NationStates Jolt Archive

Ryou Li knocked on the large door and entered the training room. Premier Suun had decided to take up fencing, so one of the many spare rooms in Luozao Palace had been converted to give him a private place to practise. Tro Yao looked at Ryou over his shades and nodded, then returned to watching Premier Suun, who was finishing his practise match.

"Hah! There! I win again! Same time next week, Lei?"

Suun's instructor bowed, then went off to get changed. As she left the room, Suun grinned at Ryou.

"You wanted to see me Ryou?"
"Yes, Comrade Premier. Our dear neighbours in Last Saloon brought up an interesting proposal last time I spoke to their Foreign Minister; something about a state visit."
"Hmm....a state visit to Last Saloon. Intriguing idea. You know me Ryou, I'm always up for a new experience. Besides, it'll do them good to see a capable leader for a change."
"President Jeremiah isn't that bad. Well, except that time when he..."
"...and that other time, when he said..."
"Good point. Still, it's a good diplomatic move."
"Oh, why not? Get Dao in here."

Marimaian Information Minister Dao Ling soon arrived and was informed of the plan.

"Great idea! You'll be visiting our backward neighbours to enlighten their political system and give them a thrill in their otherwise pathetic bourgoisie lives! Or so our press release will say."

Suun smirked. "My thoughts exactly. We'll need to ship you, me, Tro, Ryou and fifteen members of the Proletarian Guard over there. Ryou, get in touch with them and let them know that we'll be accepting their offer. I can see Jeremiah's 'estate' now: gate rusting off its hinges, half-eaten food strewn everywhere, and some mangy dog just looking for a place to die."

(OOC: Thankfully Last Saloon's administration don't know about the Marimaian leadership's view of them....)

It was a red-faced Foreign Affairs Minister who breathlessly briefed President Jeb Jeremiah within a few moments of receiving a transmission from their neighbours. A state visit is always difficult to prepare for and when your neighbours economy and political power dwarfs your own things had to be done right. Little preperation had been done - nobody, least of all the Foreign Minister, had expected the larger nation to actually respond to its invitation. Certainly the view of the Foreign Office had been that the new Premier would be isolationist - certainly his father had been.

Johnny Foreigner was aware more than any of the rest of the cabinet that sometimes diplomacy was mostly about keeping two parties apart. His office had managed to keep the leaders of the two countries apart for years; he, alone in the government, was aware of how the world outside viewed Last Saloon. Red-necked hicks to a man.

But it wasn't just the Foreign Minister who had to sweat; as soon as the news ignited the media a wave of dissatisfaction ignited the population. Last Saloon's benevolent neighbours had been disapproved of for some time by our peaceful population who were disgusted by the lack of Political Freedom that the Premier's subjects enjoyed. It was the view of the average man on the street of Last Saloon that Marimaia was long overdue a change of regime - and using THEIR civil and political freedoms they took to the street in droves making it a future issue for the ballot box.

This, of course, made Home Affairs Minister Bill Hickston's life a living hell. Last Saloon's already over-stretched police force could no more stem the tide of humanity than it could effectively counter-act the ever growing looting following the rioters. With another nations leader visiting not only did he have to stem the crime spree quickly but also to, if not stop the riots, then at least turn them into peaceful civil disobedience.

Daniel Horsepin, the governments Press Relations Officer, had a similar nightmare on his hands. The Genyosha News Network (GNN) had been hounding him for reports on the visit; for exclusive access; and for government comments. This he didn't mind; that, at least, was his job; but rumours of the activities of the countries two known security divisions were leaking to the press - he had to stamp down on these hard. Whilst, it was, imperative that they knew what was coming there way as soon as it hit Last Saloon's border it was equally imperative that the Premier didn't read that he was being spied on in the local papers. Surely he'd know but he shouldn't be able to READ it in the local news.

And then their were the damned rumours about Section C again. He'd told the papers time and time again that as far as he was aware no such government department existed but reliably the less salubrious papers would file a report on their activities. The head of Section C was not a happy man; the reports were obviously incorrect and the rantings of paranoid lunatics but it didn't help build an atmosphere of plausible deniability.

The only member of the cabinet seemingly unaffected by the news was the President himself. Blissfully unaware of the chaos his invite had caused, and even of the rioting quickly consuming the capital, he drank a fifth of scotch before slipping under the silken sheets of his bed. As light faded over the palatial estates of Last Saloon and the mongoose ranches surrounding them his bedroom represented a single quiet point - the eye in a maelstrom of government chaos.

- LSg Newsletter.

In homes across Marimaia, the nightly news bulletin came on; as usual, Honji and Miho came bearing joyous news:

"Premier Chiisu Suun will shortly be departing on a state visit to our dearly beloved neighbours in Last Saloon. His visit marks a new era in bilateral relations; hopefully this first step by the Premier will prompt similar moves towards cooperation from the Salooners. How's the weather looking for him, Miho?"

"Well Honji, we're hoping that it will be nice for him. Unfortunately, Last Saloon's weather could prove quite rough...."

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The Marimaian cabinet sat around the conference table, discussing the upcoming visit. Security Minister Sakura Mirou was one of the most concerned regarding the trip.

"Are you really sure you want to go, Comrade Premier? I mean, do they even know the meaning of the word 'security' over there?"
"Sakura, I'll be fine. I'll have Tro and the Proletarian Guard personnel at my side. Besides, they know what would happen if I was so much as slapped by anyone. Ryou, are all of the diplomatic matters for discussion decided?"
"Oh yes. Bilateral security, trade, the usual things."
"Sounds good. Dao, I take it that the MPIN will receive daily updates from you?"
"Of course! The people will soon know how you honoured our backward neighbours with a visit and emerged without losing any dignity."
"Excellent! While I'm gone, the Ministries for Interior Affairs and Defence will be in charge. Haoro, Wufei, take care of Marimaia while I'm away."

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The next morning, Premier Suun and his entourage boarded Luozao One at Heiphong International Airport, after the playing of Marimaia's national anthem and a great deal of ceremony. After about two hours they crossed into Last Saloon airspace, and the two Mig-35 escorts turned back towards the nearest airbase. Tro Yao watched them go, then turned to Premier Suun.

"Your father would have gone psychotic at the idea of the Premier leaving Marimaia."
Suun snorted. "Just as well he's not around anymore then, isn't it?"
"Indeed."
The two smirked at each other, and looked out at the Last Saloon scenery.

The Foreign Minister stormed angrily across the courtyard. He knew the Marimaian delegation were on their way and he hadn't received any intelligence at all yet. For once he'd actually have to wing his way through negotiations without a crib sheet telling him which buttons to press. The problem with having such an efficient internal intelligence network was that they'd neglected to break out into even neighbouring states. As soon as the delegation hit the floor he'd know everything they did or said - even to what the Premier had for breakfast that morning. For now he was blind - and that made him unsure and nervy - which in turn made him angry. Like all powerful men he made sure his anger wasn't unnoticed.

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General Tony Stockland waved away the angry letter from the Foreign Minister; right now paper work didn't seem very important to him. He'd brief him later; right now there were troops to survey.

"Ahh-tenn-shun!"

A hundred and fifty M-16s gleamed in the sun as the troops shouldered them in unison their feet stamping down in a practised synchronised movement. They were dressed in Last Saloon's full dress uniform, such as it was, and due to the low temperatures not a single one of them was complaining about the thick rich cloth.

The Home Affairs Minister had requested an honour guard at the last minute - that would have been Section A's idea. The Head of Section A was obsessive about internal security matters; as the public face of internal security mistakes always fell on his head. Paranoid and pudgy; the General always felt uncomfortable talking to a man who wouldn't even give him his real name.

An honour guard. A transparent name; he'd been asked for his best troops - these were a definite security measure - he was just waiting to be told that anyone breaching the "honour guard" was to be stopped, terminally if necessary. He didn't like this; he didn't sign up for this. The only way this could get worse was if the President told him to use his "discretion".

He'd unplugged his phone in anticipation of the call.

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A smokey room in a pub-filled with noise. Suspiciously so, in fact, as if all the patrons were afraid to stop their incessant cat-calls and whoops for fear of what they may overhear. It is amazing how much of politics happens in places like these - half-heard whispers and closed doors. And the man currently speaking in a slow and deliberate tone as flippantly as if he were discussing the latest football scores was an expert at both whispers and closed doors.

"Have Section B done a sniper sweep?"

