PREVIOUSLY
["Margaret is but six years old," I thought, a leaden weight settling in the pit of my stomach.
Though the marriage would not be consummated for another decade, the mere notion of planning progeny with a child who was only just learning to read and write stirred an unbearable cognitive dissonance within me.
To Turey, it was an aesthetic and diplomatic dream; to me, it was a haunting reminder that no matter how far this kingdom had advanced, I—or rather, my mind—remained a stranger in his own time.
I stood there, cloaked in the shadows of the hallway, watching my three wives dream of a future that still made my head swim.]
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Year 13 of the SuaChie Calendar, Third Month (May 1495).
Dawn City (Cuba), Federal Region of Floating Islands (FRFI).
The Council House.
The morning following Umza's remark about 'fair-skinned babies' dawned with a thick mist clinging to the docks of Dawn City. The echo of her words still pricked at my gut with a needle of unease as I finished adjusting my tunic of fine linen. To them, the future was a beautiful, static painting; to me, it was a logistical and moral puzzle that grew more complex by the hour.
However, there was no time for a contemporary identity crisis. Today, the map of the Suaza Kingdom was not being drawn with ships or swords, but with furrows in the earth.
As I walked toward the Council House, my mind drifted back to the early years of the SuaChie Calendar. In those days, my intervention in agriculture had been almost surgical: improving the alloy of hoes, introducing the concept of selective sowing—always setting aside the most robust grain for the next season—and, above all, the systematic use of fertilizers.
We had started with the foundation of the Milpa (maize, beans, and squash), that perfect ecosystem where each plant nurtures the other. But my ambition, or perhaps my fear of famine, drove me further. I implemented crop rotation in the valleys, alternating maize and beans with potatoes and quinoa to prevent nitrogen depletion. It had been a process of trial and error, but seeing the silos overflowing at the end of each season was the only validation I required.
We even introduced Biochar, a technique I recalled reading about in an article regarding Amazonian 'Terra Preta'... and it worked. The land, once temperamental, had become predictable and generous under our stewardship. Now, with contact established with Europe and expeditions to distant lands, we were on the verge of leaping into the era of global agriculture.
"Leader Chuta, the envoys from the production group are ready," a young assistant announced, jolting me from my reverie.
I nodded and entered the hall. The atmosphere here differed from the naval briefings; the air smelled of dry earth, grain samples, and the dampness of old paper. Every soul in the room stood upon my entrance.
"Pray, be seated," I said, taking my place at the head of the table. "We have much to sow today."
I yielded the floor to Fihista, the Regional Minister of the FRFI in charge of Labor and Agriculture. Fihista was a man of calloused hands and a pragmatic gaze who served under Foza, the regional governor. He cleared his throat and unfurled a detailed map of the experimental cultivation zones.
"Leader, since the expedition to Guanza Quyca in Year 9, the subsequent treaties with the Europeans, and the recent joint expedition to the west, our biological catalog has exploded," Fihista began with restrained enthusiasm. "We have been analyzing the species brought from Europe and Africa under your initial guidance and the reports from our merchants."
"It is vital to remember," I interjected, looking at the researchers present, "that we are not inventing these crops. Each seed carries centuries of knowledge from its land of origin. Our naval officers and traders did not merely bring sacks of grain; they brought the wisdom of foreign peasants. Our task is to translate that knowledge into our soil."
Fihista nodded and pointed to a region on the map representing the mountain ranges.
"Wheat and barley have shown promising results. We have tested them in the highlands and upper valleys where the climate is cooler. We have even utilized areas near the Mexica territory to experiment with volcanic soils, despite the instability of the war. The results suggest they are resilient and highly productive. Furthermore, with the addition of proper fertilizers, yields could increase even more."
"Can we integrate them into the current rotation cycle?" one of the Dawn City researchers asked, taking notes frantically.
"That is the goal," Fihista replied. "The idea is not for wheat to displace maize, but to complement it during seasons when the soil requires rest from traditional crops, or in locales where maize struggles to thrive... Moreover, the research departments have suggested standardizing and studying soil types to facilitate effective application."
I leaned back in my chair, satisfied by the group's proactivity. To watch them debate the integration of European species into an Andean and Caribbean system was to witness the birth of an unprecedented agricultural powerhouse.
