In the world of the 25th Century - a rare sight was happening beyond the coast of the Iberian Peninsula. Namely an oil rig was slowly but surely being pulled back online.
Such a sight was rare, since not many people had the technological, resources nor manpower to bring such a titan of the sea, back to life. Work was done around the clock, as four hundred years of both seawater and the occasional radiated fallout had contaminated the rig.
As such the people working there required both equipment that was sealed yet also wouldn't break upon contact with a sharp surface nor suddenly sink - if somebody would fall overboard. It was hard work - but for the people on the rig, it was just another challenge to overcome.
A dark shape appeared upon the horizon, seemingly rising up from the very waves as light refracted off it's steel hull. The harsh seas beat against wrought iron like a smith's hammer striking an anvil. That shape grew larger with each passing second as it pressed forward, straight at the looming giant in the distance. As it grew closer, the shape could be made out: it was a ship.
A Destroyer, the modern Man-of-War, cut across the sea as it made a beeline for the towering oil platform. From stern to bow it was over five hundred feet long, bristling with menacing armaments, cutting an imposing figure on it's swift approach. Behind it, more shapes could be made out as it led the charge.
Seated within the bridge of the mighty
FCS Tempest was a middle age man with a spattering of bright red hair on his chin. Captain John Barnes, veteran soldier of the Consortium Navy, turned an eye to his communications officer. "I want a status report on that platform, Lieutenant Hatchet." He requested, a dash of excitement barely hidden in his voice. "Are they active?"
Lieutenant Hatchet, a young woman with a mind for the mechanical and little else, quickly looked over her instruments. "There's...an active radio wave, sir. Someone's aboard." Hatchet informed him, a look of surprise crossing every member aboard the bridge. "Should I hail them?"
The captain was silent, for a time. A hand upon his stubbly chin, Barnes gave a slight nod of his head after a moment's thought. "Aye, Lieutenant. Put me through. And inform the rest of the fleet." Hatchet's fingers danced across her console. She flipped a switch, giving her captain the thumbs up to go ahead. Taking the microphone in his hand, John cleared his throat. "This is Captain John Barnes of the Fortis Consortium Fleet. You're on my new oil platform. Prepare to be boarded."
Soon enough, there was the sound of yelling and panicking shouting on the other end of the line. The language spoken on the other end of the line was a mix of regular English and what sounded like a strange mixture of heavier Irish and...something else sounding.
As the Fleet of the Fortis Consortium kept on their usual course - soon enough they would spot a single red flare being fired high into the sky from the platform. That soon sparked into a loud and bright red explosion. Similar to that of an old firework.
"This is the domain of Her Majesty, and the Kingdom of Britannia! Turn back now pirates!" replied a male voice on the other end - at least whomever worked on the oil rig seemed to have maintained their ability to speak English. Although it sounded like somebody was chewing of concrete and holding their nose shut. The tone they used also, sounded like they believed that the oil rig they stood on was holy soil - either they were truly serious or they were a bunch of nutjobs. Likely not the first in this world - whom thought any island that had their people on belonged to some Holy Spirit or Great Godess.
The sight of the flare sparking the sky with crimson light sent a rush of whispers and mutters through the crew. Captain Barnes sighed, his lips pressed together tightly. Whoever was on that platform had just called for help; which meant they weren't alone, whoever they were. The answer to the question on Johnathan's mind arrived when he heard a voice blare over the radio in spotty english. "What?" The ginger soldier barked, followed by a mocking chuckle. "Her Majesty? You gotta be shittin' me." Pulling himself up in his seat, Barnes straightened himself out, once more lifting the microphone up to his mouth.
"I think you've got it all wrong here, mate," Barnes started, the last word taking on a hint of an overexaggerated version of the Brit's accent. "We're not pirates. And so far as I'm aware, your whole damn country went up in flames a few hundred years ago. So unless you can prove to me you're who you say you are, and not a bunch of scavengers, in the next...let's give it ten minutes, then we're
coming aboard." The captain clicked off the microphone, looking to Hatchet next. "Get the admiral on the phone. We might have a small...small problem."
As words were exchanged and tensions rose, the other ships lagging behind the
FCS Tempest came into view. Among them was another Destroyer, the
FCS Valiant. The other two were much smaller than the five hundred foot long Destroyers. Frigates, by the looks of them, though one might mistake them for corvettes given their small size.
