Wichita, Kansas, 4 January 1926
"So let me get this straight," James Fields said to the government man, "The federal government doesn't want us to farm this land."
"Yes."
"Despite the fact that I just bought one of those Chinese tractors and can manage it."
"Yes," the bureaucrat said again. "The issue isn't that we don't want you to farm the land. But if you, say, plant this year and let it lay fallow the next, the topsoil'll get blown away and we'll be hit with dust storms when the droughts come in."
"I guess so," James muttered, before looking at the check. "So you're paying me to not farm that land?"
"Basically. You get money, and the topsoil doesn't fly away."
"Sounds too good to be true, Marcus."
"Maybe. But you don't want a dust bowl anymore than I do, and these grasses are the only thing keepin' the ground where it is."
"Fair enough," the farmer sighed. "Any news about irrigation?"
"Surveyors are working out the details, but you should be able to pull more from the Equus Beds Aquifer this year. Can't have you all pulling too much from that, ya know?"
"I know, Marcus." James shook his head. Much as he wanted to, he knew full well the risks of the Dust Bowl. "You want to stay for dinner?"
"You offering?" The farmer nodded. "Then sure. Why not?"
SinoRail Headquarters, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 2 February 1926
As far as jobs went, "Board of China's primary rail company" had to be at the top of his list of dream jobs.
The fact that he had quite the resume was enough to make that a reality.
"You know," the designer told Michael, "Most board members don't take this much interest in R&D."
"Most board members don't have a Master's in Mechanical Engineering," the former general yawned, before looking over the blueprints once more. "Plus, it's easier than getting the Russians to switch to Standard Gauge."
"That it is," the engineer sighed. "We're basically working off of the Talgo gauge changer designs, but they're much faster than having to change the bogies at the border."
"That they are. So that was what was holding back the Army, huh?"
"That it was, sir. Most cargo had to be transferred at border-crossing stations."
"Makes sense. Oh, and you don't have to call me 'Sir," Peng. We're not in the military anymore."
"Understood. So, if given the funding, we can begin integrating the variable-gauge system at the border with Russia."
"Cool. What about Europe?"
"Shouldn't be too long," Peng figured. "They're next on the priority list, after we're finished with our own borders."
"Huh. You'd think they'd have done this a decade ago."
"It was always on the table, but the war broke out before we could implement them and connect our railways. Once that happened, well, you know the rest."
"Yeah. Would've taken too many conductors and engines off the line."
"Exactly. So with your help, we could get this into production in a month or two."
"You know I just got here, right?" Now that Mike thought about it, the ink for his signature was still probably wet. "I'm not sure I have enough pull there."
"Maybe, but at least you actually know how these things work. You don't see that too often with board members."
Cairo, Ottoman Egypt, 27 February 1926
Imam Zakaria Hussein took a sip of water and looked at the crowd before him. Men and women of all ages had arrived to hear him speak about the changing world.
And yes, it had changed.
In less than a few years, the Ottomans had returned, the British had left, and countless new inventions had come to Egypt.
It was a bit much, if he was completely honest. Not in the sense that it was bad, but there was so much change in so short a time.
"Behold in the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the alternation of night and day, there are indeed signs for men of understanding," he began. It was a quote from the Quran that he'd always enjoyed. "That is more-relevant today than it ever was before."
"We are compelled to understand the world that was created, and technology is its logical conclusion. For it is through the understanding of nature that these technologies were developed."
"After all, could one not argue that since Allah created the world, then that would mean Allah also created physics, chemistry, and biology?"
"In creating the sciences, Allah created the groundwork for these inventions to be created in the first place, and we ought to treat them as such, rather than fear them."
"While yes, there are those who would use Allah's creation for their own selfish ends, the fact remains that the sciences are as harmful as a sheathed sword."
"Science is, at the end of the day, neither good nor evil. If anything, I would say it's a part of nature."
It wasn't much (and if he was being honest he'd come up with most of it on the spot), but the nodding heads in the crowd made it seem like he got the point across.
Plus, it wasn't like these were stupid people.
While yes, none of them had ever seen a polio vaccine or a computer, it wasn't like they were afraid of them.
No, they were filled with the same concerns that anyone would have when confronted with new technology.
It's the best I can do with what I have. After all, I'm an imam. Not a scientist.
Caracas, Venezuela, Republic of Gran Colombia, 1 April 1926
Jorge Castillo watched as yet another ship departed. Like many ships, they were explicitly designed to carry as much oil as they could."
And they did. Ship after ship came in and out of the port to all over, from the Caribbean to South America to North America and even Africa.
Everyone needed oil, and Gran Colombia knew it, just as much as they knew ehat to do with it.
Plant the oil.
It was the motto of the Bogota government at this point. Take the money that came from the oil, and reinvest in the rest of the country.
And so they did, with everything from agriculture, to mining, to a nascent industrial sector, to schools.
Oh, there were so many schools these days, with children learning what their parents were unable to. Not because they were stupid, but for lack of opportunity.
