OR1-EP4: Prelude to the Millennium (13)

Michael McNeil pastes a photograph onto a whiteboard and then connects two different photographs with various colored threads between them. Governor-general Herzog watched with interest as McNeil performed before him, the finishing touches that were essential to analyzing the intricate relationships between legislators. He admired McNeil's efficiency and perseverance; if someone else had been in charge of these time-wasting and tedious tasks, they might have caved in within a few hours.

"It's a good thing our EU is now a one-house system." McNeil patted his chest, "Otherwise, it would have been impossible to get two two-thirds majority votes."

The French Republic used to have two chambers, the upper house called the Council of Elders and the lower house called the Council of Five Hundred. When Napoleon Bonaparte became First Consul, he merged the councils in name only into the Council of Forty, and the body inherited the popular name of the Senate. The present Senate had nearly 250 members, and Governor-general Herzog had to secure more than 170 in his favor before he could return to South Africa with a satisfactory result. But the game between the two sides is not just a matter of interest, there is also the upcoming re-election. Governor-general Herzog has a bad reputation on EU soil, and some analysts are predicting that a hard-line stance could lead to a crushing defeat for the current majority in the elections. The corporeal bureaucrats certainly didn't care about pacts and friendships in order to keep their power.

McNeil stuck the last peg in a wooden board aside and took a few steps back, looking up from behind Governor-general Herzog at the results of his own work.

"This isn't going to be easy." McNeil muttered to himself, "Many of the people don't have a direct stake in South Africa, and it's not very realistic to try to persuade them to move by virtue of their interests."

"Indeed." Governor-general Herzog flipped open the notepad in his hand, on which the addresses and contact information of many people were recorded. Yesterday, McNeil accompanied Governor-general Herzog to go door-to-door to visit these high-powered bigwigs, some of whom were senators, some of whom were business tycoons, and some of whom were experts, scholars, and media leaders who were able to exert influence on social opinion. Governor-general Herzog reasoned with them and appealed to them to support a series of dispositions based on the South African Colonial Resources Integration Act. Some of them were swayed by the Governor's offer, while many others were not. Governor-general Herzog said there would always be people in the world who could not be persuaded by interest.

"I think we must make them see their own interest here. From a moral and emotional standpoint alone, I think they will decide against you." McNeil pointed to the red line connecting some of the MPs' photos on the whiteboard, "Your Excellency, if your bill is implemented in South Africa, the natives, who for the first time will have the right to vote without being subject to basic conditions, will choose to support these progressive MPs, and perhaps have a chance to turn them into a majority in the Senate. In this respect, although your program does not satisfy them, your action has certainly created a new vote bank for them."

"... So?"

"Find the figure currently most favored by the Progressive MPs, make an offer, and fully support his candidacy for Consul." McNeil replied.

"You're persuading me to create an opponent for myself." Somewhat irritated, the Governor-general took off his black-rimmed glasses and said in a single word, "You know that I am bound to return to Europe to compete for this position, so what reason do I have to help anyone else?"

"Your Excellency, after this turmoil is over, you will have to completely abandon your original identity: you will never again be the leader of the African Britannians." McNeil wasn't intimidated by the Governor-general's authority, "The guy who always wants to bet on both sides of the fence tends to be the kind of guy who loses the most. They always win small sums when lucky, and lose large sums when unlucky."

According to McNeil's itinerary, today he intended to travel to England. Governor-general Herzog didn't understand why McNeil so desperately wished to go to that small island that had long been neglected by the continent, but he still agreed to McNeil's request. After taking care of the business at hand, McNeil rushed to the airport with the plane ticket that the Governor-general had bought for him.

McNeil didn't really remember where his hometown was. For as long as he could remember, the parent he had come in contact with was James Solomon, who had adopted him. McNeil's parents were GDI workers who were killed during an attack by the NOD Brotherhood, and both McNeil brothers were taken by NOD. James Solomon later saved the McNeil brothers by mistake during a raid and identified McNeil based on a list of the dead compiled by the GDI.

"Ugh, you should have taken the last name Solomon with me." James Solomon always said this to McNeil, "It's the name of the King of Wisdom."

Nevertheless, James Solomon never actually made McNeil change his last name.

According to Solomon's account, McNeil's biological parents were both English. From the registration file, McNeil learned his parents' hometown and his own birthplace, to which he had never had the opportunity to return in the last eighty years of his life. In this new world, the United Kingdom no longer exists, leaving only the three independent countries of England, Scotland, and Ireland. He desperately wanted to make up for the lack within him, and since he hadn't had the chance to return to his homeland before, it was always appropriate to do so now - besides, if there was a couple with the last name of McNeil in this world as well, perhaps Michael McNeil had just been born.

McNeil had prepared himself for the French troops and the fanatical public that had descended on the British Isles, but he had underestimated the impact of the change in history. Upon the plane's arrival in England, McNeil quickly left the airport and ostentatiously asked the cab driver to take him on a drive around the city. To McNeil's utter shock, most of London's landmarks had disappeared, and the city now looked like a second-tier city of no consequence. The muddy river water emits a pungent odor, the subway corridors are as hot as a steamer, and the street walkers are all lethargic, with only the Red Cross St. George's flag on a white background flying over some buildings.

"I used to live in South Africa all the time, I didn't realize the difference between London and Paris was so great." McNeil chatted with the driver.

The driver was a middle-aged man in his fifties, with a slightly obese frame, wearing a large-size sweatshirt, and the whole thing looked like a piece of meat piled up on the seat. McNeil looked at the driver's hands gripping the steering wheel, and he always thought those ten fingers were freshly baked sausages.

"We're missing out on growth." The driver sighed, "When the French came ashore, they took everything of value. When the Industrial Revolution began, the French quickly monopolized overseas trade, and port cities developed all along the Atlantic coast, but those guys wouldn't allow England, which would have been best suited to act as a trading center, to join in ..."

