Chapter 827: The Department of Colonization and Trade

Accompanying this report is Plate No. 19, Mr. Leibtrini's rendering of the entire port battery and stone pier—the finest vantage point we could obtain from the ship's deck. Plates No. 20 through 67 comprise Mr. Leibtrini's sketches depicting various aspects of the harbor and the vessels anchored within it. Of particular note is Plate No. 25, which captures the Australian "Holy Ship." The pamphlet Your Excellency provided mentions a great cannon mounted on this vessel's foredeck, though we were unable to confirm its presence from our observation point. Plates No. 26 through 28 illustrate European-style ships belonging to the Australians, while Plates No. 29 through 33 document their remaining fleet.

I shall dispatch my second report once the Australians restore our freedom of movement.

Your Masters' faithful servant, Your Excellency's most obedient servant,

Junior Merchant Van der Lanthroon February 9, 1631, aboard the Magdeburg in Bopu Port, Lingao

Van der Lanthroon set down his quill and spread the letter flat across his desk. From his briefcase, he withdrew a sheet of cardboard perforated with irregular holes. Placing it over the letter, he compared the alignment, then began copying the visible words onto a fresh sheet of paper.

Gonzalez watched the young merchant work with such diligence and suppressed a private laugh. They weren't even permitted to leave the ship—so to whom did he imagine he would entrust this letter for delivery to Batavia? There was neither a Company trading post nor any other vessel from Batavia in these waters. The Australians, for their part, never sailed to Batavia at all.

Leibtrini sat nearby, cup in hand, drinking. Anchored here with nothing to occupy them while awaiting permission to go ashore, the sailors and soldiers had universally adopted drinking as their sole pastime. The purser had purchased over a dozen barrels of rum and fifty cases of kvass. Everyone aboard, save the sentries expressly forbidden to imbibe, remained perpetually drunk. On deck, in the hold, beside the cannons—everywhere lay sodden men, snoring in their stupor. A tragic incident had occurred the previous night: a sailor, thoroughly intoxicated, had fallen asleep on deck and rolled overboard in the darkness. By the time the duty watch noticed and fished him out, he was already dead. For this, the Merchant was obliged to pay eight reals in "body disposal fees," whereupon the Port Authority disposed of the corpse by casting it into the open sea.

With nothing else to occupy his time, Leibtrini divided his days between drinking and drawing. On deck, employing projection methods and simple instruments, he sketched rough topographical renderings of the harbor. He captured everything visible from the Magdeburg's deck, reserving particular care for the "Holy Ship." This immense vessel lay moored on the far side of the bay, its dark silhouette a vision of captivating beauty against the azure sea and sky—whether rendered in lines or painted in light and color. Leibtrini was a cartographer by trade, but in an era when technology and art had not yet fully diverged in Europe, he was also half an artist, possessed of an innate sensitivity to the beautiful.

Each day, blue-green smoke puffed intermittently from the Holy Ship, punctuated occasionally by sudden eruptions of dense black smoke. Leibtrini found himself increasingly consumed by speculation about what transpired aboard, what the Australians were doing there. His fascination with the vessel grew daily.

Now, watching the Merchant wrap his sketchbook and letter together—layer after meticulous layer of oilcloth, sealed with wax, then finally secured within a deerskin pouch—Leibtrini felt a pang of unease. Though these drawings were merely sketches, was it prudent to send them so casually with the letter? The voyage to Batavia took several dozen days; any mishap could consign them to the ocean depths forever.

"How do you intend to dispatch the letter?" Gonzalez finally asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I noticed a junk nearby unloading Formosan deerskins earlier—those Chinese merchants clearly sailed from Tayouan. I plan to entrust it to them." The Merchant spoke with easy confidence. "A bit of silver, and they'll handle it quite reliably."

Though sending the letter via Tayouan and then onward to Batavia would take considerable time, according to the typical duration ships remained in port, the Magdeburg would not begin its return voyage for at least one or two months. That allowed ample time for the letter to reach Batavia.

Even if the letter arrived after them, it would still prove valuable—a backup, at the very least. In this age, not every vessel that set sail was assured of reaching port.

In the Department of Colonization and Trade building, Skaed sat in his office, brimming with complacency and ambition. At the third plenary session of the Senate following the annual meeting, a by-election had been held to fill vacant Executive Committee positions. Having long overseen the daily operations of the Department, and frequently championing declarations like "The Pacific is China's Pacific," Skaed had secured his election as Minister of Colonization and Trade—now an Executive Committee position.

