Chapter 183

I reflect on the biographies of great men I read as a child.

In those stories, the people of the Middle Ages believed the Earth was flat, fearing they would plummet into hell if they sailed too far west. But Columbus, armed with the knowledge that the world was round, forged ahead and discovered America!

By the time I reached adulthood, I already knew such tales were pure myth. They belonged in the same category as the legends of Regent Heungseon Daewongun burning Kim Jeong-ho’s master map, the Daedongyeojido, or the villainous Tesla being envied by the “genius” Edison.

In reality, Europeans of that era knew the Earth’s circumference with startling accuracy. They were also painfully aware that if they followed Columbus’s plan to reach India by circling west, they would likely starve to death long before sighting land.

Somehow, by sheer luck, he stumbled upon the West Indies. Of course, whether that land was actually India was a question that dogged Columbus until the day he died. To us—and even to his more discerning contemporaries—Columbus often seemed remarkably obtuse. If India were truly where he claimed, the Earth’s circumference couldn’t possibly be forty thousand kilometers.

Yet, there was a reason he had no choice but to mistake America for the Orient.

The people of that age lacked GPS. In fact, they possessed no means of determining their exact location while at sea. On land, a traveler could triangulate their position by observing landmarks or comparing their portable timepiece to local solar time.

But on the open ocean?

In the vast, featureless blue, there are no landmarks to guide the eye. Furthermore, the pendulum clocks of the era were useless aboard a swaying, pitching vessel. Left with no other options, sailors were forced to rely on dead reckoning—essentially, a glorified guessing game.

This is why oceanic voyages were reserved for the mad and the desperate, men like Raleigh or Drake. It was common for a discoverer to find a lush island once and never be able to locate it again. Countless crews perished simply because they had no idea how far they had traveled, only to be shattered against an unforeseen reef or a jagged coastline in the dead of night. It was an era where men died in droves by design.

This navigational blindness would persist for over a century until the development of the marine chronometer. And even then, for a long time, the device remained a luxury far beyond the reach of the average captain.

How do I know all this?

…Thank you, Net-X-flix.

Regardless, I now stand upon the docks, surveying the harbor with a practiced eye. Several vessels are completing their final preparations for the long voyage into the deep blue, surrounded by throngs of well-wishers.

I stand among them, clutching the aforementioned “chronometer” in my palm. It is the absolute essential for long-distance navigation. “Chronometer” sounds like a sophisticated, high-tech instrument, but the definition is actually quite simple: it is any timepiece capable of functioning accurately at sea.

In this era, a five-dollar watch used by a modern student for their university entrance exams would be considered an instrument of divine precision. Even a three-dollar plastic alarm clock would qualify as a masterpiece.

And the chronometer I currently hold? It is adorned with the image of Pororo the Little Penguin. Every hour on the hour, it chirps a synthesized theme song that begins with the line: “Playing is the best!” I found it buried in a storage crate, a relic from my kindergarten years that I had once pestered my parents to buy.

When the call came to begin the voyages to Asia, my first order of business was simple: I scoured my house for every clock and watch in my possession and handed them over to the navigators. Some might scoff at the idea of such toys being used for empire-building, but they work with staggering reliability. The watch I hold was just returned to me by a crew that had successfully used it on multiple round trips to England.

With its reliability confirmed, it is time to deploy it on a more ambitious route.

The captain of the vessel slated for departure approaches me, his face a mask of solemn determination as he bows deeply. I press the Pororo watch into his weathered hand. “Take this,” I say, my voice steady. “Let it be your guide upon the trackless waves.”

“I… I shall guard it with my very life, my Lord!” the captain vows.

There is really no need for such drama… though, I suppose, for a sailor, that watch truly is his life.

The captain boards his ship, and as the great sails unfurl to catch the wind, the crowd erupts into cheers. The clipper glides gracefully from the pier, beginning its dance with the horizon. I watch it go, confident it will return safely.

After all, it has the blessing of Pororo.

Even after scraping together every timepiece from my childhood, I have barely a dozen to spare. For now, it suffices, but as the traffic between the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans grows, this stopgap measure will fail.

“Wave to them,” I tell the crowd. “These are the heroes risking everything for our community.”

“A—aye, my Lord!”

The very ship I am seeing off had been idling in the harbor for weeks, grounded solely by the lack of a watch. We need a permanent solution. I look toward the north, where the land routes are slowly connecting our disparate territories.

Somewhere in a clockmaker’s workshop in the Chesapeake, experts are currently dissecting my personal wristwatch to study its internal architecture. To be precise, it isn’t mine; it’s an Omega my father left behind.

The technology of this age is centuries away from replicating such a masterpiece, but the craftsmen can still learn the secrets of the escapement and the intricate mechanics of the gears. And that is more than enough.

Building a functional marine chronometer doesn’t require a PhD. In the original timeline, John Harrison, the man who solved the longitude problem, was a self-taught carpenter. We already possess high-quality steel and the necessary industrial foundations. With the “answer key” provided by my modern artifacts, there is no reason our technicians cannot produce a crude but effective replica.

Within a year or two, we will be manufacturing our own sea-ready timepieces. Until then, we will simply have to make do with Pororo watches and old iX-pods.

But our work did not stop at clocks. Back in my office, I meet with the aides who have traveled from the Chesapeake to seek my counsel. I point to a specific speck on the map.

“The name of this island…”

“Saint Helena, my Lord. And the one beside it is Tristan da Cunha. We shall occupy them both.”

“Understood.”

