NationStates Jolt Archive

Kostemetsia,
New Brisbane
12 Tall Wood Drive
19:35 Hours

Michael Wrathall gently brushed the napkin around his mouth, wiping off any excess food or sauce that had become attached. "Absolutely outstanding Thomas. You always outdo yourself." Pushing the plate slightly forwards, the destroyed meal laying peacefully at rest on the finest ceramics the Foreign Office could afford, Wrathall leaned back and turned up the air conditioning before sighing in that way that big men do after they've finished a delicious dinner.

"Thank you Sir." Thomas moved to pick up his plate, and before he was out of the door, Wrathall called out to him. "Ah, Thomas - can you bring in a bottle of Jesselton Dry please? And some tonic water. I've invited the General Secretary here to discuss something and it would be incomplete without a drink. Besides which, this appaling weather absolutely commands it." Wrathall had arranged previously for the General Secretary of Kostemetsia to come to the embassy tonight, and he was due to arrive in a few minutes.

The Questarian embassy had two large front glass doors, with exotic plants on either side of them after entering. A reception lay ahead and behind it, a map of the Empire and a large framed picture of King Alexander II dominated the walls. On either side of the lobby, uneccessarily comfortable waiting chairs lined the walls and photographs famous to Questarian history and culture lay perfectly aligned on the walls.

When arriving at the embassy, the General Secretary would receive a sharp salute by the two marines at the door and be led upstairs by the Marine Commander of the Embassy, to Wrathalls door. Inside Wrathalls office, there was a framed picture of King Alexander II, albeit smaller than the one in the lobby, and his large oak desk spread itself across an entire corner of the room, facing both the door and two large windows that became doors to allow access to the balcony, which commanded a majestic view of the city. It wasn't fully set up yet, but there was a small fridge beside the desk and a gigantic fan accompanied the computer. The walls too were lined with bookshelves not yet filled and various photographs and pictures.

Inside the office he would be met by Wrathall, a large man who's brown hair had not yet greyed and who spoke with a voice that screamed public school. His hand-tailored clothes, likely made by a poor colonial in Questarian East Continentia easily showed his status and class, if his accent and dialect didn't. As well as speaking fluent English, Wrathall was also fluent in French and could comprehend Latin, but not really speak it.

The black and gold FF-53D aircar swooped down out of the eastern sky, angling down Tall Wood Drive. The two smaller FF-94J escorts pulled back, then swept off to their respective sides.

The hundred-metre FF-53D spun its ventral thruster engines a few times, then landed silently on the road. Given that it was very much a closed road, the space taken up wasn't really a worry.

Inside, Kostemetsian General Secretary and pilot-on-the-side James Bovill climbed down from the flight deck, making sure not to crease his diplomatic uniform. He had an irrational liking for functions like this; meeting new people was always fun, he thought, then smiled to himself somewhat self-consciously at the connotations that particular sentence used to hold.

Following the ramp down through vehicular storage to the exit hatch, he tapped out a five-number sequence to disengage the ramp lock, which swung down with a loud thud. The particular sequence associated with the five-number code was a C, D, C, then a low C, then a G; another personal indulgence - to anyone who had studied old-Earth culture, that would be instantly recognisable as the theme to Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

Walking down the welcomingly lit entrance area to the embassy, he was greeted and saluted by the two Questarian marines at the door. Subconsciously raising an eyebrow at what he considered to be an overestimation of his own importance, he saw another man emerge from the distance, who appeared to be the Questarian marine commander. Exchanging greetings and following him upstairs, he ended up in front of a shiningly clean oak door. Knocking twice, he waited a second, then the door was opened.

"Ah! Mister Bovill!" Wrathall stood up and moved over to shake his hand vigorously. "What an absolute pleasure it is to have you here today. Sit down, sit down." Wrathall returned to his seat, assuming that Bovill was following him, and looked up with a smile. "A drink, Mr Bovill? On behalf of His Majesty, of course." Wrathall assumed before Bovill even replied that the answer was yes, and sliding a glass out, he poured the gin and tonic quite evenly, and with gusto dropped in a parasol and, taking advantage of the surface of the desk, slid it over quite gently towards the Kostemetsian General Secretary.

"Of course, we are here to talk business. But first I would like to get to know you, sir. Are you married? Have you a family?"

It was usual in Questers for most people to marry at Bovills age, and although Wrathall found it quite unnerving that a 25 year old could lead a government ministry, let alone a country, he let it slide. As a diplomat he was trained to respect other cultures and ways of life.

As far as a Questarian could, at least.

The young man detected a slight wrongness in Wrathall's speech. However, it didn't matter - the man was an ambassador to Kostemetsia and his personal feelings were, to a degree, irrelevant.

"Your Excellency, I don't have a family as of yet, and if I did have one, I doubt they'd approve of the long hours that government work necessarily imposes."

Wrathall was an overall likeable man, and he had style. Not like some former ambassadors to Kostemetsia Bovill could think of. He sipped at the gin and tonic, then set it down. Alcohol was not one of his likes.

"Have you a family, Your Excellency?" he smiled, knowing that any offense in this arena could be critical.

Wrathall nodded slowly, fully understanding what the General Secretary was saying. "Yes, yes." He said. Now it was his time to show off, spinning round a photograph stand with himself, a woman his age, and two young uniformed men. In the background, green hills rolled their way through to the horizon.