He already knew they had. The Marimaian embassy had sent a letter of complaint about an "electric workman" examining their roof. He'd smiled at Section B's well-meaning ineptitude; of course it was the obvious place for a mal-content to hide but ... well ... a little more subtlety had been called for. But then that was their purpose wasn't it? To almost be seen.

"Yes; they reported everything clear."

Not surprising. Any half decent sniper would have spotted them miles away; of course they would have been garroted by one of his agents as they were avoiding any of Section B's.

"Good; now start ours. How are we getting a man on the inside? I've seen Marimaian security before - it's good but we're better. Presidential Aide again?"

"No. Our team had a more interesting idea."

And with that a piece of paper was slid across the table. The palatial estates; the buffoon of a President had thrown him a bone for once. He'd had to remove all the obvious bugs but the estate was ripe for his type of work - but of course he'd scaled things up for the Marimaians. And he'd let Section B do the bug-laying first - he wanted something for the Marimaians to find.

He thought he had everything covered now. He'd arranged for agents to be planted amongst the more popular leaders in the protests. He'd know where the protestors were going to be in advance and could steer the delegates away and more importantly he could use his agents to steer the more violent protestors away. As far as the Marimaians would see there would be only peaceful protests.

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Section C needn't have worried about the riots. A series of broadcasts and public announcement messages by Press Relations Officer Daniel Horsepin earlier that evening had dampened the riots. A hardcore of protestors stood outside the airport waving lighters in the air and chanting as Luozao One touched down at Last Saloon's Central Airport to the sound of 2 of Last Saloons Border Patrol F-16s peeling off overhead a discrete replacement for the Mig-35s that departed at the border.

The Marimaian Premier stepped out into the overcast day to find a grinning Jeb Jeremiah standing at the bottom of the ramp flanked by his long suffering Foreign Affairs Minister and a rather tired looking man wearing a black suit and carrying a suitcase handcuffed to his side. A little way away is a Black Limousine flanked by four armed guards and a number of similarly attired military personal stand to attention saluting smartly at the plane. As he takes the first steps down the stairs planes fly overhead barely visible through the smoke of the fireworks display captured by a hundred flashbulbs.

The Press Relations Officer had the first shot of the Premier's visit; the faintly bemused response to the display he could see the headlines forming in his mind already: "Marimaian Ministers Shocked Speechless by Flashy Fireworks!". A two-page spread. His counterpart in Marimaia would be furious. An eager Jeb Jeremiah stepped forwards to welcome the Premier on to Last Saloon soil.

- LSg Newsletter

(Entirely OOC post for the benefit of people unaware of internal politics in Last Saloon)

Last Saloon has several important government agencies that act entirely within it's borders:

Section A: Internal Security and Investigations. The public face of Last Saloon security; very little complicated thought or political aspirations but with surprising pull over the Last Saloon Border Defense Force and the State Police. They double as a nation-wide investigations department handling cases which cross counties and states; and pursue investigations over borders where necessary.

Section B: Internal Intelligence. According to their own remit they know everything that happens in Last Saloon. The government reluctantly admits knowledge of them; many of their codes have leaked into general knowledge and they are regularly spied on by Foreign Ministers visiting Last Saloon. They are mostly incredibly efficient but they make enough mistakes that everyone who encounters them feels they got the jump of Last Saloon's Intelligence.

Section C: Officially they don't exist. Accordingly only senior members of the cabinet are aware of places where such an organisation might be contacted if it existed. However since it doesn't that information isn't really worth having. If such an organisation did exist though it wouldn't send anyone important to you - and they wouldn't know much past what they were supposed to tell you. The government can't tell you what such an organisation would be doing because they wouldn't know - they would, however, know everything there was to know about your activities if you did them within their sphere of operations (that is Last Saloon). It's probably just as well they don't exist, huh?

Premier Suun grinned and waved at President Jeremiah, then turned to Ryou Li as they walked down the ramp to the tarmac.

"We need to bring him over to us; we'll show him what a real welcome is about."

The fifteen members of the Proletarian Guard were flanking the ramp, and all saluted as Premier Suun set his first foot on Last Saloon soil. Ryou and Dao took up position next to him, while Tro Yao walked a respectful distance behind him. Dao snorted.

"I'm so underwhelmed it's criminal. Still, it should make our headlines all the more juicy: 'Last Saloon Embarrasses Self with Pathetic Greeting'."

Finally, the party reached President Jeremiah. Premier Suun stuck out his hand.

"President Jeremiah, it's so good to see you. May I introduce Dao Ling, my Information Minister, and of course you know Ryou. I hope that this first visit will usher in a new era of Marimaian-Salooner relations."

Jeb Jeremiah reached out to take the visiting Premier's hand shaking it firmly and staring deep into his eyes. For a moment the tension between Ryuo and Johnny is almost palpable; the actions of the two leaders of their countries at this particular time would be pivotal. The President himself seemed to be unaware of any tension enthusiastically shaking the visitors hands so much that the Foreign Affairs Minister was afraid it would come off. The flashbulbs continued; more shots for the papers; and as usual the President shook hands for just slightly too long.

"Welcome, Premier Suun, we at Last Saloon are honoured by your visit. My Foreign Affairs Minister, Johnny Foreigner, and this man is the Head of Section A. His name is, we feel, unimportant but he will be responsible for the security precautions we take during your stay. If you or your security team have any concerns or special requirements during your stay feel free to bring them up with him. We are sure you will find our preparations adequate."

Whilst the two Foreign Affairs Ministers shared weary nods, knowing each others proclivities of old, the Head of Section A eyed Tro Yao suspiciously. By the look of things tomorrows intelligence report from Section B might make interesting reading.

"You will, as you know, be staying with me in my estate. The limousine will take you there; the car will be flanked by agents of mine; standard security precautions for your safety - I am sure you understand. Their are certain elements of our public who feel this state visit is a perfect chance to ask you to consider increased Political Freedoms. Alas, their right to free speech means I am powerless to stop them protesting."

Somewhere in the background chants swell up. But against the President's well oiled voice for now they seem like background noise. Indistinct but very present; the President steps back indicating the way to the limousine with a polite amount of bowing. The Foreign Affairs minister scuttles ahead to open the door for the Premier.

"Oh! It occurs to me that your Information Minister might wish to talk to our Press Relations Officer, Daniel Horsepin. Whilst we will, of course, offer him unfettered access to any resources he needs we are sure our officer could ... assist ... him in ensuring his reports are both accurate and complete. After you, Premier."

As the Limousine pulled off out of the airport it was impossible not to notice the protestors. The sound of song filled the air around the limousine in good natured and for now peaceful protests. Placards advocating regime change were waved and, in some parts, confiscated by police officers. But all the way to the Presidential Estates a clear path was carved through the masses by the Honour Guard; dressed in regalia but with stern expressions; their rifles shouldered but cocked and loaded.

The Premier couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised when the Limousine finally slid through the gates of the President's estate. Whilst the seemingly unending series of mongoose ranches had bored him almost senseless and reaffirmed his expectations of the estates the actual buildings themselves defied expectation. Whilst not, obviously, as luxuriously appointed as his own they represented the finest in Western architecture. Large impressive and above all modern buildings jutting imposingly into the empty skyline; a portrait in mirrored glass and metal. And no sign of a dog anywhere; at least not until he left the car where he stood impassively as an alsation bounded towards him.

It would seem that despite a security force assigned to him large enough to stave of Last Saloon's entire population that the President's dog was still going to be allowed to knock him over. Luckily the incident was averted by the President himself stepping in front of the Alsation to cut him off. The Head of Section A raised an eyebrow at no time had the Premier flinched nor had Troa moved. These two were *good*. He hoped like hell Section B hadn't messed up - he didn't want to have to explain any bugs they found.

- LSg Newsletter.

NAH NAH NAH.

wheres my invite??

oh well ill come anyway and see whats goin up cos really you dont need an invite do you?

Premier Suun looked around the room he had been given during his visit and exchanged a look with Tro Yao while President Jeremiah continued giving their party the grand tour of his home. After the tour, the Marimaians were given time to settle in, so they gathered in Suun's assigned quarters.

"First impressions?"

Dao and Ryou shared glances and smiled sympathetically at Suun, who nodded back.

"I thought so. The handshake, the protestors, the dog, and especially the swipe about so-called 'freedom'...."
"Don't forget the swipe at me! Accurate and complete indeed! It's our business what we tell the Marimaian people, not theirs!"
"Well, at least we aren't here for too long; an extended visit would bring me to an early grave. Found anything, Tro?"