“Next is the Kerguelen Islands,” I continue. “I want sheep released there. It will make replenishing our food supplies significantly easier during the crossing.”

As I mentioned before, we hold three decisive advantages over every other maritime power on Earth: precision marine clocks, an accurate world map, and the knowledge of the fastest sea lanes.

Our data dictates that to harness the strongest westerlies, one must sail along the 40th parallel south. Any further south and the risk of icebergs becomes lethal. Many of the islands scattered along that line are currently uninhabited—terra nullius waiting for a flag to be planted.

The Covenant government has ordered their immediate seizure.

Reports indicate that the Dutch East India Company is already aware of the 40-degree route, which has nearly halved their travel time to Java. However, they continue to suffer frequent shipwrecks because they cannot determine their longitude accurately or pinpoint the exact location of reefs.

We will not share their fate. We will claim the islands first, establishing them as safe harbors to ensure our dominance.

Decades of operating clippers has taught us that these ships, while fast, are notoriously unstable. To compensate, we must ensure our infrastructure is flawless and our safety protocols are absolute. That is my conclusion.

For the foreseeable future, our strength will be poured into securing the trade routes, whether through the Atlantic or the Pacific.

And for the lands that aren’t uninhabited?

…Well, I suppose I’ll have to stick to my usual methods.

***

Keakealani-kane, King of the island of Hawaii, stared at the strangers who had arrived in their towering ships.

“What is it you claim to offer us, foreigners?” he asked, his voice echoing with suspicion.

“Powerful weapons, great beasts of burden, fine fabrics to cover your bodies—whatever your heart desires,” the envoy replied.

“Are you… are you truly men?” the King whispered. “How can mere mortals possess such wealth?”

In the original timeline, the Hawaiian Islands would be “discovered” by the English explorer James Cook. His sailors would initially be welcomed with open arms, indulging in luxury and spreading disease among the local women while acting with insufferable arrogance. Eventually, the Hawaiians would reach a breaking point—incensed by the foreigners’ desecration of sacred groves for timber—and go to war. Captain Cook would be killed and his body ritually consumed, leaving his crew to flee in terror.

But here, that tragedy has been averted.

Having studied the Age of Discovery via Net-X-flix, I have prepared a strict “List of Prohibited Actions” for our explorers. The protocols are clear: Do not act like gods. Do not take action until communication is established. Respect local customs. Always ask permission before harvesting timber or resources. While these rules cannot prevent every accident, they have neutralized the most common triggers for conflict.

“Your Majesty,” the envoy continued, “we seek only to trade for water and provisions when our ships pass your shores. We also advise you to be wary of other foreign vessels. It is unlikely they will come with the peaceful intentions we bring.”

“Hmm…”

Hawaii is already a complex society of warring chiefdoms, governed by rigid caste systems and religious hierarchies. They have built massive aquaculture ponds and poultry farms, demonstrating a sophisticated level of social organization. In such a place, the will of the rulers is paramount. By treating the kings and chiefs as sovereign monarchs and nobles, our sailors have secured a foothold.

The result is a “First Contact” that is remarkably smooth and peaceful. The Covenant’s Pacific route is becoming a far more efficient and stable artery of trade than anything the Spanish have managed.

Of course, Hawaii was not the only land our ships reached. And our strategy had to be tailored to each new shore.

***

Most of Australia is a scorched, arid expanse, with arable land concentrated in the southeast—the regions that would one day host cities like Sydney and Melbourne. Because European ships crossing the Indian Ocean typically encounter the desolate northwest coast, it is no surprise that the Dutch of this era have little interest in the continent.

Historically, serious European penetration of Australia wouldn’t begin until the late 18th century. But history has been twisted by the map brought by a man from the 21st. No one yet realizes that Australia is a continent the size of Europe. Even the Aboriginal Australians cannot grasp the true scale of the land they inhabit.

Only the navigators of the Continental Covenant know. And they have no intention of leaving it alone.

They do not plan to turn it into a dumping ground for convicts and orphans, nor do they intend to massacre the inhabitants. They are faced with a low-density, stateless society—the kind of people they already know how to bring into the fold. No one on Earth understands this process better than the people of the Covenant.

“Those people from across the sea are asking to use a small bit of land by the shore,” a scout reported to his elders.

“Let them,” the elder replied. “It is land we barely use. And since they have entered our territory, they must provide gifts.”

The Covenant builds a staging ground and accepts the locals’ offerings. And then…

“What… what is all this?” a tribesman gasps, staring at the crates being unloaded.

“A gift,” the explorer replies simply.

“All of this… for us?”

The Covenant delivers a mountain of wealth in return, achieving instant psychological dominance. In this world, the exchange of gifts is a process of relationship-building, a display of raw power, and a form of bloodless warfare. One proves their strength by burning the opponent’s gifts as meaningless and pouring out their own wealth with reckless abandon.

The surrounding tribes are stunned into silence by the sheer, impossible abundance. At the moment they are forced to acknowledge their “defeat,” an envoy arrives from the “Conquerors.”

“We… could give you even more than this,” the envoy whispers.

“More? You speak as if there is a catch.”

“Precisely.”

After months of exploration and the establishment of basic communication, the Covenant reveals its terms to the Australians.

“If you bring another tribe to join us, your rank will increase,” the envoy explains.

“My… rank?”

“And if you reach the Diamond rank? Look—this magnificent rifle will be yours as a bonus.”

“…”

“What do you say?”

“So… I truly only need to bring another tribe?”

The sinister tide of multi-level marketing begins to sweep over the Australian continent!