"Be my guest...they'll be here before half of that. Say hi to Davy Jones for me, ya bloody wanker," came the reply from the oil rig. It didn't take beyond two minutes - before the....radar....would pick up then targets. The radar which hadn't detected many targets in over several years.
Namely they were picking up five unknown targets approaching high and fast. Namely they were flying in the traditional V-pattern, soon enough the com of Captain John Barnes was hailed again. The voice on the other side was much more harder, sounding like a half-angry Irishman and a Scot.
"Attention pirates. This is the Royal Air Force - in the name of the Queen Mary X. Please state your business, within the domain of the Kingdom of Britannia - in the next two minutes. Fail to comply and we shall sink your ships to the bottom of the sea."
The five approaching flyboys weren't propeller driven either, namely they sported jet-engines behind them, as all five of them broke off in different directions. Namely likely an attack pattern, incase somebody decided to open fire upon them. It meant, those on the oil rig weren't lying and also - they did belong to a nation and a Queen. One whom seem to possess the capability of deploying and maintaining modern aircraft.
A panicked shout came from the bright eyed young man that manned the radar station. "We've got bogeys coming in fast! I've got...five hits on the radar, sir!" By now, the whispers from the rest of the men on the bridge had grown louder. It was clear they weren't dealing with a group of common scavengers that tried to bluff their way out of giving up the oil on that platform. No, they had actually encountered the remnants of the United Kingdom.
"Everyone, quiet!" Captain Barnes roared, causing total silence to ring out over the bridge of the
FCS Tempest. "If these bastards wanna pick a fight, then they just found the one'a their lives. Lieutenant Commander Kahn, give the order, to battlest-"
As the captain began to bark his orders, the radio suddenly blared to life. A familiar voice called out, and she didn't sound happy. "What the hell did you say to these people, Barnes?!" Dinah Cohen, the Armenian born captain of the unshakable
Valiant practically screamed. Her anger was laced into every word, dripping with a venomous indignation that Captain Barnes and his crewmen were
very familiar with. "I swear to God if you just caused an International incident you stupid hothead, I'm gonna-"
"Dinah, now is NOT the time-" Barnes tried to argue.
"Shut the hell up, Barnes. I am two seconds- TWO seconds- from sinking your whole God damn ship. God, you idiot! I'm taking command of this situation, effective immediately. Change your course, Barnes: now." Cohen didn't leave any room for argument, and everyone on board the
Tempest knew it. With a sigh, the captain gave the order for his Destroyer to slow their approach as they began to turn away from the oil rig.
Dinah's voice replaced that of Barnes over the radio as she addressed the forces of the Kingdom of Britannia over an open line. "This is Captai Dinah Cohen of the Fortis Consortium. You have my deepest apologies, this is a simple misunderstanding. We're looking for a place to refuel, and we didn't know these waters belonged to the Crown. As the representative of my fleet and the commander of this strike group, I formally request permission to dock in the nearest operational port. It's been a long time since we found other nations out here."
As their timer went beyond two minutes, the RAF didn't start dropping missiles or bombs upon their Fleet - indicating that some Commander in skies above took their words to heart and called off any further attack.
While they circled the Consortium Fleet, soon enough they got a response. "Stick to your current position. The Royal Navy will reach your destination within an hour or two. Afterwards, the Queen will determine your situation. Any deviation and we will take this as a sign of hostility," they replied. Despite the rather xenophobic attitude, they weren't at least firing upon them - like some islanders used to do out in the Caribbeans.
Within the next hour, the Consortium soon got a glimpse of the Navy of the 'sunken nation'. Namely the proud flag of Britannia, or what resembled a strange mixture of it - started to appear over the horizon. Attached to namely three Frigates, a single Destroyer, two ships that fit the description of an armored battleship, possessing several large naval guns. While in the far distance, away from missile range was also what seemed to be an aircraft carrier.
All of that combined, didn't make things any easier - especially, as they also reported a nuclear submarine under the waves, although it was keeping its distance at least. Thanks to the active sonar of the Consortium. All in all - Dinah was right in pulling back, since this 'Kingdom of Britannia' didn't seem to play around and seemed to be the honest remnants of the UK or what they had become centuries later.
