Transportation and Production
June 1, 1919, Menelik Palace grand conference room, Addis Ababa.
The conference room's distinctive smell greeted me—a blend of incense smoke, aged leather, and the body heat mingled with myrrh from dozens of nobles. The first time I entered this room, the scent had been dizzying, but now its absence would feel off-kilter. Just half a year. The longest I'd been away from Addis Ababa since founding the Ras Council. Nearly a month had passed since my return from those long, tedious, razor-sharp negotiations spanning Paris to Versailles. Upon arrival, I'd received Minister Yeo Un-hyung, cleared the backlog of documents, and finalized our first official consultations with the Korean Empire. And today, at last, I would preside over the Ras Council in person.
As I settled onto the throne, I slowly scanned the room. The faces of the Ras lined up to either side filed into view: my father, Ras Mikael; Ras Kassa Haile; Ras Seyum Mangasha; Ras Hailu Tekle Haymanot; Ras Lul Seged; Demissew; Balcha Safo. And Tafari Mekonnen.
Their expressions varied, but they shared one thing: the glint in eyes that had already caught wind of the Paris rumors. I had no idea how the tale of the Empress invoking Adwa's blood on an Italian diplomat at Versailles had reached Addis Ababa, but those looks confirmed they knew.
I simply ignored it.
"You've waited long," I said first, in courtly diction, low and clear. "Today, we'll focus our discussion on the progress of industrialization phase one. Please report the status of each province in order."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Kassa Haile of Selale spoke first. "Your Majesty, the threshers, plows, and looms introduced to Selale began full operation this spring. Teff yields have nearly tripled compared to last year, and while textile production remains small-scale, we've started selling into the Addis Ababa market."
I ran the numbers in my head as he spoke. Teff tripled—our staple crop's carrying capacity for the population surges. Surplus means trade, the first step toward a cash economy. But the textiles he mentioned? That mattered more right now. Ethiopia still depended solely on coffee and hides for exports. Elevating cloth to export status would diversify foreign exchange inflows. Selale's output was domestic-scale for now, but the direction was spot-on.
"Good. Next."
As the reports flowed, I discerned a pattern in the Ras' words. Facilities generate surplus. Surplus gets sold. Sales route through Addis Ababa. Reaching Addis demands rail stations, and rail stations demand roads.
The road issue surfaced during Demissew Nasibu's report.
"Agricultural facilities in Werebe province are operating smoothly, Your Majesty. But there's the matter of roads."
The room grew a touch quieter—an air of anticipation, as if many had foreseen this topic.
"Speak."
With my permission, he continued. "During last year's rains, two sections of the main road to Addis Ababa were completely washed out. One by landslide, the other by flooding. Repairs are underway, but the next rainy season will bring the same again."
I let out a low inward groan. Right. This was Ethiopia's fundamental logistics bottleneck. Our terrain drew a phrase from European powers' staff reports: severely rugged. Highlands, gorges, valleys, fault lines—and summer deluges every year. Ethiopia's rainy season stretched from June to September. Rivers swelled, mountainsides eroded, and roads paved the previous year vanished into mud.
I'd known roads were a maintenance issue, not mere construction. But hearing it in a live report made the need to recalibrate road budget allocations in my mental planner hit home.
"Any other provinces facing similar?"
Sidamo's Balcha Safo raised a quiet hand. Lul Seged and others nodded. Virtually all of them.
Tafari glanced my way, awaiting my handling of it.
I paused to think. In my past life, I'd read papers on infrastructure woes in developing nations—African inland logistics, where half the budget went to maintenance, not building.
Ethiopia was no exception.
"We can't solve the road problem in the short term," I replied crisply. "Our terrain hampers construction itself, and annual rains wreck what's built. Maintaining every national main road is beyond our budget."
The Ras listened in silence.
"So we prioritize. We'll designate only the core routes linking Addis Ababa to each rail station for intensive maintenance. Other roads fall to provincial management, with ongoing central technical support."
"How many such rail connections?"
"Six major stations on the Djibouti line. We secure the branches from there first. Imperial funds guarantee post-rain repairs on those. The rest are provincial responsibility—but imperial engineers provide standards and designs."