"Let us discuss the sweet crops and the water grain," I said, prompting him to continue.
"Sugar cane, Leader," Fihista proceeded, "is a voracious plant, yet it has adapted incredibly well to our warm, humid coasts in the Sea of Floating Islands. We have followed external methods, but we have also applied our own organic fertilizers. If we manage to standardize its refinement, sugar will become an economic engine as potent as gold."
He paused and switched to a sheet showing flooded plains.
"And then, there is rice. It is the strangest crop we have handled. Information from the joint expedition is vital here, but it remains a technical challenge."
"It is a submerged crop," I added, noting the confusion on several faces. "It is unlike anything we usually do. It requires millimetric water control."
Another researcher raised a hand, looking doubtful.
"Leader, how do you intend for us to keep fields constantly flooded without the roots rotting or the terrain collapsing?"
"You already know the answer, even if you do not realize it," I replied with a half-smile. "The ridges we already use for flood zones are the perfect foundation. We only need to adjust them. Instead of raising the land so the plant escapes the water, we will use the canal system so the water embraces the plant. It is a matter of hydraulics applied to life."
Fihista took note of the term 'hydraulics,' one of those words of mine that usually ended up as the name of a new department or office months later.
One hour later.
The meeting continued amidst debates over soil porosity and the search for other sites suitable for large-scale plantation, while the weather shifted from a dense mist to a drizzle that intensified by the minute.
For a moment, the weight of the political marriage and European intrigues felt very distant. Here, among irrigation maps and sacks of seeds, the future was not an uncertainty; it was something we could plant and watch grow. But I knew that for these fields to flourish in peace, my military mace—as Guhua had aptly suggested the day before—would have to be just as strong as our harvests.
I leaned back, allowing my eyes to rest from the irrigation maps. As the servants removed the bowls of soil samples and seeds, my mind drifted toward a problem far older and more persistent than soil pH: muscle.
In the early years of the SuaChie Calendar, my greatest frustration was not the lack of gunpowder, but the lack of traction. In my previous life, one took for granted that if something was heavy, an engine or an ox would move it. Here, in the Andean lands and the jungles of the continent, everything moved on the backs of men. That absolute lack of draft animals was what forced me to prioritize naval engineering; if we could not move goods by land efficiently, we would have to turn our rivers and coasts into liquid highways.
Our initial 'livestock' was, by my modern standards, almost quaint. We had the llama and the alpaca in the highlands, but they were too valuable for their wool and their load capacity too limited to be seen as a massive source of meat or brute force. The rest amounted to breeding guinea pigs and local rabbits. Quick protein, yes, but incapable of pulling a plow. Only after the expansion into the Great Quyca and contact with turkeys did we begin to understand domestication on a larger scale.
"Leader Chuta?" Fihista's dry, respectful cough broke my train of thought.
I sat up, rubbing my hands. The air in the hall felt heavy, a little warmer than before.
"Forgive me, Fihista. I was reflecting on how much these first steps have cost us. Let us continue. The next point is transoceanic livestock."
A young researcher, wearing a reinforced cotton tunic that betrayed his constant visits to the pens, stood up. His eyes shone with the intensity of one who has spent months counting heads of cattle.
"Leader, honorable councilors," he began, unfolding a report filled with marginalia. "I shall report on the status of the bovines, ovines, swine, and poultry brought in recent voyages, as well as the equines... As you know, in the early stages—specifically during the voyage of the explorer Columbus—we only obtained horses and poultry. However, the results of their breeding are drastically opposed."
He paused, glancing at his notes.
"The poultry has exceeded all expectations. We have already passed through three critical stages of controlled breeding. In contrast, the horses... well, those that arrived were primarily gelded mounts or specimens unfit for mass reproduction. For now, they are individual tools, not a population."
"And what of the offspring of those birds?" an agricultural researcher interjected, leaning forward. "Has the first generation grown enough to be considered a stable supply?"
The livestock supervisor nodded with a smile he could not hide.
"It has not only grown; it has multiplied explosively. Allow me to give you the figures from the first experimental nucleus in Dawn City. From the first ten birds we managed to acclimate, we obtained one hundred and eighty descendants in the first cycle. We were conservative: we only used forty percent of the eggs for human consumption; the rest were incubated."