The opposite of Admiral Joseph Henshaw in the Royal Navy had talked things over - it was evident by the initial talks, that the United Kingdom had 'heavily' devolved into something similar to that of Japan in the earlier years of the 20th Century. Although talks had managed to reach a point, that a delegation was willing to be sent to speak onboard the
FCS Purgatory.Although, that came with a reminder, if things were to turn hostile - they had more than enough cruise missiles and naval cannons to sink half of the Consortium if things went awry. Soon enough though, the sight of a VTOL was spotted. The thing slowly circled the Purgatory, before slowly settling down upon its deck.
Soon enough, four armored soldiers disembarked. They immediately had their arms drawn and scanning the premise - their attire spoke of seriousness. Namely their armor, looked like a black wet-suit with a plastic-like carapace over everything. Even their limbs and legs - while they seemed to wore a helmet, that seemed to be a mix of a gas filter and a flight helmet. They soon gave the traditional signal of 'clear'.
Inside, the VTOL' pilot soon removed their helmet and soon enough stepped outside. Their appearance was...moderate, similar to a ranked aviator. Although, 'her' face seemed rather unexpected - as she had the face of a supermodel and purple eyes. Needless to say, the four Marines soon locked into motion around her - as her bodyguards, as they soon marched towards to meet the Admiral.
"Queen Mary Windsor the Wise, Tenth of My Name. Queen of Progress and Monarch of Britannia," she spoke, with a shallow bow - immediately her voice sounding both finely refined and the usual British snobbish.
The deck of the
Purgatory was alive with activity. At the announcement that they would be receiving an envoy from the remnants of the United Kingdom, Admiral Henshaw had ordered preparations to be made for their arrival. Every officer and seaman aboard the aircraft carrier had been made to gather on the deck. Hundreds of men stood at attention. All had been asked to dress in their absolute best. For the officers, this meant gathering in the dress uniforms that they had taken with them when they deserted from their respective navies. Others, mostly the Ensigns and other lower ranking seamen, had rushed to get their fatigues washed and pressed.
Admiral Joseph Henshaw stood at the front of the procession. Dressed in the stark white dress uniform of a California Republic admiral, the Fortis Consortium's leader was a sight to behold. While he lacked the...
traditional attractiveness of the queen, Henshaw looked good for a man in his forties. A strong jawline, tried and tested lines upon his weary face, and a form forged in the fires of hardship and war, Henshaw's tall and rigid physique was easy to pick out of a crowd.
When the ramp came down and the unknown aircraft's occupants exited, weapons raised, there was an immediate response from the crewmen around them. The soldiers at Henshaw's side, his faithful commander Douglas Brown and the unwavering, hard faced Lieutenant Amanda Ross, each were quick to retrieve their sidearms. Before the rest of the armed crewmen nearby could even so much as go for their own weapons, Henshaw raised a single hand to the air. His silent command was met with all firearms being lowered immediately, though the grey haired, steely eyed Brown was slower to put his guard down than most.
When the starkly beautiful woman that descended from the plane last revealed herself to be none other than Britannia's very own
queen, the reaction that followed was obvious. Subdued only by the intense stares of their commanding officers, the sailors in ear shot all looked near visibly shocked. Even the Admiral's eyes widened, the lines on his face growing more prominent as he adjusted his stance. "Your majesty." Henshaw spoke respectfully, his voice like gravel as he bent at the waist in an awkward, unpracticed bow. His officers were quick to follow, mirroring the action taken by their admiral and leader. "I am Fleet Admiral Joseph Henshaw, representative of the Fortis Consortium. It is my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance, your highness." That word felt alien to his tongue. Never in his life did Henshaw think he would address anyone in such a fashion, so he was clearly unprepared for...all of this.
"May I escort you to the council chambers? The council of captains is still preparing, we...did not expect to convene so quickly, so you have my sincerest apologies for any missteps that might be taken." The admiral explained.
"That is quite acceptable. A pleasing greeting to you as well, Admiral Henshaw of Fortis Consortium. We did not expect any outsiders within these waters...or at least not those whom possessed such naval capability," replied Queen Mary, as once she opened her mouth - she started speaking with both the regalia of some Old Royalty and also like some technical engineer. "So we too are a bit overwhelmed by this sudden turn of events. Although it is within my right as a sovereign head-of-state to dictate the terms of any and all trade or exchange of produce, resources or manpower."