Tro nodded and pointed at four locations around the room. Premier Suun smirked at him and the others, then raised his voice.
"We know you're listening to us, but unfortunately we won't be revealing our insidious plans to conquer Last Saloon just yet. Send my congratulations to your device planter, because we almost didn't find them. Good try though. Don't worry, we'll keep it to ourselves."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Tro answered, and sized up the young aide who smiled nervously at him. "D..dinner at eight?"
Tro turned and told Premier Suun, who said something quite loudly in Marimaian then answered the door himself. "We'd be delighted."

"From what I hear the Head of Section A received a public tongue-lashing from the President. He's absolutely irate; and the Head of Section B is exactly all hugs and smiles either. His face is more than a little red; and his department is being made to apologise to the Premier formally. It should make for interesting conversation over dinner, at least."

Servants quarters. He loved his job but sometimes he wished he existed formally; the other officers got luxuriously appointed quarters but he wasn't allowed to show up. And no-one noticed an old man with a broom; they wrote them out of the scenery somehow. It had took him a long time to get some of the younger recruits to understand that. The best way to hide was often to be someone that Ministers just DIDN'T see. Homeless beggars, menial servants and clerks were always good bets; and with so many about no-one even noticed an excess.

He also suspected that the man he was talking too knew more about him than vice-versa and that made him nervous. Ascenscion in the ranks was by dead-mans shoes - and often those shoes had only very recently been emptied by the unwilling previous occupants.

"They found the bugs?"

"Eight of them", replied his aide promptly, "I predict they'll find the one under the fridge tomorrow and that they'll notice the camera in the center of the clock before the end of the visit. I may be wrong though; they are much more efficient at this than we suspected."

"How many did Section B plant?"

"Thirteen in total; and they got a tracker in the quiet guys coat. Head of Section A filed in his report that he didn't like the look in his eye. A whole heap of trouble he described him as."

The Head of Section C drummed his fingers on the table. Thirteen minus eight was five; so they still had something - and lets hope the Premier's trained chimp didn't sleepwalk. Section B would be caught tailing him in seconds - and that would make it harder for Section C to tail him if it became important. They were of course monitoring Section B's communications - but the bugs were next to useless. The Marimaians weren't giving away a thing; at least not in their room.

Perhaps it was time he stopped playing games.

"How many bugs do we have?"

"None."

And that was a surprise; by now the room would have been so full of bugs that the delegation could start an ant farm.

"Tell me I misheard you?"

"No; bugs would be detected. We decided it was time to play to our audience a bit - the Marimaians are chess players; tacticians; they think ahead. We plant a bug and they'll check for it; and because they've got all the time in the world they'll win. So we cheat. The Marimaians expect the palace to be in ruins; we give them ruins with a view. And views go both in and out."

And the officer knew what that meant. Stains, scraped of wallpaper, knotholes in the wood ... nothing distasteful of course, just the wear and tear of a rich house damaged slightly with the years. Termites, woodworm and so on. Lots of little holes for ears to press up against; and a hundred thousand agents in hidey holes. Low-tech but sensor sweeps wouldn't pick them up and Section B inept though they were could provide enough clues to keep Section C out of Tro's earshot. Besides; with that small a delegation it was easy to keep tabs on their whereabouts ...

"Section B has tagged Tro Yao?"

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Then he knows. It'll be interesting to see what he does. If he disables it then Section A will be suspicious; if he leaves it on then it's admitting defeat. Which is more important to him - diplomacy or winning? Unwise though; they don't know what they've let themselves in for - the mice have put a bell on the cat but that doesn't clip his claws."

His aide across the table rolled his eyes. He didn't approve of his bosses methods nor of his extended metaphors. Besides he was sure his boss was getting slower - soon he wouldn't be able to keep up and that's when the aide would strike. The aide knew what was coming next before the words came out of the Head's mouth.

"Tail him and untag him. I don't want a diplomatic incident."

"Where do you want me to put the tag?"

"In Tro Yao's hand. Blame it on an over eager Section A agent. Section B will take the wrath like it deserves too and the President will look relatively clean. Events proceeded without his orders - the problems of having autonomous security departments and so forth. If he finds it before we give it to him then the situation can't be stage-managed. If we're lucky the cat will be embarassed the mice managed to tag him and exact his terrible revenge away from the cameras. I can stand our colleagues being murdered; both in the political and actual sense."

And that made the aides eyes bug out of his sockets. Perhaps the man wasn't senile yet; it was a move of utter genius or sheer unmitigated stupidity. He was leaving the security team open to be checked as a sign of goodwill to his counterparts hoping they would swallow the incident for fear of mutual embarassment. On our side for bugging a diplomat and on theirs for having a security officer be tagged. And of course the tag was being replaced by a tail making the whole thing largely symbolic.

Bi-lateral Intelligence. Who knew?

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And so it was that the chef received, at just the right moment, the change to dinner plans. Originally he'd been ordered by Johnny Foreigner, Foreign Affairs Minister, to serve Marimaian food exclusively presumably pandering to their feelings of superiority. Daniel Horsepin had been furious; shots of the Premier digging into mongoose could have justified the controversial decision to turn the damned pest into a delicacy. The fight between the two ministers had broken out into a fist-fight outside the President's offices and the two men had to be forcefully seperated by their assistants. Luckily the Premier had not been about.

Not that either of their plans had mattered; the intelligence report came from Section C in as timely a matter as always detailing the meals of the Premier aboard his plane and suggesting a light snack. Intelligence suggested that the Premier wanted to eat Saloon style so Dao could get a nice story on how the Premier had managed to digest the heavy food without being sick as a sign of bi-partisanship. The Head of Section C considered ordering Marimaian just to be contrary but reported Mongoose as the meal of the day. Horsepin would just have to get the shot after the whince of disgust for Dao's benefit.

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And eventually eight o' clock came. A quivering aide accompanied the Marimaian delegation into the room as a guide assisting them to their places. Noting that the President had not yet arrived the Premier himself pointedly remained standing. Tro Yao skulked behind moodily whilst the Head of Sections A and B kept their eyes carefully diverted from him. They had each received a polite note about the tag from Ryuo and were still unhappily waiting for the results to come. It would, of course, be reported by neither countries press lengthy consultations between Dao and Daniel had assured that but they were both very much aware that the President had not had his turn berating them yet. And of course whilst Tro was still under the same roof as them neither would be able to sleep.

In the kitchens the Head of Section C scowled over his cheese sandwich a world apart from the opulence several floors above. He hated the fact that he was missing out on delicacies but the idea that the Head of Section B was about to be served up as pudding gave him some comfort. He faintly wondered how long it would be before Tro Yao tagged the Head of Section A. The man looked like he was a man of honour and seemed unlikely to leave without at least some act of warning to the Section Head that he was at least as good.

Eventually the President strolled into the dining room calmly his best diplomatic look set on his face but the expression far from a smile. Sitting at the head of the table he nodded meaningfully at the waiters who began serving food to the lowest ranking officers first. Looking up at the Premier, still standing, he frowned:

"Sit down, won't you, Chiisu? I apologise for the order in which the meat is served; the best part is at the center see?"

The Premier bridled at the use of his first name a clear breach of diplomatic procedure and remained standing glaring at the President. Rolling his eyes the reluctant Head of State sighed.

"Let me guess? I've made a political faux pas again? Mr. Suun, I am sorry if I offended you but please take a seat. We are, as you are aware, both heads of states but I am also a human being and a busy and tired one at that. This is my home; and I have never stood on ceremony here. I choose this place to begin state visits because I want foreign embassadors, such as yourself, to understand that above all I am simply a man trying to do a job whom often finds himself way out of his depths. I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this meal with me - please do not hold my lack of manners against my people but accept my hospitality and good humour on behalf of them.

"I understand that my security team got a bit over zealous. I would like to apologise personally to Tro Yao and assure him that the two men sitting opposite him will be dealt with most severely. In fact I would like this meal to be part of that punishment for they will listen to Mr. Yao and I discuss how best to restore his faith in our honour. Whilst their actions are indefensible, and I will make no attempt to defend them, I am led to understand they were motivated by a desire to protect me. Mr. Yao is an ... interesting condundrum ... the Head of Section A did not feel that the information he had on him was complete and forgot his manners. Usually I would not be apologising but as a minister of yours he should have had diplomatic immunity from further investigation.

