The Price of Progress (1)

The weight of Admiral Romen's words settled over Roman like a heavy winter cloak. For several moments, he stood frozen, processing the veteran officer's blunt assessment of what awaited him.

"I... appreciate your candor, Admiral," Roman finally managed, accepting the extended hand. The grip was firm, almost reassuring in its strength.

Romen nodded curtly. "Don't misunderstand me. What His Highness envisions for the Far East isn't wrong. These territories could become the empire's greatest strength or its most vulnerable flank. But the path between vision and reality..." He gestured broadly at the administrative buildings surrounding them. "Well, that path runs straight through bureaucratic hell."

Roman straightened his posture, attempting to reclaim some of his earlier resolve. "I've never shied from difficult assignments, Admiral."

"Good. Because difficult doesn't begin to describe it." Romen began walking, motioning for Roman to follow. "The Crown Prince sees potential where others see only frozen wasteland. That vision is both his greatest strength and his most dangerous weakness."

"Dangerous?"

"He believes in possibilities so fervently that he sometimes fails to see the obstacles. The railway alone will consume resources that would bankrupt a smaller nation. And that's before we consider Port Arthur's fortifications, the naval expansion, the diplomatic maneuvering with Japan..."

They passed a communications officer hurrying by with a stack of telegrams, who offered a respectful nod to both men.

"His Highness mentioned the communications department," Roman noted. "Said it was well-funded."

Romen laughed without humor. "Oh yes. Messages travel quickly here. Your failures will reach St. Petersburg before you've even realized you've made them."

"You paint a bleak picture, Admiral."

"I paint a realistic one." Romen stopped, turning to face Roman directly. "Listen carefully. Most officers sent here either flee like I attempted to, drink themselves into an early grave, or become so consumed by resentment they sabotage their own work. You cannot afford any of those luxuries."

Roman met the Admiral's gaze. "What do you suggest instead?"

"Build allies. Find the competent men scattered throughout this wasteland and bind them to you. Create your own network, separate from official channels." Romen lowered his voice. "And most importantly, document everything. Every order, every expenditure, every decision—ensure there's a paper trail that leads back to St. Petersburg."

"You speak as though I'm preparing for war rather than administration."

"In the Far East, they are one and the same." Romen's expression softened slightly. "The Crown Prince has chosen you for a reason. Perhaps he sees something in you that I don't. Prove him right, and you might just survive this posting."

Roman absorbed this, nodding slowly. "And what of you, Admiral? Will you continue hiding?"

A bitter smile crossed Romen's face. "My time here is almost done. Three years is enough penance for anyone. But before I leave..." He hesitated. "I'll show you what I've learned. The real workings of this place, not the sanitized reports that reach His Highness."

"I would be grateful for that."

"Don't be grateful yet. By this time next year, you'll either curse my name for not warning you sufficiently or thank me for preparing you at all." Romen gestured toward the imposing administrative building ahead. "Shall we begin your education, Comrade?"

Roman squared his shoulders, the weight of the Crown Prince's trust and Admiral Romen's warnings balanced precariously on his conscience. "Yes. Let's begin."

As they walked toward the building that would become Roman's prison and kingdom for the foreseeable future, he couldn't help but recall the Crown Prince's parting words, now tinged with unintentional irony: "I'll trust you and head back."

Trust. Such a simple word for such an impossible burden.