"Our next order of business is the Northern Summit we proposed hosting," Allan Finch said. "We bring leaders from all over the North to discuss trade, borders, security and other issues. We were speaking tentatively for the Vernal Equinox."
"I do recall that Ambassador Peris did say something about Manshoon mentioning a possible State visit," said the Mayor. "He wants to increase the amount of trade in the next year. I told them it was a possibility but that we wanted discuss things further on our side."
"We really need to look into what we have to trade," Joyce said, leaning back in her chair. "The exports we've come up with seem to be largely ignored. Part of that is the lack of infrastructure in many of these places. Peasant economies are very different from what we are used to."
"I've been giving that some thought and have come up with some plans," Mr. Chase said. "I spoke with the anthropologists who have been working with the orcs and we've come up with some possibilities." He handed a computer disc to Allan Finch who started up the overhead projector connected to the computer. These days paper was at a premium and nothing was printed that was not absolutely necessary. There were warehouses filled with used paper ready to be recycled as soon as a complex was built to recycle it. Kids in school were using chalkboards made out of native slate and wood instead of scrap paper. More complex projects were done on computer. Once Finch had the diagram up on the projector, Mr. Chase pointed to a picture of several different objects in a checkerboard pattern. He pointed to the first, a bundle of clothes. "Textiles, our first order of business should be a textile trade."
"Why textiles?" Nabiki Tendo asked. "There are plenty of other possibilities to start why there?"
"Many of the people here in the realms, orcs and humans included, have maybe one or two pairs of clothing for everyday us," Chase answered. "They might have one set of good clothes that they only wear on special occasions. Those clothes might be passed down from generation to generation. Washing the clothes might happen once every two weeks in the summer and almost never in the winter." He motioned to Dr. Chung. "As Amelia has said, we need to encourage good hygiene in ourselves and our neighbors. If we start encouraging a this, we might be able to capitalize on textiles."
"So why this?" Hennessey asked. "I can understand the health concerns, but why this above other things?"
"We have the land, the animals and the crops," Chase said quickly. "They are giving us Rothe-the things that look like Banthas? They are giving us rothe for food crops, but they might be able to produce a sort of wool. We have sheep, we have flax and we have hemp. It might not grow in large amounts, but I heard about some cotton surviving better than expected, too. Unlike other industries, we have the raw materials to start the industry. With mass production we can have a textile mill running within a few months if my calculations are correct."
"He's right," Dr. Chung said. "But more than that, we need to look to ourselves. We are in need of more winter clothes. Wools are a good choice for a place to start. We are living in close quarters with limited supplies. That's an epidemic brewer. Our only saving grace is the constant supply of fresh water. Changing clothes will actually help us prevent problems like this."
"The only cotton we have is a small colony in the greenhouses," Maggie Walsh put in. "It's a cold climate so we would have to grow them inside during the winter. Geothermal heating will help us do that, but it prevents us from mass production unless we want to focus primarily on it. It's one of the major problems I'm seeing with all of this. We don't have the room or the people to grow what we need."
"And we don't have the food to feed the people we need to build what we need," Joyce said grimly. "And another problem, if we flood the market with our clothes that's going to make a lot of angry people who make their livings doing the same in their communities. We'll be no better than Walmart, walking into a community and putting everyone else out of business."
"I actually have thought of that as well," Mr. Chase added excitedly. He pointed to the projector. "Mr. Finch, could you bring up the slide labled-128c? Oh, wait, 124d is the one I want. Sorry, I'm so used to just printing out my proposals and having people flip to the right page." Everyone gave him a sympathetic look. "Okay, so here is a picture of a textile mill. This is pretty much 1900 technology with later 20th tech added for protection and safety. I was talking to some of the engineers and they're confident that they could mass produce, well, Mill-Kits, I guess we could call them for lack of a better word. We sell these mill-kits to communities with heavy textile industries and have them be our competition. We are the experts, so if they have a problem, we are the ones who will go and fix them. We provide support and oversight. We can even provide them with some of the raw materials in terms of dyes and tints."
"And with what are you proposing we make these things? This is not an iron rich landscape, we have some, but not on the scale that people are talking about," Maggie Walsh criticized. She criticized frequently, but she was usually right, unfortunately.
"We import the iron and build a steel plant," Chase said. "We already have adapted a small smelter to reuse the scrap metal from around town. If we build a bigger one we can start building more and more. Remember, mass production is our friend. That, more than anything else, is going to keep our economic head above water."
