First Perception: Primam Perceptionem Mansuetus

About Newlands English

One of the official languages of Newlands, English is mother tongue of more than a third of its population, as well as being the chosen language of communication for most Newlandeans. English is therefore lingua franca of Newlands Archipelago. During decade of wars with coalition of Arab states, English became the only official language of MANATO. Newlands English exists in a form more flexible than any other variation of English language, as all existing accents, dialects, phonetics, phonology, vocabulary, grammar, and spelling are equally accepted (and thus used in this manuscript). On Newlands, English also acquired numerous words from other spoken languages (list of some of those is provided in the appendix). Typically, Newlands English relies on American spelling, and British grammar (use of passive forms being common, for example). Some new words have also been coined; others are spelled in a different manner than elsewhere. Hence words like Newlander / Newlandean, Electocracy, Airforce, Coastguard, Firefighters, Cophot, Crabtown, Lobsterville, airboat, fireboat, and waterpolo can be encountered. Often employed in this novel will be words like: defense, color, center, harbor, favor, labor, gray, mustache, and traveling – although defence, colour, centre, harbour, labour, grey, moustache, and travelling may equally be used.

Author’s Note on the Perception Novels

Dear reader, if you’re leafing or scrolling through these pages, it’s probably safe to presume that in your hand (or on your eBook reader) is a copy of my First Perception, my very first novel. Allow me then to surprise you by stating that the original version of First Perception, then sensibly and simply known as Perception, was never meant to be published. I plead for your patience; bear with me, and you’ll discover how this came about.

There are two main components to all my Perception-series novels.

The first important and invariably present component is inclusion of gay (bear) and heterosexual erotic (pornographic) scenes which depict my personal sexual inclinations or adapt to the stated desires of my main characters.

(Definitely, my Perception novels are not for children.)

The second important and invariable component is the location, my story’s constant background, which is the imaginary Newlands archipelago, the ancient Atlantis risen once again, with its mongrel population comprising people from all countries I lived in or visited (and beyond, from all over the globe). It boasts an unmatched horizontal democracy called Demarchy (a borrowed term from science fiction, as well as from real-life political theory, with slightly different meanings depending on its origin) or Electocracy (to the best of my knowledge, I’m the proud inventor, cobbler, father of that term), which allows its citizens to modify or overrule decisions of their political leaders, or directly rule in their country’s political life. Newlands possesses facets of society rarely encountered in the world and, as far as I can ascertain with my meager knowledge, experience, and means, even when some are present, they are never all encountered in the same society (cashless or cash-free society, absolutely free schooling and health insurance, all its vehicles interconnected via a proprietary intranet network to a central authority, legal use of drugs, legal polyamorous relationships, ultra-low crime rate, legalized prostitution and pornography, soft stance towards paedophilia, legalized lack of privacy – a no privacy society, acceptance of nudity and other normal biological body functions, acceptance of death and the right to die, acceptance of cloning and designer babies, universal CCTV camera coverage, ostracizing of religions without an outright ban while emphasizing freedom from religion…. and one rare prohibition – a tobacco ban).

In the late seventies of the twentieth century, my brother and I, then very young teenagers, invented Newlands as an entertaining intellectual exercise. It excited us to have a personal and secret land of our own that nobody else knows about, without any recent history which would steer its social structure and customs, yet one which wouldn’t change the broader setup of the balance of power and political relations of our existing world (and could thus fully fit into it). What we designed was much simpler than the complex society I just described; I added those facets later. We populated our new land at will with our chosen people. We drew maps of its islands (in my books later transformed into the Main Newlands Islands, Anan and Dekan), also plans and maps for its four original cities (New Belgrade, Old City, Paloma, and Atlantis), designed its mighty armed forces, imagined its wars, devised its sports teams. For fun, against each other, we played off those fantasy teams in table handball, and table hockey, and carpet football (soccer), and recorded those scores. As an avid modelmaker, I assembled plastic model airliners and painted them in various liveries of archipelago’s airlines. As we grew older and reached the age of compulsory military service, musing about Newlands was a great pastime during dull moments of army life. Gradually, our lives moved on to more mature endeavours; Newlands got abandoned to a large box full of notebooks and drawing paper and some models on their shelves.

I rediscovered Newlands after I finished my faculty courses and became an assistant professor. I faced long and gruesome master of science studies and, later, even more stringent doctoral studies, accomplished to the background of civil war in my disintegrating homeland. By then, computers became part of my life and, as means of pure relaxation, sandwiched between working and studying, I started digitalizing Newlands maps and stories, constantly adding to the whole. In leaps and bounds, now solely mine, Newlands grew.

Why am I telling you this? To demonstrate that Newlands, despite being an imaginary land, is quite real; it exists. Since its inception, it always existed, first in a big carboard box, nowadays as more than forty thousand files on my computer.

In 2012, by now living in a different country (my fourth in total, albeit officially third), I was employed in an interesting but stressful workplace, also encompassing an occasional slow period of inactivity or two. That’s when I decided to combine my erotic daydreams and the unique land of Newlands into a story the writing of which would provide me with a somewhat wicked entertainment (nothing more entertaining than deciding which of my characters will or won’t have sex with another). Also, that timeline is the main reason for situating the beginning of my plot in 2011, as I used my vivid memories of recent history as its background.

My efforts resulted in a single novel, sensibly titled Perception, that took more than two years to complete. It was never meant to be published, as it mostly described a detailed pornographic vision with a science fiction / alternative history / alternative reality background plot. I envisioned gifting it to an occasional gay friend and nothing more than that. When my husband got to read it, he was delighted, especially with the variety and quality of my erotic imagery.

In the meantime, I grew fond of my story and its characters, compelling me to continue writing. Halfway through my second book it dawned on me that I could just…. maybe…. some day…. try publishing my first novel (I knew nothing of self publishing then, it was all just a vague idea); though, obviously, not in its original form.

That’s when the endless revisions of the freshly renamed First Perception started occurring, one after another, literally encompassing its every page, requiring almost as much time as it took to write the original Perception. One obvious step was to delete or radically mute all descriptions of sex, creating space for more plot and copious explanations about Newlandean society and the life in the archipelago (the first revision of my entire novel).

As I was from the beginning forced to blend occasional non-English words in, it also occurred to me that I should try to undertake another daring step and create a slightly skewed form of English language, one which I could brand the Newlands English. Easier imagined than done, as concocting that language proved to be quite a chore.

