Socialist Commonwealth
Establishing Nation
A gentle, cool breeze had taken course upon the Implarian shoreline this evening, granting relief to the citizens of Implarian City on one of the last days of the summerheat. The setting sun over the vast, glistering ocean was providing the perfect panorama to enjoy this magnificent evening and many families throughout the metropolis had gathered outside to end the weekend on a high note, with a BBQ or a picknick. Similarily, many of the students of the prestigious Implarian University had met up on the campus of the Laurel Union college, spending the sunday much as anyone else was in the city.
Implaria U, with its historic, neoclassical structures made of Concordian sandstone, rested on top of a hill overlooking much of the westend of Implarian City and allowing for unobstructed view to the ocean all the way up to the horizon. It was a matter of pride to many of the students and faculty and the view was a popular motif for postcards from Implarian City. It was also a popular backdrop to the dates of many of the young couples that would form each year on campus.
One could assume that, on such a day, in such an almost obnoxiously romantic location, no one would bother with work. But that was not the case for the University President. Marcus Zimmermann was a famously laborous man. In fact, he was obsessively industrious, a true workaholic. He had spent the whole week in his office, going over staff complaints, organizing finances, managing the research grants and writing letters over letters to people throughout the Republic. He knew no weekend and even if he couldn't exactly claim to enjoy his work, he felt uneasy and nervous whenever he took a day off from it.
"Marcus?"
The man entering his office had knocked on the door, but not waited for a reply before walking in. It was an old friend of him, Stephane. One of the few friend that could put up with the fact that, if they wanted to meet for a chat, they would have to do so with Marcus still sitting on his deks, bent over official university correspondence.
"I heard something in the Department, thought I'd give you a bit of a headstart on them."
Stephane had met Marcus back in University. Implarian University, to be precise. They had both been students in the very same institution that Marcus would eventually become president of. Ever since they had shared a class in classical Engell literature, they had been friends and even pursued similiar careers in education. Only that Stephane ended up in the Department of Education instead of university beuraucracy.
"Chairman is pretty pissed about your repeated failure with the rocket programm. It goes all up to the President, in fact. Says, Winters is under enough pressure with the whole Ivernian debacle as it is and can't afford any further embarassment. And well, Lendman doesn't want to become the sacrificial lamb in this affair, so he'll probably cut off someone else."
Marcus looked up, glancing over the top of his nickel-glasses. "Me?"
"Looks like it. They'll cut the research grant, reorganize the whole programm, blame Implarian U for the past failures. That is, if you can't provide some quick success to relieve pressure on them. Or do something to distract the public."
"However am I going to do that?" Marcus sighed. His eyes moved to a painting overlooking most of his office. A painting of the founder and first president of the University, Thomas Irwin Rawls, back in 1799. He would stay in office for over 40 years, only relinquishing control over the proud institution in the ripe old age of 89. In his time as president, he had shaped much of the tradition of the prestigious university and faced many difficulties in running one of the first of its kind in Implarian Himyar. In fact, he had been instrumental in organizing the Laurel Union to tackle the many issues the colleges of Implarian Himyar faced, together.
"You know what, Stephane? Tell Lendman I'd like to meet him to discuss the rocket project. Don't mention you've been here. Make it seem as if I took the initiative to discuss the topic."
Implaria U, with its historic, neoclassical structures made of Concordian sandstone, rested on top of a hill overlooking much of the westend of Implarian City and allowing for unobstructed view to the ocean all the way up to the horizon. It was a matter of pride to many of the students and faculty and the view was a popular motif for postcards from Implarian City. It was also a popular backdrop to the dates of many of the young couples that would form each year on campus.
One could assume that, on such a day, in such an almost obnoxiously romantic location, no one would bother with work. But that was not the case for the University President. Marcus Zimmermann was a famously laborous man. In fact, he was obsessively industrious, a true workaholic. He had spent the whole week in his office, going over staff complaints, organizing finances, managing the research grants and writing letters over letters to people throughout the Republic. He knew no weekend and even if he couldn't exactly claim to enjoy his work, he felt uneasy and nervous whenever he took a day off from it.
"Marcus?"
The man entering his office had knocked on the door, but not waited for a reply before walking in. It was an old friend of him, Stephane. One of the few friend that could put up with the fact that, if they wanted to meet for a chat, they would have to do so with Marcus still sitting on his deks, bent over official university correspondence.
"I heard something in the Department, thought I'd give you a bit of a headstart on them."
Stephane had met Marcus back in University. Implarian University, to be precise. They had both been students in the very same institution that Marcus would eventually become president of. Ever since they had shared a class in classical Engell literature, they had been friends and even pursued similiar careers in education. Only that Stephane ended up in the Department of Education instead of university beuraucracy.
"Chairman is pretty pissed about your repeated failure with the rocket programm. It goes all up to the President, in fact. Says, Winters is under enough pressure with the whole Ivernian debacle as it is and can't afford any further embarassment. And well, Lendman doesn't want to become the sacrificial lamb in this affair, so he'll probably cut off someone else."
Marcus looked up, glancing over the top of his nickel-glasses. "Me?"
"Looks like it. They'll cut the research grant, reorganize the whole programm, blame Implarian U for the past failures. That is, if you can't provide some quick success to relieve pressure on them. Or do something to distract the public."
"However am I going to do that?" Marcus sighed. His eyes moved to a painting overlooking most of his office. A painting of the founder and first president of the University, Thomas Irwin Rawls, back in 1799. He would stay in office for over 40 years, only relinquishing control over the proud institution in the ripe old age of 89. In his time as president, he had shaped much of the tradition of the prestigious university and faced many difficulties in running one of the first of its kind in Implarian Himyar. In fact, he had been instrumental in organizing the Laurel Union to tackle the many issues the colleges of Implarian Himyar faced, together.
"You know what, Stephane? Tell Lendman I'd like to meet him to discuss the rocket project. Don't mention you've been here. Make it seem as if I took the initiative to discuss the topic."