Chapter 43
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: volt
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Government
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Government
Finally, we've fully settled in Chesapeake Bay.
Food supplies to feed 10,000 people are steadily coming in, and the yields from potatoes, wheat, and barley are consistently on the rise. Our livestock numbers have grown considerably since the beginning.
This means we can now tackle more ambitious 'experiments'.
I gathered the settlement leaders who'd been dashing about with their computers and announced,
"Now, we'll begin preparing to cultivate corn."
The effort I put into preserving corn seeds while desperately tending my vegetable garden was finally paying off.
"Pardon? You mean that yellow crop we're already growing—the one the natives cultivate too?"
"Yes, that's right, Manteo. Excellent productivity and decent flavor."
"But aren't we and the other natives already handling that on our own?"
"I have superior seeds. And up until now, the natives have only grown it on a small scale."
I hadn't been able to cultivate it either. The reason was obvious.
Corn grows incredibly fast, in massive quantities, like mad—but at the cost of devouring the soil's fertility.
It's no wonder corn farming is likened to working an electric field. It guzzles water and nutrients, leaving fields completely barren after just a few years of corn crops.
The fertilizer demands for corn farming... even what we produce at home can't keep up. A plot just over 10 ares—about 300 pyeong—swallows an entire bag whole. How could we manage that?
But now, with our Chesapeake Bay settlement established, the soil has improved and water access is far smoother. It's time to give it a shot.
This place has so much water, our first concern is draining it.
"There are several swampy areas around Chesapeake Bay, so we'll convert those into fields. Let's install windmills and pumps to start draining the water."
"Uh... if it requires so much water and fertilizer, how exactly do we farm corn?"
There was a good reason I declared the time had come.
"We'll send people into this inner region of Pamlico Sound to mine a certain 'mineral'."
I unfolded the nearby resource map, copied straight from the game catalog, and addressed the group.
"Process that mineral just a bit and spread it on the land, then farm right on top. That solves the fertilizer issue."
"Using a mineral as fertilizer? I've never even heard of such a thing!"
"Yes, Vicente. We'll likely be the pioneers."
"What's the name of this mineral?"
"..."
We have ample manpower.
So, developing a mine or two isn't a bad idea at all.
The output from that mine would soon be worth its weight in gold...
I turned to Vicente.
"Phosphate rock."
With that, we wrapped up discussions on corn cultivation and the phosphate mine development. I adjourned the meeting.
Returning to Chesapeake Bay after a long absence, Walter Raleigh arrived flush with enormous capital. England's skyrocketing prices for the new grape varieties and aluminum had turned to gold for him.
Thanks to that windfall, he managed to haul over fifty heavy cast-iron cannons back to the Virginia colony. They were all destined for the newly built clipper ships.
It'd be ideal to cast cannons right here in the New World, but anything short of English-made cast iron tended to shatter or explode. Raleigh didn't know it, but English iron contained phosphorus.
Anyway, with the English cannons secured, it was time to build the ships to mount them on.
"Transparent panel 15 was just used."
Click.
"Now for transparent panel 17."
Click.
At Walter Raleigh's command, the workers sprang into action. No sooner had he returned than he found himself glaring at this bizarre black slab now in his hands... murmuring to himself.
"Hold on—why are twenty panels missing? Records show they should all be in warehouse 3."
"Ah, well... space was tight, so we temporarily moved them to warehouse 4..."
"Tell me in advance next time! Everything has its place—if they get mixed up, we're sunk. Fetch them now!"
The foremen grumbled about the sudden nitpicking but bolted off all the same. What difference could a few misplaced panels make, anyway?
And so...
In this 'nitpicky' new work environment, Walter Raleigh was breaking out in a cold sweat.
'What the hell?'
It had been quite some time since Lord Nemo had abruptly handed him this 'computer'—this black slab contraption.
Mastering its use had taken him weeks flat. Lord Nemo and the other apostles had drilled him repeatedly with warnings and lessons until he grasped the basics.
Calculate, sort, organize.
Those were the core functions of this 'Excel' device, it seemed. Its structure hinted at far more complex features, but he wouldn't dare touch those.
Even so, it was more than enough.
Raleigh was only now realizing how vital it was to see everything at a glance.
He could impose procedures and systems on processes once driven by gut feel, memory, and habit.
In an environment where lost items and mishaps were routine, this felt like leaping to another dimension entirely.
Raleigh assigned numbers to every material and letters to categorize types.
Suddenly, he could track the hundreds, thousands of components flowing into that ship like second nature.
Efficiency soared, naturally.
Useless tasks, chaos, and friction halved—then halved again.
This uncanny omnipotence.
The subtle peace of everything slotting into place.
Walter Raleigh mentally advanced the ship's completion date dramatically.
'At this rate... it might finish even sooner than I'd hoped.'
Soon, the world's first 'clipper' would be complete.
Virginia's sleek new vessel, poised to slice across the Atlantic at unprecedented speeds.
Thus did Raleigh learn the power of computerization.
I'd heard my PC outperforms the supercomputer Korea's weather service set up in 2002 by several times. Reliability doesn't match industrial machines, of course.
Ugh, I should've studied programming or computer engineering. My computer know-how peaks at the level 2 computer literacy cert I crammed for. I've handled parts, but only up to assembly.
Thus, I couldn't use it for orbital calculations on spaceships or shells, or hook up instruments for weather prediction.
Limitations of my own skills.
To me, the computer was a gaming rig or office tool, nothing more.