His first act upon election was to relocate. In his estimation, the original Department premises were far too cramped to accommodate either his ambitions or the constantly expanding workload. Fortunately, ever since construction had begun on the Senators' Residential Building, considerable vacant land had opened up in Bairencheng. He requisitioned a new plot and erected the Department of Colonization and Trade building.

The so-called "building" was, in truth, repurposed from former prefabricated dormitories. Now that most Senators had moved into proper apartments, surplus prefab components abounded. The colored steel sandwich panels with foam cores lacked sufficient insulating efficiency, so it was decided to use them only as exterior walls, with a wooden frame wall added inside and filled with diatomaceous earth—a natural insulating material.

Because the prefab panels could be installed rapidly, the Planning Institute did not reject his construction proposal. The construction company completed the building within a week.

From the outside, the new Department of Colonization and Trade building presented a peculiar sight: two three-story structures connected by an arched roof spanning the gap between them. The ground floors were brick, while the upper two stories featured colored steel panel construction. An arched wooden roof supported by wrought iron trusses bridged the two buildings' rooftops, fitted with glass skylights. The front and rear of the arch were sealed with brick walls, creating a structure with offices on both flanks and a soaring atrium in the center. The entire edifice exuded an unmistakably improvised character.

Skaed had developed an abiding admiration for the full-height arched hall of the Lingao General Construction Company—the way it combined with the sand table model on the planning exhibition platform below to create something truly magnificent. He wanted the same for himself. Standing on the balcony of the Minister's office on the third floor, he could gaze down upon the sand table and his busy staff below, thoroughly satisfying his desire to survey his domain.

Beneath this arched roof sprawled an array of sand tables. Skaed maintained that the Department of Colonization and Trade functioned much like a staff headquarters—only an economic one. And the fundamental skill of staff work was to operate on maps and sand tables.

Thus, the hall brimmed with sand tables of every description. The largest depicted the entire East Asian maritime region. All merchant vessels owned by the Transmigrators or operating under contract with them, along with every public commercial outlet, were represented on this great sand table by means of small flags and models.

On the walls hung enormous maps and charts. One chart displayed an operational diagram of trade cargo flows; commercial data of various types were inscribed on color-coded cards and suspended from the wall, giving it the appearance of a multicolored chessboard. Once daily, the Department of Colonization and Trade, the Naval Shipping Division, the Port Authority, the Directorate of Manufacturing, and all overseas stations equipped with radio exchanged intelligence. Female clerks wielding long forked poles adjusted the positions of cards according to incoming information. Below the operational diagram, in small office cubicles, sat a cadre of individuals known as "calculators," perpetually computing data with slide rules and dip pens.

These calculators had been selected from naturalized citizens who had obtained Type-C diplomas and trained by rote in specific mathematical calculation methods. Each person was responsible for memorizing only one type of formula. Their task was to insert data into formulas and derive results through manual calculation and slide rule operation. The purpose and principles underlying the calculations were entirely immaterial; so long as they could correctly compute results, they qualified as calculators. Through repetitive mechanical practice, their calculation speed had become remarkably swift.

Every few months, they would learn an additional formula, ensuring they could substitute for one another as needed.

Through meticulous management methods, it was possible to know at any moment which ships had departed port, which lay at anchor loading or unloading cargo, which were currently empty, what cargo each vessel carried, and the types and quantities of the month's import and export demands. The Senate and all departments could always obtain forecasts of when particular materials from particular directions would arrive—barring unforeseen incidents.

The Department of Colonization and Trade possessed no ships of its own—a perpetual source of resentment for Skaed. When the Dabo Steamship Company was being established, he had vigorously demanded that it fall under his department's purview, but it ultimately landed in the hands of the Transportation Department and the Navy. This rankled deeply—a Department of Colonization and Trade without vessels was nothing short of absurd!

Of course, he lacked the power to contest the Navy's bid for a shipping monopoly. For now, he would swallow his frustration and plan to propose a directly-controlled shipping company once the Hong Kong shipyard commenced mass production. At present, all efforts had to revolve around the Department's operations in Hongji. If they could once and for all resolve the coal supply problem plaguing the Senate, his voice in Executive Committee and Senate meetings would carry far greater weight. The requests he put forward would become correspondingly more "reasonable."

"Whether a request is 'reasonable' depends entirely on how important you are within the group," Skaed often said.

He gazed down through the large glass window beside his desk. In the hall below, several Senators from the Colonial Department and naturalized citizen staff bustled around a newly constructed sand table. This one represented the region surrounding Hongji in Vietnam. It had been produced by enlarging old-time-space maps and refining them with survey data transmitted from the front.

(End of Chapter)