"I hope that we can keep this away from the press? My understanding is that Mr. Yao is imenable to that, at least. Hopefully we can put this ... unfortunate misunderstanding ... behind us and enjoy both our meal and each others company this fine evening. And, Premier, if it is not too much trouble I would like to discuss with you, informally, of course, some of the trade and scientific agreements we'd like you to consider so that we can flesh them out tomorrow.

"Due to recent incidents I am sure some of your delegates ..."

And with that the President looked over at Tro Yao momentarily, and then at Dao his grin suddenly widening,

"Are eager to complete this visit and make less than accurate reports to your public. I will, of course, due to certain diplomatic problems happening at the moment ensure that anything you want to show your public is made available to you ..."

For a moment there is a terrible pause around the table as everyone lets the words sink in. Then in the sudden awful quiet the Foreign Affairs Minister stands and slowly folds his napkin up before placing it down on his plate and walking quietly out of the room. The silence only grows deeper and more textured as the President gazes quizically after him before following the minister out. In the silence the assembled Marimaians and the remainder of the cabinet can hear murmers outside; some of them quite angry. After a while the President returns alone and purposefully moves his meal from the head of the table to the Foreign Affairs Minister's seat.

For a longest time in the silence and the stares the President looked blankly ahead before letting out a deep sigh.

"Chiisu; I've had it. This is a public relations farce. I've let the diplomats run things for me and this is where it got me; what the hell was I thinking? I'm no good at this; I haven't got the wits for it at my time of life. No more double dealing; no more spying; no more anything. I've had it with security reports. I never liked your father, Premier, I certainly didn't trust him. And then you turn up, here, with your elite guards. What am I supposed to think?

"You're nation has the political, economic and military clout to crush our little nation and suddenly my little corner of this region is in a big political game I don't understand. I've got my Foreign Minister out there threatening to resign; I've got my two Section Heads publically embaressed and I've got a ton of protestors throwing things at my pet dog. How am I supposed to handle that?

"But you're here; and I'm here; and I have to say something to you that's going to make everything work. Because despite the fact I'm the last person to know anything to go on around here I'm the one who has ultimately got to carry the buck. So here is what I have decided to do. Anybody who is not Marimaian is to leave this room now; unless they are here to serve food. Myself, the Premier, Dao, Tro, Ryuo and any of his guard the Premier cares to invite in are going to enjoy a meal together.

"We will discuss what I have to do stop them humiliating us on the world stage. Mr. Yao will not be tagged, tailed or otherwise spied on by any of the Sections when he leaves this room. Any Section Head who disobeys this order will be sacked and brought up to a military tribunal for gross incompetence. When I have finished solving your sorry screwups myself and Premier Suun will discuss the trade agreements and research proposals Mr. Foreigner had proposed before any of you stupid diplomats became involved."

By now the President had slowly risen to his feet with the passion of his words; his fists pressed solidly against the table as a vein throbbed in his head:

"Do I make myself clear?"

Around the table a buzz was racing amongst the Last Saloon cabinet and suddenly the room was alight with the noise of protests. Amongst it all the shocked Marimaian delegates and the President now slumped impassively in the chair his arms crossed against his chest. As the noise began to reach fever pitch the main doors of the dining room opened to reveal a harried clerk with a cheese sandwich stuffed hastily in his pocket. Around him stood the honour guard looking quite a bit more cheerful than they had during the procession to the estates.

And suddenly the din was gone and the cabinet were dejectedly leaving nodding respectfully to the Premier as they left. As the Head of Section A filed out, the last in the queue he found an arm barring his way; turning he saw Tro Yao, a half smile on his face as he extended his hand, the Head whinced as he took it shaking it obediently for the moment his will broken. A second whince crossed his face momentarily at the sound of a small but audible crack and then he was gone; the ruffled clerk nodding to the assembled diners as he closed the doors disappearing behind them.

----------------------------------------

The Head of Section C leaned against the dining room doors listening to the sounds. For the longest time there was nothing but the clink of stainless steel on china; and then eventually the sound of the Premier's voice cautious but confident. And then the sound of a snigger, that was Dao. Through the door he could hear the President responding quietly, and with great respect, to the Premiers points softly putting forwards areas where he felt mutual agreements could be reached. Occasionally the Marimaian Foreign Minister would interject.

Sighing with relief he reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his sandwich as he walked away nodding to the Foreign Affairs Minister sitting at the end of the corridor. His day had not gone as he expected; suddenly Last Saloon had an actual leader rather than a figurehead. But, amazingly, it seemed that the President, idiot though he was, had found a way to approach the Premier after the biggest foul up his department had made yet. The glum spy stared out into the rain as the Foreign Affairs Minister strolled up behind him:

"The Premier is a strong leader, old friend. And an honest man, I feel. A brave new world is dawning - and for once it might not be borne out of lies."

The two stared out over the mongoose ranches for a little longer before the spy sighed:

"We'll both be out of a job."

"There are other threats. We're for times when the truth is so valuable it needs to be protected by a web of lies; for now though let honest men speak. There'll be time enough for us later."

And with that the two men parted. A complicated political dance leading, for the moment, to a new balance of power within Last Saloon and, god-willing, a new era of co-operation for Last Saloon and Marimaia.

- LSg Newsletter.

TELEGRAM FROM PRESS OFFICE: PRESIDENT AND PREMIER SHARE MEAL. STOP. DISCUSS PLANS IN PRINCIPLE. STOP. INTEND TO FLESH OUT PLANS TOMORROW. STOP. BI-LATERAL TRADE AND OTHER UNIONS PROPOSED. STOP. MOOD IN CAPITAL: CAUTIOUS BUT POSITIVE. STOP. FOR IMMEDIATE SYNDICATION.

"Thank you for understanding my viewpoints, Mr. President. I hope you have a pleasant sleep."

The four Marimaians made their way to Premier Suun's quarters and sat down to discuss the quite baffling scene that had erupted around them.

"It would seem that some underlying tension finally broke tonight, hmm? President Jeremiah may not know a lot about diplomacy, but at least he gets to the point. You know where you are with him. He's actually quite intelligent for someone who was elected democratically."
"Quite. Anyway, we got what we wanted. That's the main thing."
"Indeed. I'm actually quite enjoying this now. Dao, could you send back a report to Marimaia detailing our success so far?"
"Of course."

Dao went back to his room to draft the report, and Ryou left to get some sleep. Premier Suun walked over to Tro Yao, who was staring out at the mongoose ranches.
"Damn I'm proud to have you at my side."
"You're too kind, Chiisu. Anyway, tomorrow should be a big day; may I suggest that you get some sleep?"
"An excellent suggestion. Get some rest as well, old friend. I may need to snap people's bones tomorrow as well."
After a shared smirk, Premier Suun got changed and buried himself in the bedsheets, while Tro Yao climbed into the other single bed; ever since Tro had become Suun's chief bodyguard, he had never left his Premier's side.

"There was quite a show over dinner after I left, from what I hear."

And that was Foreign Affairs Minister Johnny Foreigner to a tee. He'd walked out of a formal dinner and scant minutes later he'd been summoned to discuss things with the President in his private quarters. The man was so slick that when he talked you heard the oil literally oozing out of him. The problem was that you couldn't sack the man; quite frankly he was the only man who understood the world outside Last Saloon and that gave him a lot of power. The President only shrugged.

"Nevertheless, it may have been unwise. Not only have you left us at a disadvantage for tomorrow's negotiations but the Marimaian's might leak details of your little tirade at the table. Did you consider that?"

The President yawned. Suddenly he felt old and tired; this was politics again - he'd had enough of politics for the night.

"No. I didn't. But the tirade won't be leaked, John. The Premier is a reasonable man, strange though it may seem I trust him. Tomorrow we'll talk; agreements will be reached and the Marimaian's will go home. They'll hear how generous the Premier was in extending a hand of friendship and help to a 'backwards nation' and we'll tell our people how impressed the Premier was with the fireworks and our progress. Everyone will lie and the whole world will think everyone is great."

The minister caught the edge in the President's voice but he never was one to let things go:

"You disapprove?"

"No. Well, not really. Things could have gone worse."

"The Head of Section A has offered his retirement. What do you want to do?"

"Inform the Premier; tell them that I'm considering whether to accept it then bury the process in red tape. Yes; the man is incompetent but he's also stupid and loyal - those can be valuable traits - I'd prefer to keep him on board if necessary."

