Read Online Goblinopolis, The Tol Chronicles, Book 1 by Robert G. Ferrell - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert G. Ferrell
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world. The full name was The Preparatory Seminar for Aspirants to Royal Office , which of course is why it was popularly known as simply ‘The Seminar.’ This was far more than simply another Continuing Professional Education course, though—it served as the initial screening mechanism for future monarchs of Tragacanth. The final day of the event was a laboratory session where students pitted themselves against a team of crack Arnoc NetSec techs. Those who managed to achieve a set number of strategic objectives in this contest were certified as potential Royal Candidates and allowed to petition the Crown for the Right of Challenge, subject to approval by CoME.
Tragacanth had not always been a monarchial technocracy, of course. Until the advent of the digital age a hundred years ago it had been a conventional monarchy, ruled by a member of one of the three principal noble families, who juggled the throne among them. It had been a fairly stable system, but suffered from the utter lack of accountability to which hereditary absolute monarchies are inevitably subject.
The Royal government took little notice when computers began to dominate the command and control landscape in Tragacanth. Computers were just electronic filing machines to the King and his staff—as such they lay in the realm of clerks and other menials, well below the Royal purview. That indifference ended abruptly one night in the midst of a crucial negotiation with neighboring Galanga over a border dispute. The Tragacanthan King at the time, Rexingrasha II, was in usual goblin style attempting to intimidate the Galangan monarch by rattling sabers all along the disputed territory. The Galangan Potentate, a cerebral gnome named Clorvos, wasn’t having any. He ordered his highly-trained Silicommandos into action.
By noon the next day, Tragacanth was virtually without power, data mining, communications, financial transactions capability, or entertainment (other than the spontaneous massive public demonstrations protesting the Royal faux pas ). Rexingrasha was furious, but he had little recourse but to back down, as his kingdom was in a crisis of chaos. Clorvos, to his credit, was fairly magnanimous about the whole thing. He wasn’t the aggressive, posturing sort, unlike the goblin—once Tragacanth backed off he instructed the Silicommandos to undo whatever damage they were able. The damage to Rexingrasha’s reputation, and to the noble status quo of Tragacanth, however, was irreversible.
For the first time, the citizens of Tragacanth realized that their leader, not to mention their information infrastructure, was vulnerable. Of course, they all knew deep down that kings were just people, with the same frailties and insecurities as everyone else, but up until now those shortcomings had been well-hidden by a combination of stellar public relations and the inherent goblin need to believe in the unassailable nature of their government. Suddenly their king, and by association their nation, had been violated by a foreign power—critically embarrassed on the world stage, as it were.
Goblin society does not tolerate weakness and failure very well. It wasn’t long before Rexingrasha found himself the object of derision, rather than the adulation to which he and his forebears were accustomed as monarchs. The Royal Protective Corps began to pick up signs, in fact, that a popular rebellion might be gaining momentum. This enraged the king, who felt that absolute obedience and unquestioned loyalty were his due as the head of state. He ordered the RPC to round up anyone whom they saw leading, advocating, or even—at the end— looking as though they might support a demonstration against the regime. This sort of strong-arm tactic just led to more resentment; violence and even civil war seemed inevitable.
The tinderbox was on the verge of ignition when an extraordinary event took place. For the first time since the founding of the Magineers, the Loca Magineer, an
Tragacanth had not always been a monarchial technocracy, of course. Until the advent of the digital age a hundred years ago it had been a conventional monarchy, ruled by a member of one of the three principal noble families, who juggled the throne among them. It had been a fairly stable system, but suffered from the utter lack of accountability to which hereditary absolute monarchies are inevitably subject.
The Royal government took little notice when computers began to dominate the command and control landscape in Tragacanth. Computers were just electronic filing machines to the King and his staff—as such they lay in the realm of clerks and other menials, well below the Royal purview. That indifference ended abruptly one night in the midst of a crucial negotiation with neighboring Galanga over a border dispute. The Tragacanthan King at the time, Rexingrasha II, was in usual goblin style attempting to intimidate the Galangan monarch by rattling sabers all along the disputed territory. The Galangan Potentate, a cerebral gnome named Clorvos, wasn’t having any. He ordered his highly-trained Silicommandos into action.
By noon the next day, Tragacanth was virtually without power, data mining, communications, financial transactions capability, or entertainment (other than the spontaneous massive public demonstrations protesting the Royal faux pas ). Rexingrasha was furious, but he had little recourse but to back down, as his kingdom was in a crisis of chaos. Clorvos, to his credit, was fairly magnanimous about the whole thing. He wasn’t the aggressive, posturing sort, unlike the goblin—once Tragacanth backed off he instructed the Silicommandos to undo whatever damage they were able. The damage to Rexingrasha’s reputation, and to the noble status quo of Tragacanth, however, was irreversible.
For the first time, the citizens of Tragacanth realized that their leader, not to mention their information infrastructure, was vulnerable. Of course, they all knew deep down that kings were just people, with the same frailties and insecurities as everyone else, but up until now those shortcomings had been well-hidden by a combination of stellar public relations and the inherent goblin need to believe in the unassailable nature of their government. Suddenly their king, and by association their nation, had been violated by a foreign power—critically embarrassed on the world stage, as it were.
Goblin society does not tolerate weakness and failure very well. It wasn’t long before Rexingrasha found himself the object of derision, rather than the adulation to which he and his forebears were accustomed as monarchs. The Royal Protective Corps began to pick up signs, in fact, that a popular rebellion might be gaining momentum. This enraged the king, who felt that absolute obedience and unquestioned loyalty were his due as the head of state. He ordered the RPC to round up anyone whom they saw leading, advocating, or even—at the end— looking as though they might support a demonstration against the regime. This sort of strong-arm tactic just led to more resentment; violence and even civil war seemed inevitable.
The tinderbox was on the verge of ignition when an extraordinary event took place. For the first time since the founding of the Magineers, the Loca Magineer, an
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