When you start reading my novel, the lack of articles the and some of the a-s will immediately become apparent. It’s also true that Slavic languages (one of them being my mother tongue) don’t use such articles, but that’s not the reason for omitting them. First Perception lacks its articles because of BBC (or CBC, it’s difficult to remember). About the time I was writing my second novel, I listened to a writers-and-books-type show or podcast which presented some of the (well renowned and serious, I guess, but beat me if I can remember their names) modern English writers who, in their literary work, skip using the articles. Delighted by their quotes, I decided to incorporate that idea into my writing. I reviewed my First Perception from start to its end, expelling almost all articles I could find and dared to expel (its second major revision). I also exchanged as many remaining the-s as I could for that, our, this, use of the Saxon genitive (the shore of the ocean - ocean’s shore), etc. However, much later, after I finished writing my Second Perception in the same vein, I felt uneasy with the way my text appeared, as lack of articles occasionally caused imprecise and dubious meanings right when I required them to be precise (such as in military descriptions). So, while proofreading my second novel, I started reintroducing some of the articles (too late to reshape my First Perception, as it already got published). By the third book, as you’ll hopefully discover if you decide to acquire it, almost all articles are back, though I still try to replace as many as possible copiously using Saxon genitives and those other gimmicks I mentioned (I simply hate those articles!).

Third rewrite of First Perception happened after another BBC or CBC show / podcast, purporting to prove that the form better accustomed to the British English sentence is which, while that is more of an American form (geographically, Newlands is much closer to Britain than to the United States, hence the Newlands English should be more under the British influence, no?). Notwithstanding grammar rules about existence of a clause as the determining factor for choosing which or that, you might notice that on the pages of my novels which is used far more often than that. This rewrite proved much more thorough and time consuming than anticipated as it often required repunctuation or rewriting of whole sentences.

At first, the use of Newlandean bywords in my newly-minted Newlands English didn’t occur to me while writing First Perception (to begin with, as originally created, most of my Newlandean characters were flawlessly polite, even during sex). Necessity of highlighting a limited domestic vocabulary of imported swear words, bywords, sayings, and proverbs, occurred to me halfway through the creation of Second Perception, requiring retrofitting of those bywords into the text of First Perception as my characters couldn’t remain flawlessly polite in one book, while profusely cursing in the next (First Perception’s fourth extensive rewriting). Frankly, in my first novel, those imported words often badly fit into the existing sentence structure. I tried to precisely match their assumed or real value with the meaning of a sentence as originally conceived before their introduction, which was a mistake. In the second book they appear more organically integrated, and by the third novel I developed an instinctive hang of it, avoiding to insist on their literal meaning. Nowadays, while I’m writing chapters of the fifth and sixth sequel, they’re a second nature.

At some later point, inspired by German grammar, I decided to change the order of words in my syntax, to place a person’s name, an object, or the temporary article at the end of a sentence. Thus, I changed sentences like "Dave, are we going to lunch? into Are we going to lunch, Dave?" For a while I felt that this newest change gave my sentences an unusual, strange cadence, almost a rhyme, which I liked at first but by the fourth sequel mostly abandoned.

With all those forced rewrites, it’s obvious that First Perception suffers from lots of issues and a lack of cohesion. Some of its early readers, who acquired all three currently published novels, suggested rewriting it in the more homogenized later-novel Newlands English. I decided against such additional massive change, but instead added this author’s note as an explanation for the gradual development of my Newlands English.

I harbor another theory. Though Newlands English presents but a subtle change from the standard English, it requires time to adjust to. Therefore, with each additional novel under reader’s belt, it becomes easier to accept. Hence their preference for the language of the later novels.

Last but not the least. Almost everyone is puzzled by the additional Latin titles I bestow on my novels, not the least my publishing consultants. First Perception is Primam Perceptionem Mansuetus, Second Perception is Secundum Perceptionem Placidus, Third Perception is Tertia Perceptio cum Papilionibus, Fourth Perception is Quarta Perceptio Aeterna, Fifth Perception is Quinta Tristis Perceptio, and Sixth Perception is Sexta Perceptio cum Exitibus. Why? If we disregard that their Latin title, once you understand its meaning, actually indicates content of that particular novel (in case of the First Perception its Latin title literally translates as Softened First Perception alluding to the major softening of its erotic content), you need to remember that my academic background is in an medicine-related science. In biological sciences, to precisely define a subject, you use its Latin name. Thus, a domestic cat is Felis catus, to distinguish from the European wildcat which is Felis silvestris, and the African wildcat which is Felis lybica; and so on for every living thing on Earth and (maybe one day) beyond. In my way of thinking, Latin names lend a layer of specificity to my titles.

(After the first two novels got published, I switched from the online English-to-Latin Google translation service to using a registered professional translator. It appears that in its translation Google’s algorithm made a big mistake. Can you spot it?)

I hope that you’ll find my Newlands English, and my story as a whole, different and kinky enough to warrant following on. Remember, after all, that I’m the world’s foremost authority on Newlands English; so, trust me, I know what I’m doing….

Nicholas Bear

Discover more about Newlands:

Twitter: Nicholas Bear @nesafred

Facebook: fb.me/NewlandsArchipelago

Other books by the same author:

Second Perception (Secundum Perceptionem Placidus)

Third Perception (Tertia Percepcio Cum Papilionibus)

The Flag of Newlands and the MANATO flag

List of prominent characters for Perceptions

David (Dave) A-H Anderson – Lionheart (originally Major David Anderson of US Army), General of Newlands Army, Commander-in-Chief of MANATO, advancing through various ranks and various MANATO positions, member of CCofGHQ, member of privilege of twelve and privilege of five cliques. This is his story, one of a massive life change. Arrived as an enemy agent bent on sabotage and destruction. Became one of the greatest Newlands heroes. In possession of considerable supernatural powers.

Alan Wykes, Inspector of Newlands Police, Camp Solaris detachment. Developed telepathic abilities after a serious traffic accident in which he injured a young girl. Partially transferred to GHQ, to use his abilities in resolving psychic threats to Newlands.

Alexander Edwards from Ipswich, deep-ocean oil-field computer specialist, and an agent of DFQL. English-born, migrated to Newlands when his future wife from Newlands declared her pregnancy. Working for Newlands oil and natural gas companies. Taoist by conviction, since his student days.

Alisa Tomić – Lionheart, Komodor of Newlands Navy, MANATO intelligence. A natural empath, able to key into emotions of people emotionally close to her, even at considerable spatial distance. Chief analytical member of Lionheart intelligence team. Mother of Mansur, Dave’s son.