"I will be bringing a bag with me, that contains my datapad and my touchpad - for the discussion of relationships between our two...states," she added, adding that last part with a bit of hesitation as she didn't know what to call the Consortium in all honesty. Despite all of this, Mary was rather welcoming of having and discovering new individuals and groups of them in this healing world.
As much as her people were against allowing outsiders anywhere near Britannia - Mary was smart enough to know, that at least trade and exchange of information was worthwhile in poking their noses outside of their borders every once in awhile. It was one of the reasons, they had managed to grow in the first place - and the oil rig in particular was a project, that would allow them to siphon natural gas and crude oil without having to brave the colds of the Icy North.
"....and....you didn't have to put this gathering on for my sake. I am sure, many of your people have more important things to do, than greet me," replied Mary - speaking it in a tone that was both patronizing and yet also understanding. As it also happened - she was dressed in what appeared to be a simple flight-suit and not an elaborate gown of sorts. It seemed whatever monarchy that Britannia had - it seemed to be of the more practical-minded and also overly intelligent type it seemed.
Still, Queen Mary followed after Admiral Henshaw in a rather calm and steady step - her own bodyguards keeping her flanks and behind covered. Even inside the crowded halls of the Consortium flagship - they walked in perfect unison. Their grip on their weapons tight, their voices silent and their step hard and certain. Whomever Mary' bodyguards were - they radiated seriousness by their very presence.
With a practiced flourish the admiral turned on his heel, falling in step with Britannia's monarch as they began to make their way across the deck of the
FCS Purgatory. The sailors and officers lined up on either side made clear the path to the carrier's control tower, their hands raised in a series of sharp salutes as per the admiral's orders. The crashing of the waves and the roaring wind forced Henshaw to strain to hear her majesty as she spoke. "I apologize for any chaos we might've caused. If we had known there were others on these waters, we would've called ahead." Joseph offered a meager smile, his boots clicking against the hard deck.
Queen Mary X's hesitation to refer to the Consortium as a 'state' only widened the admiral's grin. He was well aware of the unorthodox nature of his people. They were a nomadic group, exiled from their homeland; a far cry from the well established kingdom that was Britannia. Still, in a world fueled by violence and mistrust, it was a blessing to finally find someone who was willing to lower their arms at the sight of his fleet. Henshaw's only dream was to someday see their flag planted somewhere safe, where they could finally depart from these dreadful, claustrophobic hulls that they had lived in for years now.
"Well," The admiral began as the queen mentioned the great number of soldiers brought up to the deck to greet her. "While that might normally be true, I believe a great deal in putting on a good first impression. It helps...set the tone, so to say." Henshaw was a military man, first and foremost. He had never been a diplomat, a politician, or anything else. He- and by extension, his crew- spoke best through force. Putting on a show of his troops made it clear that the Consortium was not some ragtag group of scuttled pirates and brigands who happened upon a few naval warships. They were veteran sailors, warriors, and they would not be easily pushed around. Henshaw did not revel in violence, however. If this meeting resulted in the peaceful negotiation of treaties and trade deals, he would leave a happy man.
"That might be the case - if one dealt with another military power," replied Mary. "To us, we value more the intelligence rather than the brute force of another nation. Anybody can flex their muscle...not many is able to utilize their mental faculties I am sad to admit..."
The small procession entered into the control tower that hung high above their heads. The admiral's officers led the way down a flight of tight stairs, keeping an amiable pace. Even the largest ship in the fleet felt far smaller on the inside than one would like. Everything was as tightly packed as could be to make room for more people, weapons and sub-systems. "The meeting chambers are just this way." Joseph assured the queen and her stoic honor guard as they passed into a hallway, where a few men in dark blue fatigues could be seen rushing into side doors to make room for the group.
Commander Brown pushed open the heavy steel bulwark that led into the chamber where the Consortium's council of captains met. He held open the door, allowing Lieutenant Commander Ross to step to the other side. The chamber itself was rather bland. Walls of grey steel and a lack of any color or windows, illuminated by the artificial lights on the low hanging ceiling, made it all feel rather
cramped. Inside, twenty five men and women sat in semi-comfortable chairs surrounding a large, oval table, making small talk amongst themselves. At the sound of the door opening, however, all eyes turned and all talk was muted at the arrival of the admiral and the queen. The captains stood at attention, backs stark straight and chins held high. "Your majesty, these are my associates. The twenty five captains of our fleet. This is the governing body of the Fortis Consortium." Henshaw waved toward the gathered number of military officials. "If you'd like to sit," He pointed toward a pair of seats at the head of the table, "you may."
