Peregrine class Nomadic Cities
All but abandoned by a remote and distracted government, many of the great cities of Eastern Europe were tired of the relentless and thankless position they found themselves in. Unsupported, yet often forming the front line defence against aggressive forces, these once great cities felt more like sitting ducks in a target range than viable social structures.
With the advent of cheap power and very large scale engineering capability, the solution was a relatively obvious one. Immense motile platforms (“mokes”) were created with the capacity to transport the vast bulk of the city’s populace, and even some of its important buildings, to new locations.
At first the intention was to simply use the mokes as a relocation device, but as hostilities increased, it became imperative that the civilian population be afforded greater protection. So it was that the cities were not merely relocated, but became truly nomadic. Fringe benefits soon became apparent. The city is running low on water? Drive to a lake. Fuel? Drive to a mine. Incoming missiles? Disperse!
And it was this last “problem” – threat of attack – that heavily influenced the design of these mobile cities. Note the modular design, whereby each tractor unit comprises all necessary resources for self-contained living. Each of these modules (known as a “Residuum”) house living quarters, hospital, school, water treatment, a section of
the city’s governors etc.
Illustrated here, a small group of four Residui, united under the black banner of Steenkool City, have re-grouped in a standard quad configuration. Often split apart for months on end to maximise dispersal, these aggregation events were the highlight of the social calendar, and often resulted in a carnival atmosphere as old friends re-unite to swap stories, supplies and often as not, wives and partners also.
Lastly, and a most formal undertaking, the cities governors transfer the city’s flag from one residuum unit to another. The immense masthead, towering over 1800 feet above the ground carries the pennant representative of the city itself. When the individual city units disperse once again it is considered the highest honour to be the official flag carrier until the next meeting – though also an invitation to receive attack from Vjegoslavian remote stations.
As despicable as they were daring, Vjegoslavian Commandoes would often compete against each other to “capture the flag” from these colossal vehicles (during the wars more uneventful periods). The inhabitants would awake to find themselves without their precious pennant – and, although humiliating, it was a preferable result compared to a full onslaught from the enemy command.
wow.. now that is cool. i would like to live in one of those.
What is that small house doing on top of the flag post? A small scouting post that keeps an eye out for Vjegoslavians?
Make no mistake: these are gigantic vehicles; think ‘ocean liner’ but bigger – and on land. So the house at the top of the pole only appears tiny in the picture, it would be quite a fair size for anyone living in it.
Further explanation from the book indicates that the ‘Chief Flag Waver’ had the duty of keeping the pole and flag correct – and so the house came with the job. So much easier to keep things tidy from up there – though perhaps not much fun for the family members of the CFW, who would also have lived in the house.
Understandably, many ‘pole families’ did produce several of the greatest acrobats and gymnasts. At least, one went into military service working on the top secret “sky-hook” project.
Probably where the surname “Bannerman” came from?
Hilarious! 🙂