"And how do you plan on dealing with the protestors?"

"I don't. Let them protest. The Marimaian Premier was officially informed of my views at the airport; I don't see any reason to make it a further issue for public discussion. Besides; they'll complain bitterly for a long time and then after the Premier leaves conveniently forget about the whole Marimaian Political Freedom issue."

"You seem awfully confident."

"Yes; I know how people work. Out of sight and out of mind; particularly if the government is acting favourably towards trade. Money talks; and our corporate bosses are prepared to accept some political abuses for a couple of hundred thousand free dollars of snipped costs."

"And the Marimaians?"

"Leave them be. If they want something they'll holler. Let's just get through the rest of this visit with no more incidents. If we can do that maybe I can still cut some kind of deal with the Premier over some of these proposals. Oh; and John? Don't walk out on me again; come to me before it gets to that."

"Yes, sir. Is that all sir?"

"Yes. Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, sir."

And with that the President retired leaving only the talks and the triumphant announcements at the end for him and the Premier to contend with.

The light streamed through the gap in the curtains as morning broke in Last Saloon. Premier Suun yawned loudly and sat up, to be greeted by Tro Yao brandishing a hot cup of Marimaian rose tea; the morning routine was being followed even in another country. After some casual conversation, the Premier had his morning shower, dried off and got dressed. Tro Yao answered the knock on the door, revealing a presidential aide.

"Would Premier Suun like his breakfast in his room or will he be eating with President Jeremiah?"
"Hang on."
After some muffled discussion, Tro returned. "The Premier will be dining with the President."

Shortly after the aide scurried off to relay the Premier's breakfast order to the chef, Ryou and Dao turned up to speak with their leader about the upcoming talks and possible treaty signings. The four of them then set off down the hall towards the dining room.

A little further down the hall Johnny Foreigner was hammering on the President's bedroom door. Inside the room the leader of Last Saloon sat up in his bed yawning as he glanced muzzily over at the door. As the hammering continued he reluctantly slid from beneath the sheets and padded over to the door opening it barely a crack as to not reveal his pyjama-clad body to whichever clerk desired his attention at this precise moment.

"What?" came the less than polite response to the rude awakening; the President was not a morning person and it was earlier than he liked to be arisen.

"The Premier is waiting for you in the dining room."

And with that the door to the Presidents bedroom slammed hurriedly shut as he dashed around the room finding clothes and preparing his hair and charismatic smile to meet the Premier. Barely a few moments later the President was marching down the corridor his Foreign Affairs Minister flagging behind.

"How did it happen that the Premier got to breakfast before me? Why didn't anyone wake me?", snapped the President.

"I did; that's why you're here, sir." came the subservient if slightly peevish reply. The President's temper did not seem to improve.

"Can you at least tell me what the Premier is having for breakfast?"

"Nope. Section B has surprisingly stopped reporting on the Marimaians; I can't possibly think why that might be, sir."

The President only growled in response to the Minister's impertinence.

"I want to get today started as soon as possible. Whilst myself and the Premier enjoy breakfast I'd like you to prepare the notes I will need to ..."

"Already done it, sir."

And indeed the Foreign Affairs Minister had; they lay neatly in the briefcase he held at his side at this very moment. The cabinet had been taken aback by the display last night and had done everything possible to put everything in order just right to avoid further angering the President. It didn't seem to be working; right now he seemed to be working in a sullen rage the anger bubbling away underneath the surface waiting to erupt.

The pair stopped as they reached the dining room door. Johnny Foreigner looked over at the President for a moment and noticed his eyes were closed and he was breathing heavily counting under his breath. When the eyes opened again they were suddenly soft and full of warmth and genuine good cheer. His expression belaid nothing of the anger he was currently feeling towards the internal power struggle; and it was that expression he wore as he stepped confidently into the dining room.

"Premier, it is, as always, an honour. You and your delegates know my Foreign Affairs Minister, of course. Breakfast, I am told, will be served shortly - and I hope you enjoy your meal. It is customary, at least here, not to discuss matters of State over breakfast. I'm sure we're both fragile enough in the early hours without international bickering over the breakfast bowls. I am, however, eager to get started with discussions and hope you have no objection to doing so as soon as the dishes are cleared away?

"My Foreign Affairs Minister has some proposals on trade and research which he has brought draft plans for in his briefcase; and I am aware your Minister wishes to address trade and anti-terrorist measures. I am sure he is equally prepared. I'm eager to hear of your countries plans in these areas - but for now let's enjoy the meal we've had prepared for us. I understand you've already ordered?"

The President nods to a waiter standing discretely at the door with a smile:

"And this morning I think I'll enjoy Fast-Luck Muesli. From what I've heard of the Premier's negotiation skills I'll need all the luck I can get."

- LSg Newsletter

Premier Suun grinned at President Jeremiah. "I completely understand. My apologies if I have disrupted your morning routine; if I don't keep to my usual morning schedule, it throws me off for a couple of days. You understand, of course."

The waiter soon arrived, handing President Jeremiah a bowl of muesli. He then placed Premier Suun's breakfast down; President Jeremiah was now glad that his chef had done a bit of research before the visit, as the Premier seemed quite pleased with the Marimaian jam-scones before him. There was occasional small-talk about the weather and other trivial things; the meal was less awkward then Suun had anticipated. After the dishes were cleared away, Suun and Jeremiah continued their idle chatter for a while, until Ryou cleared his throat.

"Forgive the interruption, but if we are going to get down to business then I would advise that we start as soon as possible."

Premier Suun smirked at President Jeremiah. "Foreign Ministers are always such workaholics, aren't they? Alright then, let's get started...as long as the President doesn't mind, of course."

"Of course not, Premier, in fact I insist. Whilst I have, of course, been briefed on our proposals I think John may be in a better position to present them? John?"

With that the Foreign Affairs Minister nodded at the waiters taking away the plates and waited politely for them to leave before placing his briefcase on the table. After a few minutes fiddling with the locks the thing sprang open to reveal an impressive amount of paper. Calmly the minister took about a good quarter of the documentation and piled it in front of him. Neatly squaring off the corners. The minister waited a few seconds before closing the briefcase; from the President's position, and only from his position, the top of the next sheet down was clearly visible.

"Section C Report". It was dated today. Looking up the President smiled serenely at the Premier; it was good to know that at least something was still working.

"Okay; guys. What I have here is a standard proposal for favourable trade with Marimaia. Most favoured nation status, yada yada ... I'll skip to the important parts ... substantial reductions in the cost of exports to Marimaia of the following commodities:

Coal, wax, fat, gold and carbon steel."

"And mongoose", the President interrupted. For a minute the Foreign Affairs Minister looked confused.

"There's always more of the damned things. If another country find some use for the damned things they can have them. I hear they make good pets; or fur coats. It's not as if we're not infested with them."

"And, as the President says, mongoose". The Foreign Affairs Minister continued relatively unruffled.

"On imports we feel we could reduce some of the import tax on electrical goods in particular; it'd help give your goods an edge in the market. Also no tax to pay on winnings in your casinos for our citizens crossing the border to encourage them to use them, we thought. Obviously if you wish to charge tax on that money it's up to your government - but we thought you might appreciate it if WE stopped charging tax on it ..."

"We'd like to see less tax levied on wood we're exporting though. Quite frankly it's killing our timber market - a market we're proud of. In theory we should be undercutting a lot of the suppliers in your country but with the tax levied ... well ... the industry is hardly breaking even."

And again the President interrupted: "And I would consider it a personal favour if you didn't charge tax on mongoose imports."

"Does any of that sound acceptable?"

"Perfectly acceptable. Ryou, could you put forward our side of the agreement?"

Ryou nodded and pulled out his dossier. "Marimaia would like Last Saloon to reduce tariffs on our automobile industry; we feel that your people would greatly enjoy our vehicles if the price wasn't so high. In return, we will offer substantial reductions in the price of diamonds, oil, foodstuffs, and natural gas. In addition, we do not intend to tax your citizens for what they may or may not win in our casinos, as there is already sufficient taxation in place for our tourism industry. We would also like to propose the formation of a 'Marimaia-Last Saloon Trade Committee', which will provide our two governments with a place to discuss further trade issues without having to resort to ministerial-level discussions."

Premier Suun smiled at President Jeremiah. "What do you think? Qatra Jiang, our Economics Minister, took a while to come up with all that; we hope it meets with your approval."

(OOC: Sorry for the lateness of replies. I've actually been WORKING for once! And my abcess has flared up again; grumble.)

