It must be stated at the outset that Plymouth Hoe was, until recently, functioning perfectly well.
This, as it turned out, was precisely the problem.
“Too open,” Pedro declared, standing at the edge of the grass with the air of someone who had just discovered a significant oversight in national planning. “Too visible. No defined command structure.”
Behind him, the Hoe continued being a large, pleasant expanse overlooking Plymouth Sound, entirely unaware that it was under review.
Jack glanced around. “It’s a hill, Pedro.”
“Incorrect,” Pedro replied. “It is an underutilised command platform.”
Twinkles shaded her eyes and looked out toward the water. “It does feel a bit… important.”
Esmeralda smiled. “It’s always been important.”
Pedro shook his head. “Not officially.”
At this point, I began formal documentation.
Pedro advanced across the Hoe with measured urgency, his hat angled to what can only be described as Maximum Authority. He paused frequently to inspect the ground, as though expecting it to reveal its intentions.
“Good visibility,” he muttered. “Excellent breeze. Morale potential: high.”
He stopped suddenly.
“What is that?”
The crew followed his gaze.
Smeaton’s Tower stood proudly in the distance, entirely minding its own business.
Pedro froze.
“A signal structure,” he whispered.
Jack exhaled. “It’s a lighthouse.”
Pedro did not respond.
He began moving toward it immediately.
“We must establish relations.”
Esmeralda called after him, “Pedro, it’s not operational anymore!”
Pedro increased speed.
“Then it is overdue for reactivation.”
What followed can only be described as a highly determined ascent across the Hoe, during which Pedro maintained a continuous stream of strategic observations.
“Elevation confirmed.”
“Wind acceptable.”
“No visible opposition.”
Upon reaching the base of Smeaton’s Tower, Pedro stopped and looked up.
There was a pause.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “This will do.”
Twinkles leaned in. “What’s the plan?”
Pedro placed both paws against the stone.
“We integrate it.”
Jack blinked. “Integrate it into what?”
Pedro turned slowly.
“The system.”
There was no system.
This did not deter him.
Pedro circled the tower with intense focus, occasionally stopping to nod at nothing in particular.
“Structural integrity: impressive,” he said. “Communication potential: enormous. Symbolism: undeniable.”
Esmeralda folded her arms, smiling. “He’s adopting it, isn’t he?”
“He’s already adopted it,” said Jack.
Pedro climbed onto a conveniently placed stone and raised himself to full height.
“Attention,” he announced, addressing both the crew and the general concept of Plymouth.
The wind shifted slightly, as though reluctantly participating.
“As of this moment,” Pedro continued, “Plymouth Hoe is designated as a Strategic Command Platform.”
Twinkles nodded solemnly. “Of course it is.”
“Smeaton’s Tower,” Pedro added, turning toward it, “is hereby recognised as the Central Beacon of Authority.”
Jack rubbed his face. “It’s a tourist attraction.”
Pedro raised a paw.
“It is now both.”
There was a pause.
A distant ship moved across the Sound, entirely uninvolved.
Pedro watched it carefully.
“Word will spread,” he said.
Prudence (again, myself) noted that no mechanism for this had been identified.
Pedro stepped down from the stone, visibly satisfied.
“The area is now under structured observation.”
Esmeralda nodded. “Naturally.”
Twinkles smiled. “It does feel more organised.”
Jack looked out across the Hoe, which remained exactly as it had been.
“…does it?”
Pedro adjusted his hat.
“Yes.”
He began walking back across the grass with calm authority.
“We will return periodically,” he added, “to ensure continued compliance.”
“Compliance with what?” Jack asked.
Pedro did not break stride.
“Expectations.”
And so it was recorded that Plymouth Hoe, having operated for centuries without formal oversight, was successfully reclassified in a single afternoon through proximity, confidence, and the decisive acknowledgement of a lighthouse.
The Hoe, for its part, made no objections.
Which Pedro later cited as “full agreement.”
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