Queen Mary nodded in reply to the gathered people in a very polite manner and also gave a warm thank-you to the Admiral - whom had escorted her here. Her guards meanwhile remained as silent as always - although their heads did move about and scanned across the crowd.
Once that had been done, Mary soon was seated and addressed the gathered Captains in the area. "Well...I will admit, this is my first time welcoming a foreign entity that hadn't replied with an attempt at war or fighting..." she spoke. "So then....I guess....welcome to the waters of Britannia..." she spoke, to the gathered crowd. Meanwhile, Admiral Henshaw would have something to do himself - as the Consortium' Council talked it out with a new foreign dignitary. Namely he had something to read up on - namely the current history and usual policy of Britannia.
The captains returned to their seats, all eyes upon the young queen from the foreign kingdom as expectant ears waited, eager to hear what she had to say. The Consortium wasn't experienced in dealing with matters of state or diplomacy. For most of the many years it had sailed these accursed waters, they had existed merely to survive. Fighting tooth and nail against every living thing that stood in their way. Many had succumbed to hunger and disease, while many others had lost their lives fighting for the future that they would not live to see. Discussions, kindness and understanding were almost foreign concepts in this volatile life they lived.
Henshaw quietly took his own seat beside Mary, the advanced datapad in his hands. He briefly struggled with the technology he didn't understand, though Britannia's designs were innuitive enough that even the old war dog managed to get a handle on it after a moment or two of finagling. As he began reading on the Kingdom's storied history and it's policies, one of the captains spoke up. "Thank you, your majesty. We appreciate your hospitality." Dinah Cohen hummed, her words tinged with an accent that hinted at her Middle Eastern heritage. "And in regards to the situation that led to our meeting,
Captain Barnes has something he would like to say." Cohen's voice took on an edge as she turned her eyes to the red haired man seated beside her.
Fierce amber eyes went wide as Barnes shared a glance with the younger woman that called him out. He didn't
actually have anything to say, though Dinah had all but twisted his arm earlier and demanded he apologize for nearly getting them all blown up with his rash behavior. "I'm...sorry, for threatening your people on the oil rig. That was all a
biiiiig misunderstanding, really." Johnathan chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his collar as he made only light eye contact with the queen.
"So then...since we have been all acquinted with each other here," replied Mary - although, some more than others. She soon got down to business. "Might I inquire what is it that you seek in the domain of Britannia?"
Straight to the point as usual it seemed with this monarch - whom didn't seem to beat around the bush, with titles and declarations. Despite not being asked of it - Mary didn't much see the need for people to call her 'Majesty' all of the time.
As for Henshaw - he would have skimmed through most of the important parts. Namely their government, people and quality of life. Compared to what everything they had seen - Britannia almost seemed like an utopia. Although, one person' utopia - was another person' dystopia. Since Britannia engaged in things, one might expect from a Fascist state not a technocratic-monarchy. Heavy surveillance, eugenics - namely mental illness was usually treated quickly...and finally.
All of this made one limit their eagerness to join Britannia in anything but simple trade - namely from a state, that saw anything below their standard of intelligence as un-deserving of several basic rights. Namely of right to vote, hold office or even self-determination in the rare case.
Admiral Henshaw kept one ear to the conversation going on around him, his eyes dancing between the bright screen in his hands and the woman seated to his side as he skimmed through the vast amount of data she had presented him with. It felt like the entire history of her kingdom was stuffed in there. Joseph's attention began to shift away from Mary, centering on the object held tightly in his hands, as more...disturbing...information began to appear before him. Britannia was not the haven of tolerable understanding that Henshaw had first hoped the kingdom to be. Hidden inside more mundane cultural information were practices many aboard this very ship would consider utterly abhorrent. Selective breeding, near Orwellian surveillance of the citizenship, and basic human rights being tied to an IQ test.
It made the man's stomach nearly churn at the unexpected sight. A disgust that did not appear on his passive expression filled his gut. Euthanasia of those deemed 'mentally unfit' was particularly concerning for the man whom had deserted his country in the name of preserving life. Glancing to the nearest member of the council, Henshaw made a conscious decision to tilt the screen away from him. They couldn't see this. If someone like Wallace Jackson, Cohen or even
Barnes saw this, this meeting would undoubtedly be compromised.