Andrew Lighthouse, Constable of Newlands Police (Highway Patrol). Possessing powerful telepathic abilities, albeit unaware of those until mid-life. At forty decided to transfer from Newlands police to TP Brigade. His telepathic abilities allowed him to become a co-worker of privilege of five group.

Angela Merkel, German Bundeskanzlerin (Chancellor). One of world’s most prominent leaders and one of the most important political friends of Newlands. Merkel’s Germany and Newlands are good trade partners, exchange lots of tourists and work on military cooperation as well as joint research in space.

Barack Obama, the Forty-forth President of United States. Was faced with sudden re-emergence onto the world scene of a powerful, albeit tiny Atlantic neighbor. Started his presidential mandate by covertly attacking Newlands defence systems, but later became a steadfast friend, though never shedding the core suspicion of truly malevolent Newlands intentions.

Bogdan Petrović, Petty Officer of Newlands Navy, son of President Nemanja Petrović; Dave’s blood brother. His life trekked from one of an irresponsible teenager to a promising young sailor of Newlands Navy. Married with three wives. Their family includes three female children.

Dr. Aldevant Bradley, MANATO chief of behavioral analysis. Analyzed Dave’s DNA for inherited psychic powers, and instrumental to bringing Dave to Newlands.

Dr. Amanda Ross, the youngest heart surgeon on Newlands, from Fiona Stanley Hospital in Paloma. Feeling eternally in debt to General Mansur Al-Hammadi, she cared for him until his final day; then transferred that care to whole Lionheart family.

Dr. Lenko Zdravkov, MANATO Weapons Design Bureau. Mover of many astonishing military projects, he’s a scientists and designer who’s not afraid to step out into the field and test his creations under the most realistic conditions of use.

Dr. Irena Panj, chief MANATO’s geneticist on Ceti II in Golden Angel Facility (MARC). General Al-Hammadi’s late-life love, she transferred her love and professional care to Dave, General’s adopted son, and his family.

Dr. Philip Kieron Pardagh, chief MANATO historian. After an early start in academia, marked by pedophilia, through redemption, became one of the most important secret policy makers of Newlands.

Fanta Lionheart, warrant officer of MANATO, various ranks. The most cheerful member of family Lionheart, albeit an independent thinker and schemer.

Fran Lionheart (born Steiner), Komodor of Newlands Navy, GHQ Intelligence, various MANATO positions and ranks, member of CCofGHQ, privilege of five and twelve. A logical thinker with considerable ability for remembering details; he’s Dave’s main support in Central Command as well as founding pillar of family Lionheart.

Henri Deladin, Komandir of Newlands Marines, commanding officer of TP Brigade. Has devoted his military career to solving prime Newlands military riddle: how to defeat huge numbers of potential enemies with but a handful of soldiers armed with futuristic Newlands weapons.

John František, best Newlands Olympian in history. He won nine Olympic medals in biathlon over ten years, while participating on four different Winter Olympic Games. After ending his career in sport, he entered foreign service and is currently Newlands Ambassador to Egypt.

Li Lian, the Ninth President of Newlands. Her two terms in office were from 2001 – 2011. Active and important member of privilege of five. With a voracious sexual appetite, she falls in love with Dave and becomes his pillar of strength in dealings with DFQL.

Leo Hunter, chief strategist of National Bank of Newlands. Instrumental in providing financial backing to Newlands Government and MANATO. Married Sue Campbell, Dave’s American ex-girlfriend.

Mansur Al-Hammadi, retired General of Newlands Army, member of CCofGHQ, privilege of twelve and five. Long-time commander of MASP and MALD. A great friend of Bundeskanzlerin Merkel. Dave’s adopted father.

Marino Marino, Komodor of Newlands Coastguard, member of CCofGHQ. One of the closest allies of Dave in Central Command. Able to carry out various important projects.

Mario Dražić, Marshal of Newlands Army, Commander-in-chief of Newlands Armed Forces, main member of CCofGHQ for more than forty years. Presided over the rise of MANATO to world’s preeminent military power.

Mary Petrović, current First Lady of Newlands, wife of President Nemanja Petrović, mother of Bogdan Petrović, Dave’s blood brother. Gave up her own career to promote her husband’s quest to become the President of Newlands.

Mietje Dobrašinović, daughter of Robert and Zelda, developed supernatural abilities after an accident in childhood which left her a mute paraplegic. Possesses the most powerful psychic abilities on Newlands.

Miodrag Raonić (Miki), General of Newlands Airforce, Commander of GHQ Intelligence, member of CCofGHQ. Main coordinator of all secret projects and services of MANATO and Newlands. Dave’s great friend.

Nemanja Petrović, since 2011 current President of Newlands. Became social father to Dave, once Dave become blood-brother with his son Bogdan. Conducting a proactive presidency, forcefully thrusting his country back onto the world political scene.

Nikola Tomić – Lionheart, second in command of Swift – 1 and all MANATO shock troops, MANATO intelligence, Newlands Secret Service, holding various ranks in Newlands Army. Of enormous physical strength, Nikola is the epitome of a soldier able to remain cool and logical in any situation.

Pavel Varina, center-forward of FC Paloma. Member of a famous, wine-producing family. When not battling ankle injuries, one of the greatest football players of Newlands in 21st century. Though mostly gay, married Cleo Novotny, a famous football player, with whom he has a son named Dave.

Raj Chahal, Colonel-Pilot of Newlands Airforce, various ranks, various MANATO positions, CCofGHQ, Newlands Secret Service. Dave’s guardian angel from Newlands Cosmodrome. When not performing his duties, inventor of useful military gadgets.

Robert Hadži-Janković, Major-Pilot of Newlands Airforce, test pilot and commanding officer of 100th GHQ Squadron. Through a chance pregnancy with Alisa, became an associated member of family Lionheart. His special abilities, including his sensibility to telepathy, made him ideally situated to command elite Newlands Airforce pilots.

Robert Magyar, Airforce General of Newlands Airforce (retired), member of CCofGHQ, privilege of twelve and five. Flew as a pilot in Libyan Wars. He’s one of the least publicly exposed decision-makers of Newlands.

Robert Prosinac, Pilot of Newlands Airforce. A young flyer whose approach to service got noticed by his CIC, allowing him to become part of one of the most elite squadrons of Newlands Airforce. Demonstrates some paranormal skills of his own.