The Ras exchanged glances. A few seconds of wordless exchange, then Hailu Tekle Haymanot spoke. "If rail connections are secured, exporting provincial goods to Addis Ababa faces no hindrance."
"Exactly. That's the crux."
I shot back. This was the core logic of our industrialization plan: Provinces produce, Addis Ababa trades, Djibouti rails ship to the world. For those three links to flow smoothly, at minimum the Addis-rail segments had to endure.
Our terrain enforced semi-mandatory local self-reliance, making Ras cooperation indispensable. I couldn't transform this country by dictating from the center alone. That was why I'd proposed the Ras Council—not emperor commands, Ras executes; but emperor and Ras sharing roles. Central handles tech standards and external links; provinces manage operations and on-site upkeep. That's what fit this land's scale and contours.
"We'll detail road budget allocations at the next meeting with hard numbers. Today, we confirm the principle: Addis-rail priority; local roads autonomous; tech support imperial. Objections?"
"None."
As the meeting passed its midpoint, the mood shifted. Economic reports trended positive overall: provincial facilities installed, production ramped, markets expanding. All within my projections—some hitting targets, others exceeding.
Then came Tafari's report.
"Your Majesty, a report on the Addis Ababa Arsenal."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. First time he'd raised the arsenal in formal Ras Council. When this man volunteered an agenda, he'd already crunched the numbers.
"Speak."
"Rifle production facility construction, advanced over the past three months, is complete."
The room fell silent.
My initial Arsenal visit—planting the seeds of assembly lines and parts standardization with Minister Habte—dated to 1916. Three years of stepwise progress.
"Complete meaning?"
"Machine tools imported and basic setup in place. Test operations underway; full production estimated another month."
Rifle production facilities. Everyone in the room grasped the implications. Hitherto, Ethiopia could buy guns but not make them. We'd imported Spanish Mausers and begun ammo output at the Arsenal—but rifles themselves came from abroad. Sever that pipeline, and we'd have ammo with no guns to fire it.
"Minister Habte. With blueprints in hand, timeline to test production?"
"Prototypes within two months per current plans, Your Majesty."
"Good."
I nodded, and Tafari unfolded another document.
"One more item. Site selection complete for the steel mill in the Alessa region."
This drew a murmur among the Ras—stronger than the rifle report.
Steel mill via crucible smelting. A past-life recall: the 19th-century Western method for mass iron refining, the most feasible kickoff for Ethiopia's current level. No massive blast furnaces yet—lacking transport and tech. But crucibles got us iron, the springboard to more.
"Costs?"
Hailu Tekle Haymanot asked, as expected.
"Under negotiation with the Korean Empire. Minister Yeo elevated this as the prime agenda."
Tafari elaborated. "Tech transfer model. Not full capital from them—we supply resources and a production share; they provide equipment and technicians."
Ras glances rippled. I watched their reception. Unease flickered—no surprise. Those familiar with the Korean Empire knew it gave nothing without taking. But crucially, this wasn't Europe. French tech came with concessions like the Djibouti railway. British with Sudan border shackles. Italy wouldn't share at all.
Korea differed. Fellow non-European. Sovereign survivor, no colony. Partnership logic, not exploitation.
Versailles words with Marshal Park Young-ho flashed by: Same boat, after all. If that underpinned our accord emotionally, Alessa steel was its tangible fruit.
"Construction starts within the year. Full operations earliest in two years."
"Applications once complete?"
Kassa Haile queried, latching onto the timeline.
"Primarily ag tools and road materials first. Then building supplies, long-term military equipment components."
Military gear elicited a subtle shift—Ras postures straightening, not in opposition but intrigue. Adwa's survivors perked at those words.
"Finally, we'll contact Spain. Additional Mauser imports, plus license production negotiations."
Tafari's fingers on his knee clenched once, slowly, then released. He knew. This wasn't importing rifles—it was learning to forge them. More precisely, buying Ethiopia's right to forge its own.
I stated it plainly. "Official Spanish Mauser design specs let our Arsenal stamp out compliant rifles. That's license production. We won't churn thousands overnight, but specs unlock capacity—and time builds the rest."