"I think that's a splendid idea.", the President cut in quickly before the Foreign Affairs Minister could bite the bullet, "It would certainly save us a lot on travel expenses and save a lot of security problems. The rest of your proposals we find entirely acceptable.

"And that leaves only the issues of Research and Anti-Terrorism to discuss. I'll cover research myself. We are aware of certain projects your scientific community is engaged in that we are also working heavily in. I feel that both communities could gain much additional insight by sharing their collective work so far. I'm pretty sure that we have certain projects in Information Systems and Comms Tech that will mesh *very* nicely. I'm referring to a certain military sponsored project in particular; we've done a lot of work on calculating the trajectories of objects at high speeds which we think could be very benificial to you.

"As a gesture of goodwill our government would like to hand over to Marimaia as a gift, no strings attached, a solution to the copper-silicon problem that has plagued both our chips as miniaturisation has become more important. I feel that you'll be suitable impressed by this sample to consider accepting our offer of making that specific piece of research a joint work. It would significantly speed up development time and of course decrease costs.

"I don't really have anything to say on Terrorism. Obviously we are against it and will do anything reasonable within our power to combat it; what did the Premier have in mind exactly?"

"The joint research sounds like an excellent idea. Not only will it benefit both countries in the long-term, but it will also be yet another sign of growing ties between us. Ryou, could you hand me the anti-terrorism proposals? Thank you."

"Now, what we're proposing is cooperation. If Marimaia is the target of terrorism then Last Saloon helps us apprehend the suspects, and vice versa. We also wish to establish a framework for sharing information about known terrorists and suspected terrorists, as well as the freezing of terrorist assets in both nations. In addition, we would like to propose the formation of a joint 'terrorism task force', under the auspices of our respective internal security agencies. How do these proposals sound?"

"Of course Last Saloon would help you track down the suspects of any terrorist attack! Whilst we are not aware of any current terrorist threats you may consider it a standing policy of ours to actively combat the operations and the formation of terrorist groups in Genyosha. I fully agree and am quite happy to put my name to the principle that any terrorist group should instantly (after being, of course, accorded the full process of a formal unbiased investigation) have their assets frozen pending further investigations.

"I am led to understand that agents of your government recently attended a course of counter terrorist methods; a move which we generally applaud. Our own agents whilst not specifically trained in counter terrorist tactics are, as I'm sure you have noticed, quite efficient at gathering data. We are, of course, willing to share any data we consider is indicative of an impending attack on your nation and any other data you request. We do value the privacy of our citizens greatly ..."

And with that Tro Yao raised an eyebrow though chose to remain in diplomatic silence.

" ... so whilst we will, wherever possible, provide you with the information your security services require we will need reasonable proof that any of our private citizens or corporations ... "

And the word corporation was stressed just that little bit too strongly to have been an accident of sentence formation.

" ... are involved in any such activity. I would suggest that you allow us to provide you with monthly weather reports on the possibility of terrorism within our borders and further alerts as we see fit. For any other security or intelligence requests I really must insist your forces file a formal request; your aide can agree a format with the Head of Section B; so that there is a visible audit trail. Alas, being a democracy means being answerable to your public."

There is a polite knock at the door. Slowly the large double doors of the room swings open to reveal a cart full of assorted tea, coffee, biscuits and other various "conference" style foods. The Presidents nods at the troop absently as they pour tea for the rooms attendants.

"Where was I? Oh yes, I think we're generally in agreement with the terms of these proposed agreements and treaties. If you would like to slide the paperwork across the table so I can quickly review the details before signing?"

And with that the Last Saloon Foreign Affairs Minister walks around the table distributing the various bits of paperwork detailing agreements being sought by his country as Marimaia's own matched the gesture handing the President a thickly bound set of documents.

"I'm suggesting we announce this new era of co-operation tomorrow; I've arranged a brief press briefing in the morning - it'll do wonders for the goodwill of our people to us shake hands on these matters, Premier. There are two more issues we have yet to discuss though ..."

"The first is the name by under which we will refer to these agreements; and the second is whether anybody else would like to order out for pizza."

- LSg Newsletter

Premier Suun thought about it for a second.

"Alright then, I'll try your pizza. The ones in Marimaia are exquisite beyond belief; I am sure that Last Saloon's will be just as good."

After the pizzas had been ordered, Suun had a quick talk with Ryou, then turned to President Jeremiah again.

"Regarding the name of the agreements; what about the 'Genyoshan Cooperation Protocols'? It doesn't imply anything specific, and it also allows for other nations to sign up to them if they should wish to. Besides, they are protocols that our nations will follow to advance cooperation."

Tro Yao handed a cup of tea to the Premier, who sat watching Jeremiah think it over...

(OOC: I apologise for my continued tardiness in progessing this RP. I've been very ill over the last few days and a cocktail of Codeine and antibiotics prescribed by my dentist has kept me in a state of mild delirium that is not conducive to posting.)

"Certainly that title has a ring to it; and would help promote protocols for items such as trade and other communal activities within the region were our esteemed neighbours to sign up to it ..."

The President began before being interrupted by his Foreign Affairs Minister, Johnny Foreigner, "However, I feel I would have to insist that the details of any specific agreements be left out of such a document and be left to be stored in documents held by our respective departments of trade and foreign affairs. I would feel unhappy in offering other nations in the region the same trade agreements we feel we can offer your great nation."

Jeb Jeremiah seemed to pause for a moment as if to consider this:

"Yes; John; you make a good point and one which I am sure our esteemed guests will concede. Did we order pizza yet?"

The sound of the Foreign Affairs Minister's sigh was audible at this point but nonetheless he made to attract the nearest clerks attention - obviously most of the regular staff had been dismissed from the room during negotiations leaving only people quite high up in the Foreign Affairs Minister's office for the relatively menial task of taking orders.

"I presume you'll want some form of announcement on this new era of co-operation before you leave Last Saloon?"; the President enquired distractedly as he wrote his own order on the clerks pad.

"You know the drill. Handshakes, smiles, pose for the press?"

"Well of course. It would seem to be a pointless visit if we didn't give some show of agreement. This will be remembered as the visit that ushered the new era of co-operation, after all."

Premier Suun scribbled his pizza order down and continued. "You'll have to visit Marimaia at some point in the future of course; Last Saloon have extended their hospitality to me and it would seem rude if Marimaia didn't reciprocate. I think you'd enjoy it. What do you say, Ryou?"

"Excellent idea, Premier." Dao made a noise, attracting the attention of the room. "Yes, Dao?"

"Hmm? Oh, sorry Comrade Premier. I was just wondering if I could go and report back to Marimaia; the weekly briefing will be given by my deputy in about five hours. I'll also alert the MPIN news team in Last Saloon to prepare for the announcement."

"By all means."

Dao nodded to President Jeremiah, then left.

"Well then, " ... started the Premier surreptitiously regaining the clerks pad and scribbling furiously ... " the rest of the day would seem to be our own. At least until we can arrange for an adequate press briefing."

The President signed this new page on the pad with a flourish handing it to the clerk; as the clerk passed the Foreign Affairs Minister he found his arm caught gently but firmly. As the President continued it was to a backdrop of whispered conversation.

"Perhaps the Premier would enjoy a tour of our grounds. And we may even have a gift for his bodyguard - a small token of our gratitude for anulling a possible international incident through his discretion. Our weapons manufacturing industry; now unfortunately mostly abandoned for our gambling industry; turned out a couple of nice pieces before they left. In particular they did a rather nice micro-crossbow with a beautiful inlay design - undetectable by metal detectors. It really is a very clever piece of technology; unfortunately they do need to be custom-made to counter some of the targeting problems.

"Banned in the Estates, of course. But nevertheless a suitable gift for Mr. Yao wouldn't you think? Or at least an interesting diversion until we can arrange to meet the press."

And with that the clerk ended his whispered conversation clicking his heels smartly as the Foreign Minister hissed "Get Horsepin. Now, you damned fool!" beneath his breath to the departing clerk. The air in the room took on a suspicious textured tone for a moment as the Premier spoke slowly and deliberately so there would be no mistaking his subtext:

"Mr. Foreigner, is there a problem with our pizza order?"

The minister grimaced for a moment his face temporarily a rictus of fear before the blank grin of his poker face resurfaced:

"Not at all, Premier. My own order was just rather complex and I wanted to ensure that should it be unobtainable there would be a suitable backup."