He took a sip of water and continued under my watchful gaze.
"By the second year, the census rose to one thousand two hundred birds. With that security, we increased egg consumption to seventy percent. And for this cycle, Leader, we project closing with three thousand five hundred birds from that original group alone. We are reaching a consumption rate of eighty-five percent of egg production without jeopardizing the population's replacement."
"How are we managing the meat protein?" I asked, interested in the system's efficiency. "We cannot live on eggs alone if we wish to feed the construction battalions."
"We are applying a rotation system, Leader," the young man explained. "From the eggs we decide to incubate, we select the youngest hens to replace the old layers. The birds that no longer produce, along with the excess of young roosters, are destined for immediate slaughter for consumption. It is a closed cycle of high efficiency."
"And the transoceanic exchange? Do we still require the ships to bring more birds?" another councilor inquired.
"We continue to receive them," the researcher confirmed, "but we keep them separate for lineage studies. What is most interesting is that we have interpolated what we knew of turkey breeding and other local fowl to perfect the care of these new species. We are learning their diseases and their growth rates faster than expected."
The atmosphere in the room relaxed slightly; the birds were a tangible success, a victory that could be served on a plate. But I knew the true technical challenge lay in the stables, not the chicken coops. I shifted the tone of the meeting, darkening it a little.
"Let us speak of the opposite side. The horses."
The researcher sighed, his previous enthusiasm turning into a grimace of pragmatic concern.
"That is our bottleneck, Leader. Unlike birds, horses have incredibly long gestation periods and generally only produce one foal. Every animal born is treated as if it were pure gold; the level of care is extreme because we cannot afford to lose a single colt."
He shrugged with an honesty I appreciated.
"Realistically, Leader Chuta, I believe we will depend on trade with the Europeans for several decades, at least to maintain a cavalry and a draft force worthy of the name. We cannot accelerate biology as much as we would like."
"I understand," I said, drumming my fingers on the mahogany table. "Patience is a virtue that engineering sometimes forgets. But if we cannot breed them quickly, we must become the finest riders and caretakers in the world, so that every horse we purchase yields three times the labor for us as it does for them."
I stared at the report on the birds.
"Three thousand five hundred was a good start for only ten initial birds... I can only imagine what the subsequent exchanges have produced," I thought as I lost myself in reflection. The Suaza Kingdom needed more than eggs and feathers to sustain itself against what was coming. We needed that draft power, that animal muscle that still slipped through our fingers.
The voices of the researchers in the hall became a distant murmur, like the hum of insects on a hot afternoon. While they discussed the quality of fodder and the resistance of sheep hooves to the continent's soil, my mind drifted away from the blueprints to lose itself in the invisible map of my own precautions.
We had traveled an astonishing path. At first, domestication in the kingdom was limited to turkeys—a reliable but modest benchmark. But the constant arrival of ships from across the Sunrise had changed everything. First came the poultry and horses; then, like a trickle that became a torrent, arrived the sheep, the swine, the cattle, and varieties of ducks that our local hunters eyed with a mixture of suspicion and hunger.
However, my greatest fear was not predators, but microbes. I vaguely remembered stories from my past life about plagues that wiped out civilizations and decimated entire herds. I could not allow a disease brought from Europe to annihilate our nascent food industry.
That was why I made a drastic decision two years ago: biological quarantine.
The islands of the Northeast FRFI (the Lucayan Archipelago) were transformed into acclimation laboratories. The success of the ten birds mentioned earlier was no accident; it happened there, isolated from any continental pathogens or external ones brought by the creatures themselves.
In Great River City (New Orleans), under Chesua's command, the Mississippi plains became a sanctuary for horses. Only specimens capable of conceiving and who passed months without showing signs of illness were authorized to cross into the heart of the kingdom.
Only when we were certain of their health did we release a controlled portion for private breeding. The result was palpable: walking through the markets of Dawn City, one could already feel the change.
The scent of roasted pork and the cries of those selling eggs by the dozen were flooding the local economy, lowering prices and improving the stature and strength of our workers. Now, that success was beginning to leap to the mainland, establishing breeding centers on the coasts that promised to change the Suaza diet forever.