"This is me and my wife with my two sons. This is Thomas - he's a flight lieutenant in the Navy's Fleet Air Arm, and this is Donald, a bombardier in Naval Aviation. I'm somewhat saddened that we never had a girl, but..." he shrugged, finishing his drink. "If that is how things must turn out, then better to make what you can of it. Either way, I'm immensly proud of them."

In Questers it was customary for every family to put at least one child into the military, unless of course it was your only son; but then, families were large and there was always a son. Those of middle class ancestry typically sent in their offspring as officers, whereas the working class provided the bulk of the Army and the Navy.

"Anyway, I invited you here to speak about business, though it has been a pleasure to acquaint myself with the less private parts of your personal life." Wrathall smiled. "Essentially, I have a single offer for you that H.M Government proposes to anyone it can afford to: the removal of tarrifs between our two nations in the area of foreign trade. That's not to say that any other protectionist schemes you have in place are to be dismantled, all we wish for is untaxed trade between our two countries."

James smiled slightly.

Being in the Air Force was another pet dream of his. Maybe if he ever lost an election to the post of General Secretary, he'd do it sometime. Having "leading Kostemetsia" on your CV was a pretty good point.

"I admire you and your wife for bringing up two young men of such quality. I envy your life somewhat, but as I said, the constraints of my job prevent me from doing so.

"Now, as we were discussing business - the request for the removal of the Intelligence station... well, I must admit that some of our higher government echelons do develop somewhat of a nervous tic when the word 'Intelligence' isn't placed directly in proximity to the word 'Kostemetsian'. However, to the area of foreign trade - the removal of tariffs can be organised. Currently, we have a few ad valorem revenue tariffs imposed on foreign goods, as the government sometimes gets into budgetary tight spots; however, with the okay from our Trade Department, I'm sure the removal of those tariffs between the Republic and the Empire can be arranged."

Wrathall nodded in thanks. "Well, the Foreign and Imperial Office has treated me well. In retrospect, I would have liked to have chased a more adventureous career, but..." he shrugged. "This is life. We're not put on this earth to enjoy life." he glanced to his left where a holy bible lay on the side of the desk. "Still, thank you Mr Bovill."

Wrathall listened to the reply of tariff removals, and replied quickly. "Capital!" while pouring himself another gin and tonic to celebrate, he made the second proposal. "Now, I've only one more proposal to make to you. If your country has any taxes or tarrifs on foreigners setting up businesses or immigrating to your country, then I'd like them abolished - maybe only temporarily - for Questarian citizens. In addition to that I've a list of almost three thousand visas and immigration requests that I'd like fast-tracked to your immigrant bureau and quickly approved. These aren't just any old immigrants - these people are interested in investing capital to your nation and setting up businesses, from import/export firms to Questarian pubs. Each of these people has a significant amount of capital to be invested into your economy. I believe there is just under a billion dollars of foreign hard currency that is waiting to be brought into your nation, and if you would like any of your investor immigrants to be fast-tracked on our own immigration list, I can make the same happen."

He paused. "On the matter of intelligence, I would like to re-assure you. Is is customary for Questers to operate an intelligence section in all of its embassies. This doesn't mean we'll be spying on your military or economy. Perhaps, in countries that we distrust, it will, but not in Kostemetsia. I assure you that, unless some form of dispute or conflict breaks out between our two countries, any intelligence personnel in Kostemetsia are here solely to work the signals department which sends the coded messages back to Jesselton, our capital. In fact, I likely will do that tonight after all has been worked out. It's not that we are being secretive, Mr Bovill." Wrathall leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the desk. "It is that this earth is full of many people who hate us."

"Furthermore, there are benefits to your own intelligence services. Should we accidentally intercept any signals from foreign embassies that compromise the security of your nation ... well, you will be the first to hear about them. The hospitality and good will that you have shown us will not be forgotten Mr Bovill."

"Mr. Wrathall, I can put an urgent stamp on those visas, and the Executive stamp on the forms should pretty much put them straight through. I admit, our economy could use a bit of a boost. We're a permissive society, so we don't have any tariffs on immigrants. As for the quote accidental interception unquote, well... I'm slightly disturbed by that, but I have a distinct feeling that, just to score points off me, my Conservative rivals would rubberstamp it if I didn't. If you will give me a statement that you won't use that signal interception to harm our allies, I'll rubberstamp it."

"Excellent. Yes, I can do that. I believe we have reached an agreement." Wrathall said in that the mission accomplished tone of a victorious diplomat. Of course, it wasn't a victory for Questers; Kostemetsia too would benefit. Wrathall filled up Bovill's glass, then raised his own. "A toast sir - to the future of our two nations!"

James did the obligatory clinking of glasses.

"Indeed, Your Excellency. Just one more thing to clear up."

Using his neat sleight-of-hand abilities, he produced a form from nowhere, titled in large bold letters 'STATEMENT OF NON-INTENT TO COMMIT CRIME'.

"Just so there's no problems with those quote accidental interceptions unquote," he said, smiling. "Perhaps you would care to join the President and I for dinner some day?"

Producing a fountain pen, he slid it across the desk to Wrathall.