The Roman Navy declined in the decades following the Punic War, the great victories forgotten as hundreds of triremes were broken up for building timbers, victims of the postwar housing boom. Sicily, newly ceded to Rome, became a popular honeymoon resort, its potential as a forward naval base ignored as the seawall at Syracuse was demolished to make way for a nude beach.
As a forgotten stepchild of the empire. the fleet languished in a budgetary backwater. In Sextilis, of the year CLXXXII a group of concerned officers met at the naval lyceum. located in a converted reformatory on the muddy banks of the Severnum River. The senior officer present. Admiral Bocci, opened the meeting. "The Navy’s stagnant for want of ideas. The few triremes built today are no different than those of two decades ago. What's happened to our technological superiority?”
“There was a little setback last year,” recalled Lieutenant Junio. " Almost all of the original Greek maritime texts were lost in the library fire at Alexandria."
"The library was guarded by Marines," said Captain Oculus. “Everybody knows they’d rather sweat than study; rumor has it some lance-centurion set the fire when he heard of the plan for written promotion exams. Nothing to study—no exams. The whole idea went up in smoke."
“I’ve already talked to General Barium about that,” said Bocci, “and he agrees the Marines should stick to burning cannabis fields.”
"Now,” he continued, “the object is to get something going for the Navy, isn’t it?"
They all agreed. Bocci continued, "Ideas move the world. To get the fleet off dead center we’ve got to circulate some ideas.”
“The last time this man’s Navy adopted a new technique,” reminded Junio, “was when the Greek Mercenary Hedonikos suggested olive oil for the officers’ massages.”
“True.” agreed Bocchio. “And, if we’re going to circulate ideas,” continued Junio, “we may spend all our time as copy boys, transcribing enough copies of an idea to circulate through the entire fleet. Worse yet. fleet headquarters may not approve of such unofficial activity. Just as sand in an oyster may produce a pearl, it also irritates the oyster. So it is with new ideas.” This prompted a general murmur of concern, quickly motioned into silence by Bocci’s upraised hand. "Not to worry,” he assured them, "Midshipman Polo here will address both problems. Proceed, Marcus.”
At this invitation a wheezy youth of pallid complexion rose clutching a sheaf of documents that were crinkled like dried sheepskin, only whiter. "I returned from my senior cruise only last week,” he began. “My class standing was too low to warrant a cruise on a combatant vessel, so I sailed for Londinium on board an auxiliary merchantman. Just west of the Pillars of Hercules we encountered a fierce storm. Blown south, our voyage ultimately took us to China by way of the fabled Olongapos Islands.”
There was a collective gasp of astonishment mixed with envy. The veteran seamen leaned forward to better view this rheumy youngster. Polo continued. “It took a year to effect repairs. During that time I mastered two Chinese inventions—the making of paper, which you see here in my hand, and wood-block printing." At this Polo unrolled one of the crumpled sheets to reveal a startlingly detailed block-print of the beach at Syracuse.
Passed around the room, all present acclaimed the fineness of the paper and the wondrous detail of the print.
"There is half your answer,” said Bocci. “Anybody can understand a picture, even officers, and now we can produce them in quantity. The text will be limited at first, but Polo is working on moveable type.”
“What’s the other half of the answer?” asked Junio.
“Polo thinks we can co-opt the admirals at fleet headquarters by encouraging them to participate. We create a society to lend an air of legitimacy and respectability to the enterprise, but preface all ideas printed with the disclaimer that they’re not the Navy’s views.”
“I like it,” said Oculus. “Those who want to think can do so on their own time. How could there by any opposition to that?”
“It’s agreed, then,” announced Bocci. “We’ll charter a society to publish a journal of ideas.”
All present applauded the merit of the idea. A debate immediately ensued regarding what they would call their new society and its journal. Agreement was impossible until Polo suggested. “Chinese picture-writing is a form of shorthand. Why don’t we shorten all the titles now before the floor by using just the first letter of each word?"
Thus were born the first acronyms. The society became known as H.A.R.M.L.E.S.S., short for Hysterical And Reactionary Malcontents Lugubriously Scorning Simplemindedness. The journal was named D.E.P.A.R.T.I.N.G.S., a title suggesting the Navy was going somewhere, perhaps losing some of its edge in the full version: Doleful Epistles Prepared And Reproduced To Improve Naval Gear Scientifically.
The aged and suspicious Admiral Imperator reluctantly agreed to the venture. A board of senior officers was duly elected to sift through D.E.P.A.R.T.I.N.G.S. submissions. Contrary to subsequent popular belief, the intent of this editorial oversight committee was not to vote down potentially embarrassing commentary on the Navy, but to bring a wide range of experience to the consideration of each article. Nevertheless, the first issue scrupulously avoided controversy by featuring an article about the invention of gray paint by a color-blind Gaul from Burgundy. The Gaul, who was named de Gaulle, had the gall to paint a gray-on-gray likeness of Admiral Bocci for the cover.
The second issue was somewhat bolder. Its feature article proposed the classification of seamen into various skills according to their astrological sign. This was considered too scientific for the entire fleet, although it was later adopted as a means for screening applicants to the naval lyceum.
A second essay by a human-factors engineer suggested that small, medium. and large manacles for oarsmen would be a vast improvement over the universal size currently in use, which suboptimized performance. One critic wrote the editor: “Ridiculous! It's time we quit tinkering with articles of uniform. Next thing you know we’ll be issuing helmets to officers according to their size. What officer will admit he wears a ‘small’?”
The third issue was bolder still, containing a wider range of essays:
A Sumerian blacksmith proposed the construction of hulls built up from iron plates.
A barbarian priest outlined the invention of an exploding powder.
A Greek suggested the use of a screw propellor as a more efficient propulsive device, turned by slaves rotating a crankshaft running parallel to the ship’s centerline.
Midshipman Polo, now in commissioned service, diagrammed a route to China, due west from the Pillars of Hercules across “Mare Incognita.”
This was too much for the Admiral Imperator. Calling Bocci front and center, he pointed to the latest D.E.P.A.R.T.I.N.G.S. on his desk and said, “I found the first two issues thought-provoking. But this third issue contains nothing but the wild scribblings of cranks and daydreamers. Iron ships . . . exploding powder . . . indeed! Perhaps we could put this marvelous powder in an iron container, stick one of the Greek’s screw propellors on it and actually have some sort of weapon. I get more sensible ideas from my wife. And Polo's article . . . I thought the lyceum's purpose was to train officers in reasoned discourse. He assumes the earth is round, which the dumbest plebe knows to be false.”
To improve the soundness of thought an essay contest was organized. The winning essay addressed the possibility of a floating iron needle as a navigational device. The disgusted Admiral Imperator suggested to Bocci that its inventor use the device to sail west to the very edge of the world. “If he comes back," he said, “we’ll have undeniable proof the world is flat.”
Then his face brightened. “If he doesn’t, we’ll know he got lost and this floating-pin thing doesn’t work. Bocci. maybe there's some worth to this publication after all."