Rocco Stelle, the most famous male Newlands actor, Major of Newlands Army (Intelligence Branch), member of Newlands Secret Service. The most enigmatic personality in Newlands Archipelago. Unmarried father of seven children. Against all odds, Rocco becomes one of Dave’s best friends, as well as Nikola’s co-worker.

Ron Sparks, Major-Pilot of Newlands Airforce, commanding officer of 33rd Experimental Squadron Hawk. Best friend of Sam Roberts – Lionheart. Enjoys major successes in readying revolutionary Newlands warplanes for service.

Sam Roberts – Lionheart (originally Sam Roberts), Major – General of Newlands Airforce and other various ranks, various MANATO positions, member of CCofGHQ. The shadow ruler of MANATO, promoted to such a position to be able to help Dave’s work and take over in case of need. Always ready to sacrifice his limb and life servicing to his country. Possesses minor telepathic ability.

Sue Campbell, Dave’s American ex-girlfriend, wife of Leo Hunter. A free-lance American photographer, Sue delights in embarrassing her own government through exposing American secrets.

Thom Vigo – Lionheart, Commanding officer of Swift – 1, MANATO intelligence and all MANATO shock troops, holding various ranks. The strongest pillar of Lionheart family, man of fast reflexes, tested courage, and swift impulse for action, Thom can resolve any problem in his unique way.

Toša Popović, leader of Newlands Atlantis Party. As the head of the least popular political party of Newlands, through personal courage and character, becomes one of leading Newlands politicians.

Yoshi Soga, Sergeant-Pilot of Newlands Cybercommand, after reform of his unit becomes Cyber-captain. Developed and built his Cybercommand from bottom up into an outfit able to monitor the world and its leaders, and protect MANATO from cyber threats.

Yulia Linares, Pilot of Newlands Cybercommand, after reform of her unit becomes Cyber-commander. An avid hacker, she transforms herself into the backbone of Cybercommand, protecting MANATO and Electocracy.

Zoran Tasić (Taske), Rear-Admiral of Newlands Navy, commanding officer of Nordporte Naval Command, member of CCofGHQ and privilege of twelve. Dave’s closest friend in MANATO outside of Lionheart family.

Table of Contents

About Newlands English

Author’s Note on the Perception Novels

List of prominent characters for Perceptions

00. Prologue

01. A Trip to Paloma

02. Mad Dash or Sad Dash

03. National Jail of Newlands

04. All Things Unexpected

05. What Berths Under Newlandia

06. Pulling a Tom Garrowitz

07. Death and the Seven

08. What Future Brings

09. All Together

10. Flight of the Bumblebee

11. Dancing with the Powerful 1

12. At Work

13. Dancing with the Powerful 2

14. Recognition

15. Dancing with the Powerful 3

16. About Football and an Ever-Growing Family

17. More Football, More Sex, and Some Other Stuff

18. The Mountain

More of Dave’s story in Secundum Perceptionem Placidus

Appendix

00. Prologue

Helmsman! Steer right, course 0-1-0! - ordered the Captain in a hurried, anxious voice. He was still smarting from the last mistake which he committed. The crew would unerringly pin it on him. To be fair, he felt that he was not to blame. He was guaranteed, by his superiors, that a Cophot would not be able to detect reactor noises of his special type 688 submarine, if it maintained a speed below eight knots.

Well, now he knew better.

They were detected.

There was a fury of activity all around him, as the crew assumed the full battle stations. Their uniforms were dark blue and, on their shoulders, all the expected stars, bars and chevrons were present. Yet, the insignia differed from those employed by any other navy in the world.

Cophot to our starboard, closing in fast, sir. Speed fifty knots!

What do we have in front of us?

Sonar, what’s in front of us? - repeated the Exec.

Permission to search with active sonar, sir?

Do it!

Everybody on board heard the sharp, penetrating, ubiquitous signals of their sonar. The American submarine was accelerating, quickly picking up speed.

Now they must recognize who we are, sir. - concluded the Exec, in a way audible only to his commanding officer.

Secure the sonar! - then to the Exec - "Maybe not! Our sonar is a special one, and it’s rather rare. Logically deducting, they should have never encountered it before.

(a sigh)

Besides, even if they do, it doesn’t matter anymore."

Our speed twenty-five knots, sir.

Push her to thirty-five, Exec!

From sonar:

Cophot to our starboard turning to port, sir. Course 340. Speed sixty-five knots. He’s cutting us off!

Second sonar operator: - "Large target straight ahead.... Not a point target! Separation from left to right at least hundred fifty feet.

(a pause for the sonar operator to check his instruments)

Depth.... almost the same as ours, maybe a few feet deeper. There is ample, unoccupied space, both above and below.

(he was checking his instruments again)

Repeat, clear space both up and down!"

Planes up, ten degrees!

We’re passing above, sir?

Yes, we’d better. We don’t know this bottom well. It screwed us already once today.

Distance to the object ahead, thousand five hundred yards, closing fast. Object is almost immobile, drifting with the current. Maybe a submerged vessel of some kind?

Maybe one of the newest bunch of Newlands submersible monster fighting ships such as Nordamark, or Yam, were the Exec’s thoughts. However, those vessels should have been at least multiple times the length of their target.

Although in doubt, he elected to stay silent.

Cophot on our starboard veering more to port. Course 2-8-0 sir. 280! Speed increased.... seventy knots! But we’re still winning, sir. By a large margin. They can’t catch us before we reach the vessel in front. He’ll pass behind us, sir.

That’s all right, sonar, we’ll use the stationary unidentified object in front to physically separate from him.

For a moment, Exec’s train of thoughts made him chuckle privately, just to himself. Unidentified object ahead.

Unidentified floating object.

UFO.

Helm, sir. We’re going up, fifteen degrees!

Sonar, sir; we’ll be clearing the object ahead with about two hundred feet to spare. You can ease on the climb, sir.

Planes five degrees! Let’s make a gracious arch, helmsmen.

Yes, sir. Planes five.

Sonar, sir. Cophot veering completely away from us, course now 2-0-0, speed seventy-nine knots! Seventy-nine! He’s turning his ass to us.

Captain, after a moment of doubt: - Are you certain about his speed?

It couldn’t be!

Seventy-nine knots?

The sonar operator nodded.

Yes, sir.

Captain thought a moment more.

Motherfucker is running away? Why?

We’re catching turbulence from his strange propulsion system. Messing our rudders, Captain!

Object ahead, one hundred yards. Massive object, sir! I’m getting some noise readings from it, maybe power-plant signature – we’re recording it. We’ll be clearing it by at least a hundred yards.