"We need a smelter regardless if we are going to continue with the Sunnyrail project," the Mayor put in. "I think we should follow the model the North used in the early 19th century." There was a blend of understanding and confusion among the cabinet. "The north would import raw materials and transform them into other goods before exporting them again. In the case of cotton, they would import the raw cotton and then produce clothes and sell it right back to the South for a much higher price. The South didn't have the industry, having focused on plantations and agriculture. We can do the same for the short term, but we all know what happened after it went on for a while." The several non-Americans of the Cabinet clearly didn't know what happened, but the Mayor explained. "War. Being a vassal state breeds resentment. If we used this model for the long term it would cause our neighbors to rise up against us. And that's never a good idea."
"That's something I didn't think of," admitted Chase. "I'll have to work up some models with the economists and anthropologists to see what we can do from there."
The Mayor nodded in agreement. He glanced back to his deputy mayor. "So getting back to the topic at hand…"
"Yes, the Summit," Finch said. "Should we go through with it? I know that there are some hard feelings between a few of the Northern Leaders and I don't want this to start a war. What should we do?"
"I say we do it," Joyce said. "We need better relations with our neighbors. We need something more than us telling them what we want and demanding that we get it. This could go a long way towards that goal. It also would place us as a neutral party. They need to realize that we are not going to take sides in their arguments unless one side or the other directly attacks us."
"I agree with that," said Chase. "We can also use it as an expo to show what we are capable of in terms of trade. Encourage them to bring specialists in various trades so they can see what we can do for them. This might actually increase our trade. When they see things they want, things that only we can provide, then we have an advantage. One of our biggest problems is not knowing what other counties need or want."
"We need to do something, but we also need to make the ground rules very clear," Hennessey put in, speaking up for the first time in a while. "No weapons at the expo. Participants will be searched. We want this safe and we want it safe for everyone."
"Perhaps inside the expo, but let's make it more relaxed around town, in appearance at least," the Mayor commented. "We want them to see us as a nation, but not a weak one. We want to be seen as a Power, not just a place to be exploited."
"Then why don't we make peace part of the expo?" Finch suggested, raising a timid hand. The others looked at him a little strangely. "That's what the Olympics were all about, right? Friendly competition and all that?"
"Yeah right," huffed Amelia Chung. "Did you see the Chinese women's swim team? They were pumped up on enough steroids to take the Dallas Cowboys nine times out of ten and taking a one shot handicap. The Russian hockey team? The US hockey team beating them and the press turning it all into a heroic act? There were massive amounts of nationalism and global politics built into the Olympics on all sides. But I can see what you mean. It would starting making things friendlier. It's harder to kill someone you can see as a person."
"But what events do we choose?" Joyce put in. "And that early in the spring isn't a good time really, it's too cold for summer events and too warm for winter events."
"Then we pick events that everyone can participate in because they do it all the time here," Nabiki Tendo put in. "Archery, horseback riding, running, swimming (there is the heated pool in the high school) and so on. Maybe some martial arts presentations, not competitions mind you, but presentations. We could have a Triathlon as well. We could introduce them to some of our sports as well. Baseball, football, well you Americans call it soccer, kendo, judo, the basic high school sports."
"Those last two aren't what I would call a basic high school sport," commented Joyce with a smile. Nabiki smirked back.
"You can bet there will be demands for it soon enough with the number of Japanese in the community now, not to mention the numbers from Nerima," Nabiki countered.
"I think these are all great suggestions, but who is going to organize all this?" The Mayor asked. Everyone, save for one, looked at Allan Finch. The one who didn't look to him was, of course, Allan Finch himself. His shoulders sagged in acceptance.
"Fine, I'll write up a formal proposal," he said, jotting something onto his slate.
The second Drizzt's spell had yet to expire. Adding that little extra energy always made things last and this would stay for a day or so before all hell would break loose. The Initiative, already overtaxed by the day to day duties of taking over for the police force, would be rushing to find out where and when he had escaped. One of the doctors, a hold over from the previous clandestine Initiative, was the acting ME and will announce that cause of death was a shot from his own gun. The fingerprints will match perfectly with Drizzt's. By that time the body would be around 72 hours dead, long past the point of really good information. And "Evil" Drizzt would be nowhere to be found.
Even at this point Evil Drizzt was long gone and had set several traps throughout the complex should anyone be stupid enough to follow in his footsteps. He choose to instead stay in his hideout, a section of the Initiative that none of the humans seemed to know about. It was not surprising, even his superior elven senses were nearly fooled. Stored inside was enough food to supply him for some time and the water ran constantly from the tap. It used the same power source as the Initiative proper, but also seemed to have plenty of equipment to operate independently if need be.
