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A light drizzle drifted in waves through the grey, lumpy skies and settled damply on the expectant throng. That was normal, for this time of year.
The public address system whined with feedback as the announcer stood up, tapped the microphone, and shook some rain from his notes. He glanced at the assembled multitudes momentarily before clearing his throat. The crowd hushed and strained forward.
"People of Izzardia,
I will get straight to the point. For this year's state-of-the-nation address we, the Cake or Death? party - rulers of Izzardia, are proud to announce not only to our fine nation but to the world beyond ... (gestures at world beyond) ... that we have already made a start on our space ladder with which we will reach the stars and win the game! (crowd cheers) We have a dossier (waves dossier) from our intelligence community which proves, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the other nations on this planet will not even be commencing their space programs for thousands of years to come. Rumours that the Pythonians have already discovered Space Flight from a hut or that MAST started the game with six tanks are seditious nonsense that will not be tolerated! (crowd cheers wildly).
Far above the announcer, the sheets of fine rain caressed the towers, turrets and pinnacles of the Palace of Izzardia, from where it made its way through the intricate network of exterior plumbing, and on into the tributaries which fed the mighty Snake River. In one tower, a figure stood by a window looking down at the proceedings. Behind him his three cabinet colleagues sat at an oak table. He turned and walked towards them, spreading his hands.
"It can't be true", began Frustrated Poet, "has this been fully checked".
Mountain Sage nodded. "The boys in the lab have been over and over it. All the physics checks out on every test. We're in the wrong game."
FP took the report that Arrian handed him and sat down to read.
As he flipped through the pages Arrian summarised ; "The Space Ladder is in CTP 1. This is a Civ 3 world we're living in. We can build the nicest space Ladder we like, but we won't win the game with it."
FP sighed and looked at each of his colleagues. "So what can we do?".
"Well", began Cort Haus, "we'll just have to wing it. We're only in ancient era, so there's a good chance that everyone will have forgotten about it by the time the space race comes round."
"Anyway", continued Arrian, "just listen to those cheering crowds. This project has rallied the nation behind us."
"And", added Mountain Sage, "we can always switch it to something else later once we have the tech researched to build it."
FP thought about this and walked back to the window. The rain had stopped and the sun had begun to peek out from behind the clouds.
"That'll do", he finally announced. "How's the flag coming along, by the way?"
The public address system whined with feedback as the announcer stood up, tapped the microphone, and shook some rain from his notes. He glanced at the assembled multitudes momentarily before clearing his throat. The crowd hushed and strained forward.
"People of Izzardia,
I will get straight to the point. For this year's state-of-the-nation address we, the Cake or Death? party - rulers of Izzardia, are proud to announce not only to our fine nation but to the world beyond ... (gestures at world beyond) ... that we have already made a start on our space ladder with which we will reach the stars and win the game! (crowd cheers) We have a dossier (waves dossier) from our intelligence community which proves, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the other nations on this planet will not even be commencing their space programs for thousands of years to come. Rumours that the Pythonians have already discovered Space Flight from a hut or that MAST started the game with six tanks are seditious nonsense that will not be tolerated! (crowd cheers wildly).
Far above the announcer, the sheets of fine rain caressed the towers, turrets and pinnacles of the Palace of Izzardia, from where it made its way through the intricate network of exterior plumbing, and on into the tributaries which fed the mighty Snake River. In one tower, a figure stood by a window looking down at the proceedings. Behind him his three cabinet colleagues sat at an oak table. He turned and walked towards them, spreading his hands.
"It can't be true", began Frustrated Poet, "has this been fully checked".
Mountain Sage nodded. "The boys in the lab have been over and over it. All the physics checks out on every test. We're in the wrong game."
FP took the report that Arrian handed him and sat down to read.
As he flipped through the pages Arrian summarised ; "The Space Ladder is in CTP 1. This is a Civ 3 world we're living in. We can build the nicest space Ladder we like, but we won't win the game with it."
FP sighed and looked at each of his colleagues. "So what can we do?".
"Well", began Cort Haus, "we'll just have to wing it. We're only in ancient era, so there's a good chance that everyone will have forgotten about it by the time the space race comes round."
"Anyway", continued Arrian, "just listen to those cheering crowds. This project has rallied the nation behind us."
"And", added Mountain Sage, "we can always switch it to something else later once we have the tech researched to build it."
FP thought about this and walked back to the window. The rain had stopped and the sun had begun to peek out from behind the clouds.
"That'll do", he finally announced. "How's the flag coming along, by the way?"
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