Clearing his throat, the representative of the council decided to speak up before anyone else could answer the queen. "We need to refuel a number of our ships. We planned to commandeer an abandoned oil platform, but I think it would be profitable if we engaged in mutal trade." Turning an eye down the line of men seated to his right, the admiral's gaze stopped on a balding, lithe figure that looked like he had skipped a few too many meals. "Doctor Stein?"
Doctor Karl Stein, a sixty year old man from a German colony in the states, turned his head up from a report in his hands upon hearing his name called. The distracted scientist's eyes brightened immediately behind the round rims of his glasses. "Ja! Yes, ah, trade. Miss Mary- or, your majesty, my apologies- do you know what mixed oxide fuel is?" Before the woman even had the chance to do more than open her mouth, the old teacher was quick to explain it anyway. "It's a mixture of plutonium and depleted uranium. You see, two of our largest ships run on nuclear power. Well, some of our men- enthusiastic as they are- tend to gather up as much potential fuel as they can whenever we make landfall. This has led to us...ahh..stockpiling quite a bit of plutonium that we can't exactly make use of. Well, we've been combining it with the depleted uranium from our own reactors, and I do believe it would be quite valuable to you!"
Most people could actually detect the Queen' face slightly move from curious to slightly insulted - when Doctor Stein asked if she knew about MOX Fuel or not. "Yes, Doctor. I do know what MOX Fuel is," replied Mary - even knowing its old nickname even. "Most of our own ships utilize it instead of regular oil in their reactors. Since its rather widely available...in...well anything in the soil."
"Also I have to beg the question, why you haven't gone over to a breeder reactor," replied Mary - namely asking the tell-tale question that one Doctor likely hadn't thought of that had existed. Engaging in technical terms with a scientist whose life it was to understand this - with a Queen whom ruled a nation and talked about the subject, like it was last night' gossip.
"Since there is basically left-over nuclear material all over the world. A breeder reactor would consume more fuel than it produced - eliminating the need to overstore unavailable fuel. So I assume, you still utilize the old..or 'new' models - where your producing more than you can utilize...and whom are sadly too delicate to be used with the...dirt-version fuel, that is so abudant in the current world. Although, I do remember those models had been de-commissioned long before the end of the 20th Century...and you likely wouldn't know how to adjust a breeder reactor to consuming nuclear material without letting dust particles affect the energy-phase exchange."
"Although...I assume you still utilize the steam-turbine version...and not perhaps the extracting the energy straight from the process itself..." she added.
Stein was, as anyone who spent more than five minutes with the man, not a people person. He could read a machine like a book, but the Doctor had trouble understanding people unless they spelled everything out for him. The annoyance coming from the queen entirely went over the old man's head, a bright grin on his lips as she mentioned that she knew well what he was talking about. "Oh, excellent!" If MOX fuel was widely used in Britannia's own navy, it meant they wouldn't have to worry about compatibility issues. Though, the drawback being that they likely had a stockpile of the stuff already, making it's value drop slightly.
"We've discussed updating the reactors a number of times. Our team is well aware of the inefficiencies. However, our engineers seem to think it'd be impossible. Our only nuclear reactors are aboard the
Mjolnir and the
Purgatory. Both were designed to fit the light water reactors they're currently using. By switching to another source of power, we would need to redesign a large number of systems, effectively building both ships again from scratch." Stein explained. "We haven't the time or the resources, I'm afraid. Not yet. Though we DO have plans to-" As Karl spoke, he received a quick and harsh elbow to his ribs from the dark haired, middle age woman beside him. "-Ahh...Right. Classified. My mistake."
Dinah Cohen let her eyes move away from Stein, struggling to keep them from rolling at his inability to keep his trap shut when someone got him talking. He was a brilliant scientist, but the doctor was a...questionable choice for captain. "Given that we have a sufficient amount of this resource available to us, and we're in need of more oil for our other ships...We were
wondering if your nation would be willing to make a trade? Our financial experts can debate the numbers at a later time, of course. And if we're going to make this trade, we'd need to make port in one of your cities. If that is...acceptable?"
"Some details can be worked out at a later date. Although there will be some certain restrictions and things that will be needed to be talked out," replied Mary Windsor. Although, the details would be discussed with Admiral Henshaw - since she had already build-up a good enough understanding of her opposites in the Consortium.
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