The heavy ocean breeze shifts with a sudden, noticeable drop in speed as the three black-and-white galleons—the Julia, the Cealina, and the Maria—clear the open ocean, swinging their blunt, oak-timber bows south-east toward the Ofliran Territory of Ambustus. The crisp, clean, salty air that had carried them across the sea is rapidly swallowed by a thick, suffocating tropical heat that hangs over the water like a heavy wet wool blanket. The sky above turns a milky, hazy white, reflecting the sun's glare onto the mirror-flat surface of the water, where green sea turtles float motionless near the surface before diving deep into the shadow of the keels.
Sprawled before the three hundred and twenty earthling slave-soldiers gathered against the teak handrails is a dramatic, unfamiliar coastline. Jagged volcanic hills, shrouded in dense, emerald-green interior rainforests that seem to hum with a low, vibrating drone of invisible insects, rise sharply above broad river valleys and sweeping coastal plains. Across those plains, endless, perfectly aligned rows of pale green sugarcane wave gently in the muggy, moisture-laden wind, looking like a vast ocean of silk grass stretching all the way to the foot of the jagged mountains. High above the forest canopy, white-tailed tropicbirds swoop and dart in sharp arcs, their long tail feathers trailing against the bright sky.
Rounding a series of sheer, iron-red granite headlands where grey sea eagles roost on high rock ledges, the fleet glides smoothly into the broad, sheltered natural harbour of Port Ambustus.
Unlike the refined, ancient stone architecture, grand archways, and marble public plazas of Almathea, Ambustus presents the raw, utilitarian face of an industrial agricultural colony. Massive, iron-trussed sugar mills with tall, soot-stained brick chimneys dominate the waterfront, belching thin plumes of dark smoke into the humid air. Alongside them sit vast, dark-tiled molasses storage tanks reinforced with thick iron bands, sprawling timber distilleries with copper stills glinting in the light, small timber military barracks, and wooden coastal watchtowers perched high on stilts over the marshy shoreline. Paved plantation roads, crushed from white limestone, cut straight, uncompromising lines from the docks deep into the interior sugarcane estates, crossed by thick timber river bridges and hand-carved stone irrigation channels where muddy water rushes toward the sea.
The three galleons glide alongside the busy export quays, where the air smells intensely of sweet molasses, damp black earth, crushed cane stalks, and freshly sawed timber. The thick, sickly-sweet scent clings to the back of the throat with every breath. Huge land crabs, their shells stained a deep reddish-brown, scuttle frantically along the damp wooden pilings below the waterline, ducking into cracks as the heavy ships nudge against the coir-fiber fenders.
While the female captain departs with two armed guards to clear their arrival documents with the local harbour master, a small group of earthling soldiers steps off the gangplank onto the scorching stone pier to stretch their cramped legs.
Near the central merchant offices, where clerks in sweat-stained linen shirts rush about with rolled parchment manifests, stands a massive, rectangular limestone monument. Its pale surface is deeply carved with formal historical inscriptions detailing the colony's founding, the letters filled with dark pitch to resist the salty air.
Adelberd adjusts his heavy leather vest, pulling at the stiff collar before stepping directly up to the stone monument. He traces his index finger along the edge of the carved numbers, his bright blue eyes narrowing as he reads the historical dates aloud to Aldo, Lourdes, and Hano, who gather behind him in the heavy shade of a nearby warehouse overhang.
"'1272 A.H.M. — Acquisition. Ambustus was acquired during Ofliran's overseas expansion by a consortium of Ofliran merchant houses seeking tropical commodities.'"
Adelberd pauses, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple before sliding his finger down to the next block of dark text.
"'1275–1285 — Plantation Expansion. Initial sugar production was disappointing due to poor roads and inadequate milling equipment, leading investors to import specialized engineers to construct centralized mills.'"
He shifts his posture, standing up straighter as his eyes scan the third carved paragraph.
"'1287 & 1292 — The Sugar Boom & Port Expansion. Improved milling technology dramatically increased exports, leading to the expansion of Port Ambustus to handle larger merchant vessels.'"
Finally, he taps the bottom line of text with his knuckle, his voice carrying a crisp, analytical rhythm.
"'1298 — Plantation Reform Commission. Established after reports of abuses, introducing regulations concerning contracts, wages, working hours, and colonial courts.'"
Hano tugs at the chest of his damp undershirt, fanning the heavy cloth to let a breath of humid air hit his bare chest. He lets out a low, breathy whistle, looking up at the towering brick chimneys in the distance.
"At least they have laws about working hours," Hano mutters, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and cynical relief as he glances at the carved limestone. "Much better than many developing nations on Earth."
Before any of them can reply, a port secretary carrying a brass-bound ledger approaches from the merchant offices, waving them forward. He escorts the group down the long timber pier toward a fourth large, multi-decked galleon anchored in the deeper water nearby—the Amelia. Its dark hull sits high in the water, waiting to be loaded.
The female captain steps off the deck of the Amelia onto the floating wooden pontoon, her tricorn hat pulled low against the glaring sun. She looks down at Aldo, Adelberd, and the company leaders assembled before her, her jaw set in a firm, unyielding line.
She informs Aldo and the company leaders that their task for their stay in Ambustus is to manually load the Amelia with timber, sugar, rum, molasses, and fresh tropical produce, joining the ship's veteran crew for the heavy haul.