Good! Helmsmen, as soon as we’re on the other side, depress the planes and let’s dive to the exact depth of our target. It will still shield us from this Cophot to the south. - the explanation, aimed at the Exec, came as an afterthought.

Exec was not convinced. Cophot, despite its tremendous power, has turned tail and was now running away from them.

Suddenly they all started feeling a strange vibration – more like a very deep, primordial sound, than a real vibration.

Our speed thirty-two knots, sir. Where’s this vibration coming from?

The whole submarine was now shaking. Captain Thomas was certain the waves of the vibration, which he could feel deep in his bones, were oriented in the vertical plane, shaking them in an up and down motion; not side to side or front to back.

What the hell?

The ocean exploded around them.

Just three hours earlier the outlook seemed bright for the Americans. USS Molokai, a type 688 hunter-killer nuclear submarine, (which could not be found in any registry of United States ships because it belonged to CIA and was thus not normally included on such lists), was slowly cruising to the north-west of Newlands Archipelago.

It was at a depth of five hundred feet, just off its starting position.

Crewed by ninety people, rigorously selected, all absolute tops in their naval specialities, themselves augmented with about thirty analysts operating all the cutting-edge detection and intelligence gathering instruments imaginable, it was a paragon of operational efficiency and spying capability. Its Captain, John Thomas (no mention of his rank in this shadowy spy navy associated with the CIA), contemplated with satisfaction their past week’s record. His ship has stealthily approached Newlands territorial waters and was now in perfect position to execute its orders.

Blain Perry was Molokai’s Exec. He and Captain Thomas were huddled together, both bent over the detailed electronic chart of the region.

"Sir, let me repeat the steps, so we’re both absolutely certain of my full understanding of your orders. First, we have information which indicates that, in about an hour or so, one of those Newlands ultra-expensive tourist submarines of the Migaloo class will be passing by, exactly over our present coordinates.

It is supposed to launch up to four small, two person submersibles, apparently operated each by their paying tourists. We should dive deep bellow them, carefully mimicking their speed and course, while staying out of the visual range. It would not be right for a German, Chinese, Japanese – or maybe even an American tourist to spot the silhouette of our 688, while joyfully playing with his new expensive toy.

Then, when we’re certain that we have penetrated through the outside protective shield of Newlands warships, we head for the buoy.

(a nod from his Captain)

We’re not aware of its exact position, but we’re supplied with two possible locations, ostensibly determined with very high percentages of probability. This (he indicated a flashing red dot on the map), the first one, carries a lower probability, calculated at only seventy percent, but would be relatively easy to stealthily reach from our starting position. The second one, which is right here (and he indicated a yellow flashing marker, much further away from Molokai’s present holding place), is presumed to be ninety-nine percent correct, but is a hell of a trip to get there undetected.

(The Exec paused, to settle down his own doubts. Supposedly, there was only one buoy in this vicinity. Obviously, it could not be at one spot with seventy percent certainty, and at another, miles away, with ninety-nine percent. What was the breakdown of numbers of the real–life probability? He sighed momentarily. Unfortunately, theirs was not to think but to obey and execute their orders....)

Am I doing OK so far, sir?"

Right on the dot. What happens when we reach the buoy?

The Exec talked for another ten minutes.

Captain Thomas was satisfied. Everything was well. He has chosen a good Exec.

Then they got a call from sonar.

Captain, I’m registering a target approaching our position. One screw, very loud, no sonic streamlining, no attempt to mute their noise. I think I can hear additional small screws; a large number of them.

"Apparently the Migaloo, I believe." - said the Exec.

Captain Thomas simply nodded.

"Our computers identify the sounds as the Newlands tourist submarine Migaloo, currently determined with certainty of eighty-nine percent."

Another nod from the Captain.

Sonar: - However, sir, I have something else on my scope. Very, very faint; noise almost completely muted. Very distant, quite far away. But I can’t hear any screws. Unless it’s being bounced by a thermal, none of which are supposed to be around here in the first place, it’s coming from pretty deep down.... maybe two thousand feet.... maybe more.

Direction?

As it stands now, I’d say straight south, course 1-8-5, but not sold on that one, sir.

Do your best, sonar!

I’ll run it through our computers ASAP, sir.

Captain and his Exec separated from the rest of their crew.

Are we talking about a Cophot, Captain? - asked the Exec in a whisper.

Cophot.

A word of terror for the officers of any NATO navy.

Or any navy in the world, for that matter!

The boogeyman of the ocean depths.

Supposedly, Cophots were super-advanced submarines, which Newlands kept steadily building over the last thirty years or so. However, with its science fiction speed of over eighty knots, almost three times faster than any submarine in the western world, and its maximal diving depth of about a mile, the good Captain preferred to regard these vessels as submerged spaceships, rather than fellow submarines.

Which was the reason why Captain Thomas always considered this aggressive mission to be equal to an undeclared war on aliens, rather than just a belligerent move against another opponent of America’s earthly policies, an ordinary political adversary located in this tough, modern world.

"Probably. Though nobody is certain about how deep their Yam or Nordamark can dive. Not to mention the battle hydrofoils.

(pause)

Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Our opponents are equipped with vessels which seem to have jumped right out of a Hollywood movie. Like a damned race of aliens!

(Captain shrugged)

And the name associated with them: Atlantis. Gives me goosebumps every single time I get to thinking about it. What is their secret?"

The Exec just nodded in agreement.

Officially, he was aware of the answer to this riddle. It was Labyrinthium – the ultra secret compound mined only on Newlands and nowhere else in the world.

Then the exec shivered. He remembered feeling precisely the same as his Captain, throughout their stealthy approach to the mysterious island nation.

Anyways, two thousand five hundred feet deep is well within Cophot’s established diving range.

And with the speed of eighty knots, the damned whale from hell can be here in no time. If they decide to do so. Damn, in no time at all!

Captain Thomas nodded so that only his Exec could see it.

Where’s my second in command?

In the intelligence room, sir. As ordered.

Good. Put us on yellow alert then. Silent routine. All the way to the decision point, please.

The yellow lights started noiselessly flashing all over the submarine and the order for the silent routine spread fast.

Half an hour later, their situation was much more clear. Migaloo was about six hundred feet above them, very close to the surface, probably at periscope depth. Its tourists were cheerfully playing with their toy submersibles. His advisers have explained to Captain. Migaloo crews usually insisted on their passengers practising their fledgling submersible-operating skills and getting trained exclusively in deep waters. Next, they would be taking them to shallower waters. More accessible bottoms, suitable for sightseeing, would be there.