"Papa!" a familiar voice shouted. Jorge turned around to see his son Alejandro run up to him from the gates. "Where were you?"
"A bit busy," he yawned to his son. "One of the ships needed to be double-checked, and I was one of the few on my shift who could do it."
"Oh, okay…"
"So, how was school?"
"It was fun! Señora Vasquez said that I'm reading at an advanced level!"
"Oh?"
"Yeah! She says I can read like a thirteen-year-old."
"That's thirteen more years than me."
"Do you want me to help you read when we get home?"
"Maybe," Jorge yawned. "Nap first, then reading."
Guangdong Textiles Factory 5, Guangzhou, Guangdong, Republic of China, 27 April 1926
Hou Mengyao looked at the clock once again, only to see that he still had six hours to go.
Only halfway? Damn it.
On one hand, the pay was better than anything he'd made in the rice fields, to the point he could afford his own apartment in the city.
Not that he could use it that much, when he was working seventy-two hours a week.
"996" was what they called it.
You showed up at 9 in the morning, clocked out at 9 in the evening, and did that six days a week.
One day of rest later, and you were back to work for another six days.
It was tiring, monotonous, dangerous, and technically illegal.
According to Chinese law, one could work for eight hours a day, five days a week. The "Forty Hour Workweek," as the advocates had called it.
Any more than that, and he would get "Time and a Half," as they called it.
Yet here Hou was working twice as long, without seeing so much as a singly Yuan in overtime pay.
Long hours for admittedly-better pay (minus overtime), with a fair share of security keeping an eye on them if they got out of line?
Such was life.
Or at least it would have been, if it weren't for the fact that most of the security was nowhere to be found.
The rest? Well, they were taking up positions behind cover, with their weapons drawn.
Just what they were doing was none of his business, and he kept seeing the clothes together.
A sudden bang at the door was enough to get his attention, though.
In rushed a few dozen men and women, armed to the teeth.
Riot police.
"Drop your weapons. This is your only warning."
The security looked at the police.
Then each other.
Back to the police.
Then put their weapons down and their hands up."
"Alright then," said the captain. "You are all under arrest for wage theft, intimidation, and… honestly, more violations of the Labor Standards Act than I can count."
Hou could only watch in shock as the security guards, the very people who'd made sure to squeeze every hour they could out of him, were put in handcuffs and escorted out.
"As for the rest of you," the captain continued, "You are all free to return home. Your jobs will be here when you get back… along with a whole lot of backpay."
Wu Holdings Headquarters, Taipei, Taiwan, Republic of China, 29 April 1926
Shannon hated this place.
No, it wasn't the self-aggrandizing portraits or the poorly-paid staff. Though those definitely played a part.
No, the reason she hated this place was the man sitting in front of her, even if she only had to be here for half an hour.
Even if he always managed to make time for her, despite his busy schedule.
"You always come here when you want something," her father told her. The old man was in his sixties, but he looked at least a decade younger. "So what is it this time? What cause have you hitched yourself onto this time to disappoint me?"
Don't take the bait, Shannon. All you need to do is keep him here.
"You really think it's all about you, don't you?" Shannon asked the executive. "As if everything I did was to spite you, and not being my own person."
"Tell me," she continued, "Do you think I ended up befriending Mike instead of marrying him because I wanted to piss you off? Do you think I joined the military out of spite for your own plans?"
"At least partially, Shu-fan."
"Did it never occur to you that it would have never worked out with him? Did it never occur to you that I had other ambitions besides being your heir and successor to your empire?"
A business empire that, if Rachel is right (and she usually is), makes most of its money off the 996 plan.
"Did it never occur to you," the elder Wu shot back, "That you you have never thought anything through? I mean, just look at who you're married to. A woman with absolutely no records from Hong Kong, who 'defected' at the most convenient of times to Taiwan. The woman's a ghost, yet you trust her more than your own blood?"
So you have been keeping tabs on me. Figures.
"She's not the one whose companies are under investigation for wage theft, intimidation, and Heaven knows how many violations of the Labor Standards Act."
"So it was you." Shannon stayed silent. "I knew you would be the leaker, Shu-fan. You never change. Always operating out of spite."
"Oh for the love of-" Shannon's normally-calm voice rose, "Has it ever occurred to you that the entire fucking world does not revolve around you?!"
"Why you listen-"
"No, you listen," she spat, before standing up. For such a small woman, she cast an imposing figure over the man who'd always done his damndest to intimidate her. "Maybe, just maybe, I was opposed to you because you're a corrupt, exploitative, piece of shit who would use his own daughter to further his own goals."
"And maybe, just maybe, the person who leaked all those reports to the press didn't do it out of spite for you, but because your entire business empire is built on using cheap mainlander labor to make a bit more on your quarterly report? Did you ever think of that?"
"Is that why you-"
"Do you honestly think that I'm the only person in the world who thinks that you're a piece of shit? Do you think I'm the only person in China- No, the world, who would have a problem with you committing massive amounts of wage theft and bribery?"