And there were the smiles again. Happy faces and hidden whispers; politics was always a dirty game in Last Saloon - the best you could do was to make sure the mud always stuck to someone else.

- LSg Newsletter

"Hmm......Tro, what do you think?"
"I would be honoured to receive such a gift."
"Good, well that's settled then. Anyway, I would love to see the grounds of your estate, Mr. President. As long as you don't mind Tro following us at a close yet respectable distance, of course."

"I would consider it an honour to visit your country; and I am sure you could offer me the same degree of security and hospitality that we have extended yourself and your retinue. I assure you, Premier, your bodyguard won't be necessary; though if you desire his company he is, of course, welcome to join us as my honoured guest. Unless protocol strictly demands it there is no reason for him to walk discretely a few steps behinds - let him walk with us."

And so it was that the Premier and President stepped out into the gardens of the President's Palatial Estate. The Premier almost forgot himself and let an eyebrow rise at the splendour; admittedly it was not as great as some of the public gardens in Marimaia it was surprising in a country considered by so many others as backwater. White stoned fountains spewed water into their delicate bowls whilst surrounded by ferns and towering orchids. The nearest gardeners looked up momentarily before respectfully taking up their tools and discretely disappearing.

"Open to the public most of the time, would you believe? And still they stay beautiful - it restores even my flagging faith in humanity. They are, of course, secured and closed to the public when we have such honoured visitors as yourself. I find it most relaxing here ... these gardens stretch for acres ... beauty upon beauty ... it's a world apart from the politics that happen inside the estates."

The Premier only nods content for now to let the President talk; he seemed to be speaking quite freely now and much of politics relied on knowing more about the other man than he knew about you. But then a figure in the garden moving towards them determinedly caught his attention. Tro Yao stepped forward from his position pointedly a few steps behind his Premier as the figure neared.

"Horsepin?", enquired the President

And with that Tro Yao faded seamlessly into the background, the Premier stepping out from under his bodyguards shadow with a fixed smile.

"Didn't know you were going to be here, sir, taking advantage of the grounds closure to get ahead on garden pictures for tourism brochure ..."; the Press Relations Officer managed to gasp out.

"Now you're here you may as well walk with us. It would be disrespectful to leave the Premier after such a rude arrival. Mr. Horsepin it may do you good to check with the clerks before using the gardens for your own purposes that they have not been allotted for use elsewhere."

"Sir."

And so the Last Saloon Press Relations Officer joined them in their tour of the gardens. First on foot and then by something resembling a golf cart to better cover the gardens size. As they reached a hedge spotted with blue flowers the President slowed the engine to a stop.

"And that, I am sad to say, is it. Beyond that hedge lies the first of many of Last Saloon's mongoose ranges ..."

And in the background there is the sound of winding film. In the background Daniel Horsepin checks his watch briefly looking up at the sun. The light seemed about right here.

"The mongoose population! Huh! When I was young the mongoose were rare, you only saw the odd one. And they were always engaged in pitched battles with snakes; like some kind of war between good and evil they'd wrestle the serpent to the ground ... "

The President became more animated as he warmed to his subject his arms flowing to illustrate his points as the Premier retained his fixed smile; under his breath Tro counted his lips moving with each tiny click he heard.

" ... of course, now they're considerably less noble. How little did I know that our national animal would start to be bred! The thing about the mongooses, Premier, is that they breed like jackrabbits - and they aren't particularly good eating. Breeding a creature because it's PATRIOTIC is not good logic ... "

By now the fixed expression was becoming slightly perplexed as the monologue rambled on the passion only becoming more fiery as the oratory became more exlamotary. The background clicks now settled into the whirring hums of the insects as Tro Yao continued his furious counting ... 16 ... 17 ...

" ... so I did what I could. I mean, they weren't my mistakes! I passed a law making it legal to eat the damned things and they became a delicacy. Now they're a veritable tourist attraction! Pets, cuddly toys and a coupla juicy stakes to take home. Our national animal is a friggin' tourist trap! And it's STILL eating up the economy - and how do the farmers manage it? They breed MORE of them to dig them out of the hole! They have no understanding of basic economics .... "

Click. Click. Click. Now the arms are moving wildly the President's face red in the heat of his monologue as he uses every muscle in his throat to pound out his empassioned words. ( ... 20 ... 21 ... )

" ... my last act as President will be to ban farming the damn things and to change the national animal to Armadilloes so at least we have SOME respect left on the world stage. And that's my plan to solve the mongoose problem!"

The Premier couldn't help but look taken aback at how passionately this madman was discussing this nothing issue. So taking back that he didn't hear the 24th exposure clicking into place inside Horsepin's calculator. In the background Tro only frowned as he counted the 24th shot. The Press Relations Officer palmed the roll of film into his pocket slipping another one into place. Scanning the garden with his eyes he sought a gardener to offload the film on.

"President Lectures Chiisu Suun on Political Freedoms!"

A few days after the Premier had left, of course. Dao would be hopping mad. He would never have gotten away with it without John's tip off that their Information Minister wouldn't be here. He smiled brightly at the Premier whilst coughing to attract the President's attention.

"Sir, whilst this has been an honour I need to ensure that the Press are settled in for the official announcement. I hope you will not find it to offensive if I depart at this time?"

The President nodded at the minister, "Very well. Myself and the Premier will accompany Mr. Yao here to the Armory. I am sure your services will not be required there. Premier, due to reasons of national security I must insist that we are joined by my section heads to visit the armory. Furthermore, I would prefer it if your retinue did not join you. The armory contains equipment that is politically sensitive that must be kept secret for the safety of our great public. I assure you I would expect to be treated no different were I a visitor in your country."

The Premier eventually conceded the requirements of the visit to the small non-descript building in the corner of the grounds. Even though the stairs inside led to a rather more secure and large enclosure it was still obvious that this was only a display of sorts. A personal museum for the President's own collection of weapons - certainly not where such a weapon would be produced. Inside the enclosure a man with the demeanour of a tailor fussed around the bodyguard.

"Take this pen and hold it out straight - as if you were pointing it at a person straight in front of you ... good ... and now as if they were a meter to the left ... and now to the right ... okay ... shoot the base of the wall ... and the top ..."

Even as the bodyguard numbly followed the instructions he observed the red dot obviously emanating from the laser. Teams of men in lab coats pored over the shot measuring the exact distance from the center.

"Mr. Yao ... " the Presidents voice tugged him away from his observations of men processing the accuracy of his shots ... "This is the weapon of which I talked. Plastic explosives at the base here snap a tensile carbon string firing the plastic dart out at high speed. The volatile tip explodes on impact. One shot, if aimed correctly, should be sufficient to kill a target; unfortunately due to the nature of the weapon you only get one shot."

"That's pretty much all I understand of this weapon. I'm trained in politics and not in war; though I have invited Jim Bradley to talk about it to you at greater length, Jim?"

Jim "Fireworks" Bradley, Weapons Acquisition Officer, departed from his shadow in the war; his five o'clock shadow and titled stetson hat hiding much of his features though the cigarette that he now let illuminated the deep dark brown eyes. For a moment those eyes locked onto Tro Yao's seemingly measuring him up in his mind before he spoke.

"You will notice, I am sure, the odd shape. It is designed to slip into your sleeve underneath you arm; it is fired by pressing this button at the top - we find a quick flick of the wrist is sufficient to fire it. One shot, Mr. Yao, but one which no-one is expecting. It can be very effective. The Head of Section B has, on occasion, found it to be a very useful tool for protecting himself.

"Unfortunately, there are aiming problems. There is, obviously, no sight - so you are expected to sight down your arm. Originally this caused so many problems that we had to stop mass production - we found out though that by carefully tailoring the barrel to the customer we could ensure the aim was always perfect. Hence the measurements."

"You can look at this one for now ... "

And with that the man palmed one from his own sleeve flicking a switch on it's side as he caught it with the palm of his hand. Both the Premier and President took a step away from the armed man instinctively and apprehensively.

"What is the meaning of ..." started the Premier but was cut off by the President: "Jesu ... Bradley! Are you TRYING to start an international incident? I mean, hell, is everyone apart from me in this friggin' government aching for a war!?"

The two warriors centered for the moment around the weapon barely looked quizically at the two leaders before "Fireworks" Bradley continued:

"Safety catch halfway up here. If you're going to palm it out to show it to someone I suggest you catch it there - firing it at your foot is never very funny. From the look of it you're a good shot; that's good means we can machine you one of these babes quicker. I'd say an hour or two. I can't offer to bring it inta the building for you; Jeb over there would go spare. Tell you what, before you check out pop over here with some decent ID and I'll hand it over. Hell, for you sir we'll even engrave your initials on the inlay."