The meeting concluded with the closing of folders and promises of new reports. I was about to begin my journey back to the Stone Manor, seeking the refuge of my wives and the silence of my books, when a worker from the Council House intercepted me with a bow.
"Leader Chuta, Chancellor Zasaba requests your presence in his office. He says it is a matter of priority for the Council."
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Duty never slept. I ascended to the second floor of the building, where the air was cooler and the noise of the street was muffled by heavy woven rugs.
Zasaba was waiting for me, standing by a large window. Upon seeing me enter, his face lit up with that professional courtesy that masked a mind always three steps ahead of the rest.
"Leader," he greeted, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "Thank you for coming."
"Tell me it is good news, Zasaba. It has been a long day of ships and chickens."
"For the most part, it is," he replied, sitting down. "The preparations for the Grand Meeting of Regional Governors are complete. The messengers have returned; the governors from the most distant regions, even those on the continental frontiers, have already begun their journey to Dawn City. In less than a month, the power of the kingdom will be under this roof."
I nodded, feeling a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. It was time to consolidate what we had built.
"And the western front?" I asked, shifting my tone. "Any word from the Mexica?"
Zasaba shook his head slowly.
"A tense silence, Leader... The situation remains as it was last year. The only thing of note is that the Triple Alliance's influence continues to gain ground in the south; more small villages have joined them seeking protection, but it is a measure of desperation rather than loyalty. On the other hand, the Purépecha in the northwest remain like a rock: they do not move, they do not attack, they only observe."
"Let them observe," I murmured. "As long as they do not join the war, we have room to breathe."
There was a moment of silence. The only sound was the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass. Zasaba toyed with a quill on his desk, his gaze turning hesitant.
"Leader..." he began, lowering his voice. "Do you truly plan to go through with it?"
He looked at me intently, searching for confirmation in my eyes.
"Do you truly plan to reorganize the regions of the kingdom?"
Zasaba knew that touching the borders of the Governors could invite trouble, especially for certain peoples who had gained relevance within the kingdom due to these territorial limits. But he, better than anyone, knew my obsession with efficiency over tradition.
I held his gaze, letting the silence confirm what his pragmatism already feared. The true battle was not on the Mexica front, but on the maps, we were about to redraw.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support. Let's get straight to the chapter comments.
CHAPTER COMMENTS
First, I want to clarify that while agriculture and livestock are mentioned, it's not necessarily from an expert's perspective.
That's because I don't know much about the subject, and also because, although you can buy information on how to deal with crops and animals, in practice it's very different, especially in the case of animals.
On the other hand, although Turey, Chuta's wife, is mentioned as someone who can 'communicate' with animals and who has helped the kingdom's 'experts,' that doesn't make her an expert in animal husbandry, much less when dealing with animals she's never seen before. In reality, her most important contribution has been treating animals well; this helps with taming them and also with understanding how they feel about their living spaces.
Second, the reorganization of the regions had been proposed before, but only now will they be united or separated as such. However, this will apply more to the continental regions, not the current or future federal regions.
I have even been researching the geography and hydrography of the entire American continent, especially the south, to properly define the regions.
This will also be accompanied by a map.
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS
Just one thing.
The chapter is shorter because it dealt with this specific topic.
Which, for me, is a secondary topic compared to naval advancements.
However, it was written so that the narrative doesn't 'assume' that there are already large hectares of wheat, barley, or rice.
This is not the case, and it will be several years before that happens.
On another note, I will start referring to Chuta as Leader for now, but that's because I'm looking for the right term for his position. I want to call him king directly (with the appropriate ceremony and at the appropriate time), but it seems unoriginal.
Khan, maybe, hahahaha.
PS: The production and breeding examples were consulted and researched, and the numbers are from a single case, not necessarily representative, and do not reflect the current total. For me, there are already tens of thousands of poultry (chickens) on the islands and in some coastal cities. About 300 horses, with only 60 percent intended for breeding. About 400 cows; a high number because the movement of pregnant cows was anticipated. And so on with the animals.
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Read my other novels.
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future (Chapter 91) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (ON HOLD)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 14) (ON HOLD)
You can find them on my profile.]