"Get out."
"No."
"I said get out, Shu-fan!"
"No. I'm done avoiding you. I'm done trying to forget you even existed, even if it was a nice fantasy. Because you know why?"
"Why?" Chairman Wu asked her, though he had to shout over the commotion in the next room. "What does it matter to you?"
"Because when this is over, I am going to go home to my wife. We'll probably enjoy a nice bottle of wine tonight and visit an art museum in a few days. I've heard they have a new exhibit on Downtimer-Modernist art that I've been dying to see."
"You, on the other hand," she said to him as the riot police entered the office, "Are going to be spending the next few days in protective custody while the police process every single charge you've gotten."
"Wu Li-jun," one of the masked men announced. "You are under arrest for bribery, wage theft, and several violations of the Labor Standards Act. Anything that you say may be used as evidence in a court of law."
It was at that moment that a small smile formed on Shannon's face.
She had lied to his face and gotten away with it.
Sure, she had agreed to keep him distracted long enough for the police's SOG to arrive, but there was just a tiny part of her that was happy that she'd finally stuck it to that bastard after all he had done.
Busan, Republic of Korea, 20 June 1926
"What you are proposing, Mike, is that we use a plasma-based tunnel boring machine to dig a tunnel from here to Japan?"
Truth be told, Defense Minister Park knew not to question Chen's ideas after all these years.
Because somehow, some way, the man managed to science his way into making them work, so the least he could do is hear his old mentor out.
"Yes. You've seen the performance of the machinery in the Taiwan Strait tunneling project. The Korea strait tunnel would be even easier."
"Maybe. But you've seen the power requirements. You guys are using gigawatts to drill your way under the strait, and we don't have the kind of power plants you have."
"Don't you guys buy most of your power from us? Plus, you have all the natural gas plants. Infrastructure should be enough to handle the increased demands."
"I'll have to get back to you on that," Park answered. It was a fancy way of saying "I don't know, but I know somebody who does, so I'll go ask her."
"Our Ministry of Energy got back to us," Chen told him, "and it looks like spinning up a few of the reactors we keep in reserve should be enough to cover it."
"And the cost?"
"It's nuclear power, Jae. It's pretty damn cheap, and we're not running out of it."
"You've really thought this through, haven't you?"
"Me? Hell no. I had somebody in R&D run the numbers. I just checked them."
Manila Harbor, Philippines, 4 July 1926
"Papa?"
"Yes, Cora?"
"What is that ship in the harbor doing?"
Jaime De La Cruz looked over to see the large ship pulling into harbor. By now, most people were fairly familiar with Chinese ships, so they didn't seem too out of the ordinary.
On the other hand, most ships didn't have cables coming out their rear.
"Internet cables, I think."
"Internet?"
"Yes. Do you know how there are computer cafes back in Binondo?" The girl nodded. "Well, these are how they connect to one another."
"Like a telegraph?"
"Yes… Something like that."
"Is that why people keep handing out those pamphlets about staying safe on the internet?"
"I believe so, anak. That way, people won't be taken advantage of by con men. Do you remember all the wild stories you saw in the newspapers?"
"Yes? Like the aswang story?"
"Like that. Well, with the internet, they want to make sure people don't fall for those."
"Would people really do that, Papa? Just go on the internet and lie?"
MIB Headquarters, Nanjing, Jiangsu, Republic of China, 5 July 1926
"I mean… It's not lying, Rachel," Director Martin Li told his subordinate. "We'd be amplifying the messages we want to hear by gaming the algorithms."
"You're basically pulling a page out of the wumao playbook, Marty," she sighed, before looking over the report. "You do realize this, right?"
"Where's this coming from?"
"Oh I agree that it's effective, Marty. I'm just surprised that you'd do it."
"Yeah, well… It's not the worst thing either of us have ever done, Rachel. Not by a longshot."
No, that award went to the Riyadh op, where he literally ordered the death of children to wipe out a potential threat.
There was a saying he liked: "Extremism in defense of liberty is no vice, and moderation in pursuit of justice is no virtue."
That was Goldwater, he recalled, and he could respect the man despite his own disagreements with him.
At the end of the day, the two of them believed in democracy, freedom, as well as liberty and justice for all.
The last decade and a half had been proof of that.
That was what they believed in, and they would kill, steal, lie, and cheat to protect it.
The recent corruption revelations had been all the proof of this. Martin truly had known about all the corruption, from bribery to abuse to everything in between.
So he, Rachel, and Shannon had leaked it to the internet.
All of it.
Every deal, file, and ledger they had gotten their hands on that couldn't be traced back to them had found its way to the press.
With it came arrests, resignations, and entire careers ruined in less than half a year, while the trio were seemingly none-the-wiser.
Oh sure, Marty gave a few statements for the MIB, but he made sure the bastards didn't know it was him.
The two spies looked at one another and nodded.
This was not the first time they'd worked in the dark to bring things to light. Nor would it be the last.