Damn Huangsoft. If they were gonna trip me up, they could've given a year's heads-up. I'd have crammed history books, stocked game cartridges, earned certifications—the works.
Whatever. Excel alone solved a ton of headaches.
"Lord Nemo?"
"What is it, Mr. Huet?"
"Data sorting's done. Time to compile it, I think."
"Got it. Gather everyone. To reach Croatoan, we should depart by evening."
Now, eight people—including Walter Raleigh—managed resident and resource data across eight laptops and tablets.
Every first Sunday of the month, we transferred it to my warehouse PC for consolidation, checked for duplicates or conflicts, and archived the final version.
That's how our settlement's database runs. It'll keep spinning until my 8TB external fills up... which won't happen.
With our settlement's 'government' analogue in place, we could relax for now...
"Lord Nemo? I came about that very issue."
"What's wrong, Mr. Huet? Some problem?"
"This 'government' business."
Huet tilted his head as he spoke.
"Thanks to this 'Excel', we're grasping the current state far more efficiently. Land distribution went much faster too."
"Correct. But what's puzzling you?"
To my question, Huet replied,
"In the end, isn't this just a roster? Government gathers the wills of free equals under the Lord's guidance to elect representatives or rulers, prevents chaos, and upholds rule by law..."
Representative election, community order, rule of law.
...What? Strip out 'under the Lord's guidance', and it's straight social contract theory.
This in this era? Bacon's born, but Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau are decades away.
I only know their names, not birthdates—I'm no Western history expert. Anyway, I hid my surprise and nodded.
"True enough. That's what government is."
"But I don't see how this 'roster' ties into forming one."
"..."
"..."
"Mr. Huet."
"Yes."
"Haven't things gotten busier lately?"
"Pardon? Now that you mention it, yes..."
Right. You wouldn't get it.
I recalled the time before introducing Excel.
During planting season: tending my vineyard, excavating barren land with the excavator, plowing fields with the tiller, hauling goods on the Damas.
Off-season? Lumber duty with the chainsaw.
Plus routine tasks like stockpiling meds and supplies.
That's just my manual labor.
And then...
—"Lord Nemo! Wild animals ate all our potatoes! What do we do...?"
—"Lord Nemo! Bless our marriage, please!"
—"Lord Nemo! Our child's missing! Wh-what now? Where'd our baby go...?"
All petitions landed on me.
Because I'm the 'angel'.
Like kids tattling to the teacher when playground fights stall. Exact same logic.
The 'angel'—fairest, wisest, greatest—could handle most issues... A superstitious faith rampant in the settlement.
No biggie at 200 or 300 souls.
Even with native influxes—chiefs mediated conflicts anyway.
But Raleigh's 700! 2,000! That's when it broke me.
We'd muster for big stuff like land clearing or clipper builds. Everything else? Mine.
Days grew... utterly draining.
"Now, when you approach people with the computer, what's their reaction?"
"Well... for marriages or moves, they report to us, right?"
"Exactly. To update the roster."
"So naturally, for big life events, they seek our advice or ask what's best."
"I see."
"And since we handle land distribution, disputes or complaints lead to us as judges. We have the roster, after all... Huh?"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Exactly."
Now I'm free from 15-hour days.
One guy with cheats can't shoulder 10,000 petitioners forever.
Sure, can't whine 'I'm an angel, but too tired—help?' Need plausible phrasing.
"As you say, Mr. Huet—free, equal Algonquins, English, Spaniards naturally turn to you for guidance."
Representative election.
"They consult you on matters to avert chaos among themselves too, no?"
Community order.
Thomas Huet's eyes trembled as realization dawned.
"Ah, then..."
"So all that's left is enforcing rule by law."
Rule of law.
"L-law? How on earth..."
"The Lord already gave you laws and revoked others. Isn't the law within your community yours to shape?"
Toughest part left—I can't take that too.
I shook my head benevolently at Huet.
"Gather the people and craft just laws. The Lord watches over you."
"The Lord watches—what do you mean? Why not decree the laws yourself, angel...?"
"As He wishes children righteous, He wishes communities just. Yet as He honors human free will, He honors communities' collective will."
"..."
"I've given you commandments. Build just laws on that rock—it falls to you."
"I... understand."
"But like Nathan rebuking David's misrule or Daniel warning Nebuchadnezzar against idols, I'll warn if you stray."
"We'll ensure it never comes to that!"
With that, Huet turned away, visibly moved.
Being an angel has its awkward spots, but perks too.
Any vaguely plausible line gets swallowed whole.
Respect your free will, so I'll skip lawmaking duties.
But cherish you enough to intervene whenever I please.
Flawless logic, even to me.
Flawless logic yielding flawless results: zero duties, cherry-picked rights.
Alone, I celebrated my Huet triumph by granting myself special 'Crusader Queens' playtime.
A rare game sesh amid crushing duties.
Huet sprang into action.
He summoned representatives from the English, Spanish, and Algonquin groups to discuss forming a government.
With the roster secured, taxes naturally followed. Hadn't the Lord urged diligence in tithing?
Currently, public works meant mustering folks ad hoc, funded by Lord Nemo's largesse.
But with future populations in the tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions? Impossible.
Obviously, levy taxes, build proper government to run the settlement. Lawmaking and enforcement demand resources too.
Fundamentals. Self-evident, no explanations needed.
Philosophers proclaimed it; to most, plain 'common sense'.
Thus, Huet expected smooth sailing on this basic step.
"Ooitotan, we must collect taxes. Gather your tribesfolk."
Ooitotan replied,
"...'Taxes'?"
Huet's vision went black!