Making collisions with rocks or other submerged objects statistically more probable as well.

Right now, those rich tourists were thus cavorting above the Americans, never dreaming that the big, dark, elongated hull of a United States submarine lurked in the darkness, just bellow the area of illumination penetrating from the ocean’s surface.

Underwater noise from the south was far more troublesome.

The bearing was now constant, almost exactly 1-9-0. Speed was pegged at sixty-five knots. Depth of the target was around two thousand feet. It could be nothing else but a Cophot, heading straight this way. Computer detection and recognition systems were corroborating with hundred percent certainty; they had one of those secretive Newlands super-submarines on their hands.

The most powerful type of naval vessel existing anywhere in the world!

Steady, people! - commented Red Parks, second in command, to the intelligence room staff - "They might be bloody fast, but we have not yet been detected.

(pause)

No reason to panic!"

Suddenly, several consoles in the intelligence room came alive. Molokai was tracking an increase in radio activity on the surface. Migaloo was communicating with a surface warship, which was not too far away. After a bit of uncertainty, as soon as their computers got a chance to isolate and analyze acoustic signature of the incoming vessel, this ship was identified as NLW10 Paloma (Newlands Warship Paloma), a nuclear aircraft carrier, with two Newlands Class 11 destroyers acting as escorts.

Naval cover for buoy activation? - asked the Exec.

All the intelligence information which I have seen indicated possibility of a carrier being present, yes! Damn, they do possess many of those, as well.

Now the Americans became even more cautious. Paloma was known to be equipped with crack ASW helicopter squadrons of the Newlands Navy, equipped mostly with deadly Russian Kamov helicopters. Though United States and Newlands were at peace, and officially cordial friends, spying ships got shot at, everywhere in the world, no matter which nation they belonged to. And it would be a bad political blow if they got detected and identified.

And then, there was their ultra secret mission, which only the three commanding officers knew about.

Probably the end of the line for our cover, sir. - whispered the Exec to the Captain.

"I agree. Paloma will certainly order the civilian submarine to gather its toys and leave. Let’s dive deeper. Three hundred feet deeper should work fine."

Sonar, Captain. At that depth, we have a chance of hitting peaks of those taller underwater sea mountains highlighted on our maps of the area.

"No, sonar, to the contrary. Those peaks will be our friends, our cover. I want you to set course for the closest known peak to the northeast, at three knots. Exec, I want an absolute silent routine. Cophot and Paloma must not detect us."

A submarine travelling at three knots moves very slowly, just barely faster than a person walking down the street. An hour later Captain’s plot, projected on his tactical chart, informed him that they were very near to the peak of an underwater mountain, code named Point Luck Red on their Scripps-New-Seafloor-Map-based chart.

Molokai hovered just to the north of it, keeping mountain’s bulk between herself and the Cophot. Cophot has arrived to the immediate scene about fifteen minutes earlier, keeping to the depth of about two thousand feet. But it has slowed down considerably. It was crawling around now, at ten knots, obviously listening for possible intruders. Both the Cophot and Molokai were currently advancing in a clockwise circle around the same underwater mountain, designated by the Newlands side as Thespis Four Peak. Cophot was moving faster, not needing to be silent and mask its presence. Being much deeper, where the bulk of the underwater mountain was wider, it had to make a circle with more than double the radius Molokai itself was having to pull, at a slower speed and less depth. Migaloo was far to the north, steadily getting more distant, though proceeding at a slow speed of about twelve knots. Paloma launched a couple of helicopter flights. For a while there was commotion in the control room of the American submarine. Helicopters dropped some sonobuoys. But, after a while, failing to detect any intruder, probing helicopters returned to their carrier, and the carrier group removed itself further to the west.

Molokai remained undetected.

Captain Thomas was now convinced; these Newlands warships could not detect his submarine.

Time passed.

Just the American submarine and the Cophot remained near the undersea mountain.

Helm, how long do we need to travel, from our current position, to the second Labyrinthium buoy position specified in our orders, say at eight knots? - asked Thomas.

Thirty-eight minutes, sir. - was the reply of the helmsman, after a brief calculation.

And to the first one?

The helmsman used his iPad to do some more calculations.

Seven minutes, sir.

The Captain was uncertain for a moment.

Then he decided.

He longed for a successful end to his mission. Performance of his boat in masking its presence in the vicinity, fooling even a mighty Cophot, has boosted his confidence.

Set a new course, helm – it would be course 0-1-5, towards our second predetermined target. Speed eight knots. They should not be able to detect the increase of power output from our reactor. We have no time to lose. The Labyrinthium boy should be activated in about forty minutes.

At first, there was much confusion on the Newlands side. Earlier in the day Migaloo signalled a possible sonar contact, deep bellow the diving capabilities of the luxurious civilian submerged hotel – which three such tourist submarines of this class, so far manufactured, really are.

Traditionally, in all cases of penetrations of unknown vessels into waters where Labyrinthium Defense testing was conducted, it was routinely assumed (and later proved correct) that a small, well equipped spy submersible is the culprit.

Yet, neither the guardian Cophot, nor Paloma, the newly arrived aircraft carrier, could subsequently detect anything out of the ordinary in the area.

At first, Naval Command in Nordporte ordered Migaloo to remain in the test area longer than planned, to confuse (if possible) potentially inimical submersible. But, as the moment for activation of the Labyrinthium buoy steadily approached, this civilian submerged hotel, and its amateur submariners, had to be ordered away.

Half an hour later situation did not get any clearer. Activation of the buoy could not be stopped at this point of time. Deep in the core of the buoy, nuclear reactions were already running. Only thirty minutes remained till it would start its outward activity, which would carry on for only sixty seconds, enough to accomplish required yearly testing of whole system’s controls.

Newlands Navy’s Rear-Admiral Zoran Tasić was the commanding officer in Nordporte Naval Command. And he was worried. He has been commanding yearly activation tests of the Labyrinthium defense for several years. For the first time, he felt uneasy about the established procedure of annual activation of Newlands defense system – the Labyrinthium Shield.

Then, like thunder out of clear blue sky, arrived news from Sirius – the guarding Cophot.

"Sir! Sirius reports detecting reactor noises!"

Reactor noises! A nuclear submarine.... a nuclear submersible? Possibly even a full-sized, fleet nuclear submarine? PROBABLY a full fleet-sized nuclear submarine! One brand new and secretive enough to deny Sirius its recognition?

