The Assembly Chamber

[jammi]

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CHIEF EWAN THOMAS, CHARTIST RADICALS

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The Llandgynidr Armoury had moored an hour or so earlier; the hulking Pilgrim's scored and pitted hull cast a looming shadow over Connacht's berths. The ship was a mobile carrier of sorts for fighters from the Chartist Radicals Alliance. They'd pledged their allegiance to the Provisional Assembly in the run-up to the liberation of Dublin. Ewan Thomas - the wing's spokesman - had requested a talking slot on the Assembly floor and had been duly authorised by the Chancellor's Office.

Ewan was a relatively short man - stocky, greying and leaning into his mid 40s. He stepped up to the podium, frowning at the empty chairs around the chamber. His crew and a few disinterested pilots were lounging around, waiting for the funfair to begin. He cleared his throat and addressed the camera instead, knowing more would be watching remotely from their ships. "I'm a man o' Leeds. Then the war came, and I was shunted to New London. And then off to Sprague, out of sight and out of mind. For decades, aye, I was a BMM man - working the alloy plants and foundries. I was in with the underground unions, running with Chartists, pushing for change and reform - 'one man, one vote' - 'a fair day's work for a fair day's wage'." He paused for a moment.

"There were a lot of folk in those factories that thought the Mollys had the right of it - day in, day out, they saw the brutality BMM wrought on them. Symptoms of a careless, negligent Crown and a sneering, self-absorbed class system of aristocracy. And they - we - put our demands out the so called "right" way, peacefully, democratically, with the Bretonian Worker's Charter. But we know how that ended. Parliament's rigged. The only language these bastards understand is violence."

"The people on Sprague know that. They see violence every day. BPA enforcers brutalisin' folk with reasonable complaints. CDI gangsters stealing basic necessities. BHG carrying out murder on a nod and a wink from Crown Corporations. There is resentment there. There is rage there. There is a will to do what needs to be done." He gripped the sides of the podium, his knuckles whitening as he leaned forward. Members of the audience narrowed their eyes, feeling a change in the atmosphere. "So why the fuck are we abandoning them?" The audience immediately broke out in jeers and catcalls.

"The Dublin Front is a vampire, bleedin' us dry. Every day, Arranmore asks for more fighters, more men, more freighters, more supplies." The jeering got louder, some shouting 'traitor' or similar insults. "Fuck you, pal, I'll have my say 'fore I cede the floor," Ewan spat. "Lisburn gave more to Dublin than anywhere else. Green recruits from Sprague fed themselves to the Essex's guns to give the Shillelagh time to win our greatest victory to date. We stepped up to die and die and die because we knew the Mollys could reforge Bretonia into something just and fair."

There was a muffled shout from the back of the room as someone got up to intervene and one of Ewan's crew tackled them. "If we try to fight this war on the Crown's terms, we're fucked. Arranmore will cannibalise the movement, and there'll be nothing left but a carcass for the Corsairs to pick over in Cambridge, and the Gaians in Newcastle. The Crown will never give up on Dublin, there's too much money at stake. Our only shot is the Bretonian people. Sprague. Tear down the whole rotten edifice. Stop taking our fuckin' resources so we can put the boot in where it really matters."

"When Sprague rises in rebellion, Dublin will be safe. Until then, we're just waiting for the hangman's noose. I cede the floor." The vidfeed broadcast Ewan rolling up his sleeves and stepping out of the spotlight into the relative darkness. Furious shouting from off screen continued, with the mood a hair away from riotous.

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