"Gee, it's practically a colony." McNeil feigned surprise, "Aren't there any real Englishmen?"

"In the 134th year of the Republican Calendar (second half of the A.T.B. 1925 to the first half of 1926), someone shouted the slogan of quitting the EU in this square." The driver held out his left hand and pointed to a spot the car had just passed, "Two days later, the French sent out cavalry and tanks and killed over a thousand people. No one has dared to protest the treatment since."

McNeil leaned back in his seat; the city of traffic reflected in his eyes. The rise of the EU was accompanied not only by the blood and tears of the colonies, but also by the pain of the republics that were in a weaker position within the EU. The French Republic had crushed all enemies throughout Europe, and no country could challenge France's authority. This say-it-all situation was now much improved, but the lost opportunity was never to return.

Returning to the vicinity of the airport, McNeil tarried no longer, not having the slightest attachment to the city. The Britain that had once been the world's dominant power had never existed, only the undead across the ocean - the Holy Britannian Empire - watching EU's every move intently. McNeil never thought that Britannia would be his homeland, and he preferred this tattered England to submitting to the false prosperity of Pendragon.

A dusty McNeil boarded a coach and traveled to a town he was unfamiliar with. A flicker of excitement began to well up inside him; what would he say if he met his real parents, whom he had never met? By the way, maybe he'd have a chance to meet himself and Jake, who were still in their infancy ... McNeil struggled to put these thoughts aside, forcing himself to remain in shock. Over the past few decades, he had experienced life and death countless times; one by one, his lovers, friends, and colleagues who were in the same era as him had left him, and he alone continued to live on, dragging his half-dead body along with him. When pain becomes the norm, numbness is the inevitable choice.

After the era of the United Kingdom came to an end, the British Isles declined rapidly. In fact, even in the past, England did not see Scotland and Ireland as worthy of development, but they were part of the United Kingdom, and now the British Isles are outsiders to the continent. The prolonged recession and depression directly caused a loss of population, and more and more young people chose to flee the islands to make a living on the Continent. As more and more English people entered France, the popularity of the English language in France gradually increased. Violence against Anglos occurred almost every year on the Continent, and the masterminds who orchestrated the violence usually claimed that these damned Anglo sons of bitches had taken their jobs.

McNeil, who had been asleep from start to finish, was awakened by the penultimate passenger to leave the car. He staggered out of the automobile in a trance and looked suspiciously at the silent town before him. The town wasn't very large, there were no people to be seen on the streets, and occasionally a few old men came out to walk the streets, and they looked curiously at the young man in the leather top.

McNeil walked into a nearby bar where there were only three people: the owner with half-white hair and two old men playing chess.

"Hello, I'm here to see my relatives." McNeil asked politely, "Excuse me, is there a family here with the last name McNeil?"

The two old men who were playing the game coincidentally took their eyes off the chessboard and gazed at the eager-faced McNeil.

"No, you may be misremembering." After saying that, they slowly refocused their attention on the chess game, and the owner who was watching TV on the sidelines didn't pay any attention to McNeil.

"Okay, that's fine, thanks." McNeil left the bar backwards and went to the neighborhood to keep asking around. He asked a dozen people in a row, and the answer he got was No. This town was the birthplace of his parents, maybe the family with the last name McNeil moved somewhere else.

McNeil pulled a couple of business cards from his jacket pocket, one of the many proofs of false identity that Governor-general Herzog had prepared for him. He placed the business cards on his left hand and asked someone for the mayor's residence. In no time at all, McNeil came near a modest wooden house and knocked on the front door. An old man who appeared to be in his eighties opened the door for him with a hobbling gait before returning to his seat and continuing to read.

"The Silmarillion?" The sharp-eyed McNeil caught a glimpse of the title, "I like it."

"Thanks, me too." The mayor looked at the radiant youth, "What are you doing here? It has been a long time since we have had an outside young man pass through this town."

"I came here to find my distant relative." McNeil's heart pounded, "May I ask if you remember any family in town with the last name McNeil?"

The mayor narrowed his eyes as if pondering some difficult math problem.

"No." The old man spread his hands, "I'm sorry, but for as long as I can remember, I don't recall us ever having any people with the last name McNeil come through here."

As if he had been hit in the head, McNeil said goodbye to the old man in a jumbled voice, and just a few steps out the door, he stomped on the steps to the cabin door and fell straight down, smashing his face in. With great difficulty he rose from the ground, took off his dusty and sandy clothes, and left the cabin one step at a time.

Something cold hit his hand. McNeil looked up at the cloudy sky, rain dripping down his face, tears blurring his vision. When he thought about it, it wasn't anything to be heartbroken about; he was supposed to be a wanderer with no one to turn to. However, McNeil had always believed that persistence brought definite rewards, and returning without success was not something to be happy about.

"Maybe it's my destiny to be alone." McNeil laughed to himself, "Michael McNeil may never have existed."

He didn't notice a mysterious man in a black robe poking his head out from behind a house not far away watching his every move. Having left behind those inconsequential sorrows, McNeil set out on his return journey. There is no home for him in this world, and now he will fight for the home he truly cares about.

TBC

Chapter Notes:

What form Scotland would have taken to unite with England if the Tudors had been ruling the country is indeed a question worth examining.

Even though the history of the C&C universe has changed significantly, perhaps Tolkien still has a chance to complete his epic. However, some of these books or movies that we know so well are likely to disappear. For example, Clint Eastwood (Flint Westwood), Sylvester Stallone (Sammy Stallion), and Arnold Schwarzenegger (Arnnie Frankenfurter) all fought in World War III, and even if they all survived, their later lives would be very different from reality.