But belonging to whose fleet?

Order them to immediately determine its course! - yelled the Rear-Admiral.

A long pause ensued. Then: - Intruder is sailing straight towards the buy, at eight knots! Speed increasing, sir. Now fifteen knots!

Rear-Admiral Tasić wasted only a moment to form a contingency plan; then he machine-gunned a series of tactical orders, calculating on the run and hoping there would still be time enough to avoid a disaster. A nuclear submarine on a headlong course towards a Labyrinthium defense buoy was not there just to spy and observe. This time, it appeared as if these opponents, whomever they were, were trying to damage or destroy!

Too late to recall the carrier and its helicopters!

Something else had to be done!

What Rear-Admiral Tasić, in a blink of an eye, decided to try to do was to send the Sirius, using its superior speed, to physically fend off this intruder from the buoy. In short, he proposed to use the most expensive secret naval weapon of Newlands as a physical barrier of separation, even if this move risked an underwater collision between the two submarines.

The crew of Sirius did their best. But, despite the marvellous technical abilities of their submarine, they simply failed to make it. At one minute before activation of the buoy, Cophot was given an immediate recall order, and its great speed carried it soon to safety, far southwards.

The last message from Sirius, before the start of sixty seconds of unearthly vibrations, which will prevent any form of communication, was that the intruder submarine seemed to be arcing OVER the Labyrinthium Buoy.

In the last seconds before tragedy, Rear-Admiral Tasić understood where he made the mistake in his estimate of situation. He assumed these intruders were driving straight towards the buoy on purpose. Now he was certain that their course was just an accidental choice.

A fluke.

A coincidence!

Of all the possible courses, the intruders have taken this one – by pure chance. The American, British, French, Russian, Indian, Brazilian or Chinese nuclear submarine (those were the world’s navies which, besides Newlands, had such submarines in their fleets), had no idea that it was heading straight for the buoy. They were now attempting to avoid it in the same way which they would have used to avoid any other underwater obstacle – by sailing right above it.

Precisely the one course of action which could not, even remotely, be safely attempted with an activated Labyrinthium Buoy, while still retaining any hope of survival.

The Labyrinthium Shield force-field hit Molokai squarely from bellow, simultaneously throughout entire length of the boat. Radiant blue and silver rays lifted the submarine halfway to ocean’s surface in less than one second. As the upper surfaces of its hull started buckling and bending from the accumulated pressure and weight of the column of water, which could not displace itself fast enough out of Molokai’s way, the whole bottom part of the boat literally disintegrated under the barrage of Labyrinthium rays. No crew member survived into the second heartbeat of this tragedy. Despite practically all manned spaces of the submarine almost instantaneously being vented to the raging ocean, no crew member managed to get wet before their bodies got completely consumed by the energy of the shield.

The last impression Captain Thomas had was one of blue and silver rays of light, of unbearable intensity, penetrating through his feet. In his last conscious moment, everything fell into place! He understood that the mysterious floating object, which Molokai was elegantly arcing over, was the buoy he was searching for!

Wrong position. - was his dying whisper.

Then his body ceased to exist.

The broken remains of USS Molokai fell out of beam’s path, on both sides of the energy curtain; what remained of the sub was divided into five or six larger pieces, which could barely be recognized as once being parts of a submarine. More than half of the hull was completely gone, disintegrated, evaporated. Only a part of submarines nuclear reactor survived, and the remaining nuclear fuel spilled into the Atlantic.

Sirius promptly registered breaking up and sinking noises and immediately raised an alarm. Using their active sonar detection equipment, they located positions of those remaining pieces at the bottom of the ocean, at around two thousand meters of depth, even before the sixty interminable seconds of defense shield’s life expired. Then all vibrations ceased, and the ocean gradually returned to its calmer state. Within a minute, however, Sirius picked its first indication of strong radiation, and was immediately ordered to leave the vicinity of this disaster.

For the next couple of hours, only the bottom dwelling sea creatures visited the broken metal skeleton, only to die fast from an invisible affliction.

Then all went quiet.

01. A Trip to Paloma

What do you do as a tourist on a nice tropical archipelago?

What do you do if, exploring around, you discover that you like this small country a lot? (Well, you could call it small, size-wise, maybe comparable to Belgium. Which is certainly small in comparison to where I arrived from.)

What do you do if it’s a nice, warm, tropical evening?

What do you do if you’re hopelessly in love with a local woman who has suddenly, and in an unexplained manner, disappeared from your life?

What do you do if you’re here to spy on affairs of this exciting land and sabotage its main defense system?

What do you do if you’re here to bring, if possible, ruin and downfall to this proud nation?

My group landed on Paloma’s Silkwood International Airport around 8:00AM, on a fateful Monday morning in January of 2011. We flew with American Airlines, on their daily overnight flight from New York. Weather was nice all along our flight route, turbulence minimal. Flight itself was uneventful and, at slightly over five hours, not overly long, considering the usual length of intercontinental flights of nowadays.

I haven’t noticed one single empty seat.

The big Boeing 777 was filled to capacity. Mostly with tourists eager for sunny beaches and exciting attractions of our destination.

Not me, though! Throughout our flight, I was seated in tail area of the coach section, crammed in a seat in the middle of our plane. I didn’t have much room to move about, so it wasn’t a very memorable flight for me. During most of the flight, the cabin was darkened. Despite this, I didn’t manage to catch much sleep.

Group, which I was officially part of (and have met with on John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York), consisted of about forty people, most of whom were senior, retired couples. Among us were also some young families with children. As far as I could observe, I was the only single person in my group.

At this point, I feel compelled to emphasize the following: I intensely dislike such all-inclusive vacations. But, here I was, on the eastern side of Atlantic, on precisely such a holiday!

Well, in my defense, I can point out to the fact that I was ordered to take this one, and I certainly didn’t pay for it.

A large double-decker coach waited for our group on the bus parking lot. It appeared quite modern, with clean lines and almost seamless construction; on outside, it was difficult to distinguish where its doors were placed, until they opened with a soft hiss.

The older members of our group rushed into this modern monstrosity, painted in various cheerful shades of yellow, red, orange and pink. New Pantranco logo was painted in bold letters on its sides. For that matter, all buses in this parking lot had New Pantranco logos prominently displayed on their sides.

Which was not a surprise.

New Pantranco is, after all, the only tourist bus company which exists on Newlands.

And it’s state owned.