Evil Drizzt was not pleased by his incarceration. He had underestimated his other self, something that would not happen again. The best solution would be to avoid his copy if at all possible, however, his inborn thirst for revenge nagged at him. How best to get back at Sunnydale? What would send them into chaos best? In the months he had been trapped in there he had learned much about Sunnydale: their organization, their infrastructure and their political systems. Just listening could tell much about a place. Even if he did not have a personal experience with the town, the Drow thought he could manage his way around. Perhaps someone would be willing to sell maps? He threw out the thought almost as soon as it went into his head. They would be suspicious of the "real" Drizzt so long as he was somewhere else. And yet this brought him back to the topic of his revenge.
One thing that fascinated was the concept of an electoral system. A democracy they called it. It was distasteful, that much was true, but the fact that it worked at all fascinated him. It was entirely dependent on the human concept of Trust. All the little voters had trust that the other sides would simply go along with what the majority chose (even if it was a very slim majority). The side that won had to trust the other sides would play by the rules. Those rules included no breaking the LAW.
Law. That was another concept that amused him and fascinated him. Laws in Menzoberranzan were rarely explicitly stated and almost never codified. Custom enforced most of the unspoken rules. What House Baenre wanted, House Baenre got, especially by manipulating those in power. The other houses fought each other, but kept to the darkness, rarely bringing their political bickering out into the open. The large majority of behavior was enforced by culture and the threats of what gossip could do to a House. Here in Sunnydale they were positively obsessed with codified laws. There were laws against killing. There were laws against stealing. There even were laws against spitting on the sidewalk or the floor ($200 dollar fine, the rate hadn't gone up since 1901. Richard Wilkins was very strict about manners and cleanliness). And people still broke them. The concept of being that obsessed with laws and having people specifically break them was oxymoronic. Then there was the fact that they glorified criminals in their "movies" and their "music" to the point that some were seen as legends even if they never existed.
Their infrastructure was something to admire. Transportation faster than riding, mass transit on things other than ships. If they wanted something that wasn't close by, they would bring it to them. Buildings were constructed, using no magic that he could detect, that could reach the sky. Water right out of a pipe. Clean water out of a pipe. Even in mighty Menzoberranzan they had minor priestesses attending to the water cisterns to purify the contents daily.
After much consideration and contemplation, he formulated a plan. If enacted properly, it would serve as protection for himself and increase the chaos around Sunnydale as a source of vengeance. He would give it a several days before it was put into effect.
The search was fruitless. The only thing the agents were catching was frostbite and pneumonia. Searches went out and nothing more than a few ravenous goblins, was found, much less a large group of Drow. Drizzt, being a prime target of his sister, was being kept under strict house arrest. He was still in trouble for his actions earlier. Giles had made it very clear that capturing someone who had committed no crime in Sunnydale and torturing them (even psychological torture) was not allowed. Looking back at it, Drizzt was suddenly realizing how similar to his siblings he really was. It scared him more than he was willing to admit aloud.
"Drizzt! Do you know how close I am to having you arrested?" Giles had said. There was a tinge to his words that Xander referred to as the "Ripper" voice.
"What?" Drizzt had exclaimed, confused at the statement.
"What you did was wrong," Giles had stated darkly. "We do not use torture, not even psychological torture! We do not incarcerate people without charging them! Those are serious crimes! Everyone, and I mean everyone, has rights according to the government. One of those is that you can't just be thrown in jail because someone says you should be! Not to mention you aren't even an officer of the law! You're a goddamn high school student!"
"But he-"
"He what? He's killed people? I am well aware of that," Giles said. "I know he is a murderer. I know all those stories you told me. But Bloody hell Drizzt! If we don't live up to our ideals, how can we expect anyone to take those ideals seriously. He is not a citizen of Sunnydale. We are not at war with Menzoberranzan and we certainly don't have extradition to Menzoberranzan. We haven't the slightest idea where it is from here! There is no right to hold him here, much less torture him!"
He pointed right into the elf's face. "We are in a precarious place, you, me, Sunnydale. If we don't act to the best of our ability and live up to the expectations of the people then there is no reason for law and order to exist. If he had done something, or we had caught him in the act of attempting to do something, anything against the law, we would have had him."
Giles had paced around the room while shoving the impromptu civics lesson down the dark elf's throat. Drizzt had sat glued to the chair, a little afraid of the sudden change that seemed to have come over the Watcher. "You have become something of a symbol to Sunnydale, many symbols in all actuality. To some you are a hero who came in and saved the day. To others you are the first in a sweeping move to eradicate everything they believe in. You are the only one who gets to choose between the two. So are you going to prove Housecraft's people right? Are you a demon trying to drag them to hell by destroying law and order? Or are you a hero? A young man who stands up for what is right? Someone who does what needs to be done even if it isn't something they want to do?"
