery without having to worry about protection. The Hiverian military's ability to unflinchingly sink Isles of the Deep impresses even the doughty Scot. While sitting through mandatory monthly meditation sessions and Yang Thought seminars is tedious, the NSU has remarkably been able to preserve most of its original culture. (Though despite having a mostly new-Norse population, Hughes severed all ties to any earthly government immediately after the Merman touched down upon water, in case any space tax collectors came calling in a few centuries.) And the Chairman finds that it is helpful to have a release valve built into his society, especially one so physically remote. Capable subjects of questionable loyalty are often posted to the maritime commandery as a form of rehabilitation through difficult and dangerous labor, with nowhere to flee. Even in the Human Hive, there can be second chances.

This situation may or may not prove untenable. Despite having worked under many flags and many daft regimes, Hughes hears stories that slip past the censors from the mainland with concern, wondering what kind of devil's bargain he's in for. And devil or angel, he's not much for having a bossman. (Certainly none could match Garland.) On the other hand, Yang does keep things quiet to let Hughes focus on his shipping lanes and sea cities. He grudgingly admits that the safety the Hiverian People's Army Navy provides is an asset. After all, there's this recent news of pirate attacks on Planet's seas, now...

Notes: The whole "left-wing coup destroys British monarchy in 2029" thing is from the GURPS supplement. I usually pick and choose details like that, especially since this is an example of a fact not being substantiated anywhere else in SMAC's in-game datalinks or in the defunct Firaxis website's leader profiles, but I decided to work with it in this story.

Norsefire, while a reference to V for Vendetta, is most definitely not anything like the hateful totalitarian government in that movie. (Sticking Renaissance in the name of your movement is usually not a great sign either, see Baathism and other hard-right parties.) The romanticist nationalism in England, like that of the Russian Republic, is meant to be one that's different from troubling real-world modern day trends, more like something that could be imagined in late-'90s speculative fiction like SMAC. It's basically far future people recreating anachronistic identities as their nations fall apart during natural disaster. But while it's LARPing, it's used by them to unite themselves rather than to discriminate against others. So why did I call them the Norsefire Renaissance Accord? Partly because I wanted something to echo the sound of "North Sea Alliance", provide a similarly-sinister acronym, and because the word Norsefire just sounds cool despite being completely nonsensical.