Up front, our bus was also decorated with a big board with the flowery logo of Air Transport West Tours, Newlands travel agency through which my holidays were booked. Below this logo was inscription Dolphin Group - which, I remembered now, was the colorful name of group which I belonged to. Underneath was also printed: bus 09 – Hotel Atlantis, Paloma.

I waited. Because of what I do for living, I understood well enough that this bus, which I was about to set foot in, was a DAR01 coach, a brand new design, manufactured by the mighty Newlands State Combine Titan.

My head was crammed with such details, pertaining to everyday life on Newlands.

Two local guides were with us, and they were both busy establishing contact with the American tourists, noting against a checklist who arrived, and handing out some information leaflets and schedules for available activities in forthcoming two weeks.

One of them was a rather tall, wide-shouldered, muscled and mustached man, of about thirty or thirty-five. He had smoky, burnished-copper hair, shaped in a close-cropped burr, with a solid, perfectly trimmed, rebel mustache of the same color. He stood about my height or a tad taller, which I calculated would give him around six feet one (compared to my exact six feet). Therefore, I could peer straight into his down-turned, clear blue eyes.

To me he almost appeared to be military.

No, he couldn’t be!

Why worry?

He was just a neat looking professional guide, dressed in light blue polo shirt and dark grey shorts.

A tag with name Fran was pinned to his shirt. Printed on it was also the unavoidable flowery logo of ATW Tours.

However, I concentrated only on his name.

Fran.

Could I, based solely on his name, assign a particular nationality to this guy? Is he an immigrant? Or was he born here, on Newlands? Back home, my attention was drawn to a trend recently noticed by my employer. Newlands parents were naming their kids with bastardizations of older, ethnically more correct names, pertaining to their countries of origin....

So, what could Fran stand for? I made a quick tally.... Franz? Frank? Franjo? Frantisek? Franco? Some other name? His name did appear to me to be one of those curious abbreviations. I decided that Fran was probably born on Newlands.

Hi, Fran! You must have me on your list. Mark Anderson.

Ah, Mr. Anderson, of course. – said Fran in a pleasant baritone and faultless though unaccented English – Welcome to Newlands! You’re welcome to take a seat and watch our introductory message on the screen on the back of the seat in front. Or you could walk around this parking lot and take a quick peek at our park and the merchandise section; we’re supposed to leave here in about twenty to thirty minutes. Many of your compatriots pointed to me how much they enjoyed this side of the airport.

Well, I’ve seen just a few glimpses of this side of the airport, but I had to concur.

A narrow park area was set between the modern concrete-and-glass terminal building and the bus parking lot. Palms rustled in the permanent salty breeze, swaying over numerous tropical and Mediterranean flowers. Several small shops and stands, all nicely stocked, sharp looking and very clean, were certainly appealing enough for an average tourist. I could understand why retired Americans would be attracted to this area. On the strategic side, greenery was helping to muffle the noise of jet engines of restless planes on the tarmac and the sharp, thundery noise of flight operations penetrating from airport’s multiple runways.

I decided not to answer Fran.

Nor did I reach any immediate decision about what to do.

No rush! I was on vacation!

I turned, silently.

A tiny woman was approaching us. She was our second guide. I’ve noticed her before, in the building, waiting by the gate through which we disembarked.

I have already decided on her description. One word fit all of her: sexy!

Raven black hime cut hair was framing her face, her bangs and below-shoulder-long fronds dancing with her every move. Her somewhat rounded face was pleasantly tanned. Dark, close set eyes crowded on a regular, thin nose.

A very nice figure; the real-life hourglass shape.

Full breast, reduced waist, generous hips.

Her clothes were a variation of Fran’s, same colored polo shirt and shorts, but much softer and suppler.

Feminine.

So, I was back to admiring her remarkable, stunning figure – and I noticed this not only with my eyes. Another part of me, which suddenly urgently needed adjustment, noticed as well! And I have believed I would be tired with the loss of most of night’s sleep! Suddenly I felt ashamed of the growing bulge in my shorts, and hastily decided not to touch myself down there.

Alisa was the name proudly displayed on her breast. A Serbo-Croatian name, if I remembered correctly. Hence, probably local, born on Newlands, or an immigrant from the Balkans.

Alisa briefly spoke to Fran. They were exchanging words in Serbo-Croatian, together with English the other official language of this island state. Actually, I perfectly well understood their spoken words. Because I do speak Serbo-Croatian! Well, I do now – though if you have asked me a month ago, I would have certainly answered something like: of course, I don’t speak this fucking language. At my work, they Renshowed me through an intensive course of it and, believe me, it worked.

Alisa asked Fran who I was.

He told her my name.

Then she typed furiously on the screen of a small device which she was carrying in her hand – like a large smartphone albeit half as thick as a brick.

Pardon me, Mr. Anderson. I need your CREDIT, please.

Ah, the CREDIT! The wonder of Newlands. Did I already mention Newlands is a cash-free society? CREDIT is a credit card sized plastic card (CREDIT is also name for Newlands currency). CREDITs are maybe slightly thicker than an average American credit card, or it just appears so, because they are definitely heavier. Where some credit cards have one chip, CREDIT has four, two embedded in the front and two in its rear.

I know this for a fact: for a Newlands citizen, CREDIT is equal to a complete wallet. It’s a voting card, driving license, and contains a record of all the banking, social and medical data. Hence this one single card can handle all the monetary and legal transactions you might need to accomplish in your ordinary everyday life. Since everybody here seems to have one of those private CREDIT enablers, the device which Alisa was currently playing with, or has access to a public one, they can also store and retrieve lots of other personal information on their CREDITs. Therefore, CREDIT is also a personal data storage device. It is waterproof; hence you can go swimming and diving with it (of obvious importance if you were living on a subtropical island).

It’s highly resistant to fire and averse to physical destruction. And the software of its chips is coded, with army grade coding protection.

I was aware of all those facts – this was all, believe me, right in my line of work.

I fished in the pocket of my sand colored cargo shorts, managing at the same time to unobtrusively – I hoped – adjust myself, and handed my CREDIT to Alisa.

Like every tourist arriving to this island, I have obtained my CREDIT at a customs booth in the terminal of the airport.

If planning a trip to Newlands, you are faced with two choices. You can go to a government website, and provide in advance all requested information there, as well as scanned copies of documents required by various Newlands authorities.

(The option which I have chosen.)

Or, alternatively, you could do it, step by step, with the customs officer upon arrival to this land.

The result is the same – based on your documents, you’re issued your personal CREDIT.

To load your personal CREDIT, Newlands required you to provide your