Giles slammed his hands on the table in front of the Drow. "Choose Drizzt. Whether you like it or not, you are a symbol, like Buffy is, or Mayor. But worse, you're a religious and political symbol. Some people think you are an affront to their beliefs and to their personal wellbeing. This isn't a problem you can solve by sticking a sword in it. You have an image and only you can decide how that image will be. Are you the hero? Or are you the villain? Go home and think it over. You will go to school and you will go right home afterwards."
"But I-"
"No arguments Drizzt," Giles had said firmly. "When you're at school get some books on the history of law. I know they have a book on the Magna Charta because I put it there. Read that. Then think the McGristle trial. See what has been done to your image. Then consider what you did to your brother and what would happen of that got out."
Days later, Drizzt was considering the events carefully. Giles was right. He was right and that scared Drizzt a lot. What Drizzt had done to Dinin WAS wrong. He had acted out of fear and anger. He had forgotten where he was and let his memories and fear of his family control his actions. His outburst in the council chamber just made that more obvious. He remembered that Sunnydalers called this Culture Shock. People had asked him if he was having it. He was now.
Kaanyr Vhok's orders were pretty clear. He liked that. Clear orders and clear (but reasonable) punishments should he fail. No more "succeed or die" orders. No more "I'll kill you because I feel like it" whims either. If the Mayor was going to kill him, it would be because Vhok had crossed him, not for any other reason. The work was steady and the pay was good, so Vhok had no reason to do so.
Sunnydale was good for cambions and alufiends alike. He and his "family" were feeling particularly at home underneath the city streets in their little demon den. Granted, having vampires as neighbors did bring down the property value, but some indoor plumbing and lighting, electricity, a television/DVD/VHS set, a bed and a front door did give it a more homey feel. They had removed the candles to a storeroom for emergencies only. Whoever this "Master" had been, he had poor taste in decoration. The Cambion would never understand why a creature so vulnerable to fire would surround himself with so much of it. Behind the times, Vhok supposed. Kannyr Vhok preferred overhead lighting at the flick of a switch.
They had opened up a few more rooms to allow for the growing "family" of demons. One of the problems with living with seduction demons is the constant, looming threat of pregnancy. Incubi/Succubi would do what they did best when bored: have sex. As it was, he saw at least three of them were pregnant and he knew at least three of them were fathers to some of Sunnydale's newest mothers. This was rather hard to pin down exact numbers, especially since not all the mothers were humanoid. (He knew of one emu half-succubi, and didn't even want to know guess that started). He wasn't sure which of them, since it was extraordinarily hard to keep track of the sex-lives of four shape- and sex- changing demons. If it seemed strange to others, he didn't care. The den would soon be filled with the clackity-clack of little claws on stone. It was reminding him of home in a strange manner.
Aliiza was busy so often with the growing Magic Guild that he barely saw her anymore. She always came home excited over one thing or another and he pretended to be interested. They were growing apart, and he knew the reason. For the first time in their lives they had things that mattered to them. He had important work for the Mayor and she was an educator. It seemed like only yesterday that they were just sneaking off for a shag between raids with the Scoured Legion. So much had changed in just a few months.
Today, Mr. Vhok was spending time in front of the television in his new recliner he picked up at the local Goodwill. It had belonged to someone know as Ira Rosenberg, whoever that was, and the owners had decided it took up too much space. (Had he known who that owner was he would have been quite amused .) He was enjoying the fermented substance known as beer (it was something completely unknown in Hellgate Keep since there most had neither the levelheadedness to grow the ingredients nor the know-how to brew the booze). Basically, he was mimicking the actions of many a lazy American male while other people worked.
Unfortunately, Kaanry Vhok found it extraordinarily boring. Although he was a man who enjoyed the good things in life, he was also a man of action. He would rather be playing sports than watching American football reruns on television. Making a decision, he jumped out of the chair, chugged the beer and ran out into the cold. Climbing on his bicycle, he started peddling as fast as he could in the 12 cm of snow. The Mayor said this was a slow time of year. They couldn't build in this weather and they couldn't do much else until things changed.
Vhok peddled hard up to the western ridge of the Sunnydale Plateau. He knew this was where the ethnic group known as "Japanese" were building. He just liked the view. If he squinted in the early morning light, he could just barely see his hometown jutting up like some stark white fang from the jaw of some gigantic skull. Ascalhorn they used to call it.
Fucking nostalgia.