And that was "Fireworks" Jim Bradley to a tee. How could you stand on ceremony with a man who knew exactly how much you were worth dead? He had a business like way of talking about dealing out death that made even the Defense Secretary whince - not a single armament passed over Last Saloons borders without Jim being aware of it. From army booted feet to cigar-munching teeth the man was every piece as deadly as his nickname made him out to be. Of course, that meant that his peers in neighbouring countries LOVED him. Jeb just hoped he'd never have to sack him.

The retinue walked in silence back to the Estate; hardly exchanging a word as they met up with Dao on the way in - the respective officers in charge of both leaders images scuttling off their superiors in tow as they prepared for the final presentation to the press on this side of the border.

- LSg Newsletter

(OOC: Woah ... I wrote a lot that time. Obviously I become a lot more creative if I'm knocked offline for a couple of days ...)

The Marimaians returned to Premier Suun's quarters to discuss some final issues before the press conference; Dao was busily scribbling down notes for Suun's section of the talking with Ryou pointing out omissions, while Tro handed Suun some tea.

"Like the weapon, Tro?"
"Hmm. It's different, I'll give them that. Useful though."
"Good. Now then, what should I wear to this press relations exercise?"

After selecting appropriate attire and getting changed, the Premier and his entourage sat down to relax.
"I'll be glad to get home. Last Saloon is okay, but it has nothing on Marimaia. Wait until Jeremiah sees the Luozao Gardens; he'll be rendered speechless."
"If it's possible..."
Sunn chuckled at Tro's comment. "Mmm, he does like to talk, doesn't he?"
Dao frowned. "Tro told me about their 'Press Relations Officer' turning up and taking pictures. Shall I have a word with him?"

Suun shook his head. "Best to leave it. So what if he reports to the people of this nation that their President is better than me? Whatever keeps Jeremiah in power is fine with me; if the people thought that I outclassed him, they might elect someone else next time, someone not so receptive to us. Besides, the Marimaian people are the ones who matter most to me, and they will see things the way they truly were...from Dao's perspective, obviously. Now all I have to do is face their press, and then it's time to go home."

Dao produced a videotape and put it into the nearby tv/video player.
"Just a couple of little pointers....this is a recording of their last press conference." He paused it and walked over, pointing at certain journalists. "They usually sit in the same position, so watch out for this one here and that one at the end; they often ask 'difficult questions'. The rest should be easily overawed by your charm."
"Understood. Now all we have to do is wait for the word, and we'll make our way to the press room."

"The Marimaian delegates ... ?"

"Have been informed, President, they should get to the briefing just after us. Just keep focussing on the message; look the reporters straight in the eye and let me pick the journalists. You'll do fine."

"You do realise I'm off the autocue on this don't you, Daniel? The press are going to *roast* me!"

The Press Relations Officer only sighed in response. He could understand that the President was nervous about public speaking, even he had the odd butterfly - the adrenaline kick was all part of his job, but did they have to go through this with every press briefing. He'd seeded the ranks of the press with government friendly papers and in return for not asking any embarassing questions in front of the Premier he'd offered them some top dollar scandal on some cabinet ministers. Provided the President didn't call the Marimaians any nasty names nothing could go wrong.

At least that's what the minister though. Head of Section A was less than happy outside the briefing room.

"We can't keep them out; it's public property. They have the right to bring their protests right into the building as long as we hold it there. That's what political freedom MEANS - they own this public building so they can protest in it as much as they want. I can't arrest them all; there's just too many of them - the best I can offer is to manage the riot after the Marimaian Premier steps through THAT door."

And not a long way from that door the Premier himself was making his way to the press room Dao fussing around him with last minute tidbits of advice on how the Saloonian's were likely to play this round of high-stakes political chess. So far Daniel had been playing to his own crowd just as hard as Dao had been to his - and quite often he'd seemed to have the better hand. Dao had to admit he was intrigued how even Horsepin could stop a landslide.

The two most notable leaders in Genyosha took the stage at the same time from opposite directions bathed in a glow of flashbulbs. Approaching each other they met in the central podium Jeb Jeremiah's hand extending in his habitual show of friendliness; and the Premier couldn't help but noticed that glazed smile again. Taking a step back from the Podium the President let the Premier take the microphone. Dao's eyes literally bugged out of his skull; from behind him he heard a tiny whisper "Check"; looking over his shoulder he saw nothing but a busy Press Relations Officer looking over his documents.

The audience stared at Chiisu; and he glared back. Not a single sound stirred that ampitheater - not so much as a gnat moved. In that dreadful awful moment of silence before the murmuring started the Premier held the crowd hypnotised in his gaze. When he spoke his voice was clear and strong without even a trace of a tremble. The room remained in silence as he spoke of a new era of bi-partisanship and of increased co-operation between the countries. At the mention of terrorism the polite effacing silence continued but a few people at the back of the room got up and left. And in the few moments after Chiisu Suun finished speaking the silence was more deafening than any protest could ever have been.

And then from behind him he heard applause; long slow loud claps like a schoolteacher encouraging his pupils to clap the awkward guest speaker. As the President stepped forward his claps were taken up in the front row of the crowd and then by rows behind them - and soon the room was filled with thunderous applause. Dao smiled to himself as he leaned back whispering softly inaudibly to the pick-up microphones for the ministers on-stage: "Mate."

The President took up the theme of bi-partisanship shying away from discussing terrorism but playing up the co-operation on research. He positively warmed to his subject as he talked about Diplomacy Square and the close ties between Last Saloon and Marimaia - with an almost theatrical flourish he informed the citizens of Last Saloon that diplomacy meant freedom. Once again the thunderous applause rocked the room.

Following the speeches and the obligatory poses for the camera; the President once again siezing the chance to show off his hand shake; were the questions from the Press. Thanks to Dao's quiet coaching and Horsepin's blatant bribery the questions were mostly soft and at some points near asinine - the Press were obviously gearing up for a soap piece on the visit pointedly leaving out the muted protests. There was an awkward moment when a small independant paper inquired about Marimaia's political freedoms but Horsepin short-circuited the question managing to fluff through it with a blatant redirection towards Last Saloon's own excellent record.

And after the whirlwind of activity the diplomats finally had a chance to wind down. In the privacy of the Estates a diplomatic cocktail party led off into the night with the respective members of the cabinet formally bidding their counterparts farewell. All in all though it was obviously now that the main duty of the diplomats had been fulfilled everything was leading to this moment. The feeling of black tarmac under his feet again and the reassuring sound of Luozao One above him. Only a small delegation had been assigned to see the Marimaians off - having had the impressive welcome the country now seemed tired and cowed - eager to have the political spectrum once again to itself.

Jeb Jeremiah was there, and of course Johnny Foreigner and Daniel Horsepin. But that was about it; the Section Heads hung around outside the aeroplane but were seemingly operating more as a patrol than a diplomatic function. "Fireworks" Jim Bradley had been waiting for Tro with a discrete box; smoking under Luozao One's fuselage to pass the time as the ministers bid each other a polite fairwell.

The President waited at the foot of the jet as a pair of F-16s taxi-d up either side of the plane; an obligatory guard of honour until they were replaced by the Premier's own planes at the border. As the Premier reached the top of the stairs he turned waving one last time at Last Saloon only to disappear inside the belly of the plane at the President's smart salute. And then there was nothing but the sound of a gunning engine and the keening of mongooses under the Premier's wings.

- LSg Newsletter

Dao Ling watched as the F-16s peeled away to be replaced by four of Marimaia's Mig-35s.

"There they go. We've crossed into Marimaian airspace."
"I noticed. Was it just me, or did anyone else feel the sudden rise in intelligence in the air?"

Ryou smirked at his leader's comments. "Home, sweet home. Despite what the Saloonians think, it's still the best place I know."

A few hours later, Marimaia One touched down at Heiphong International Airport. As Premier Suun stepped out to disembark, he was greeted by rapturous cheers. A large crowd of Marimaians had assembled, waving flags and being held back by security personnel. Members of the Proletarian Guard lined the red carpet which led to the Premier's limousine, in front of which stood the entire Marimaian cabinet.

As he stepped onto Marimaian soil, a young boy and girl walked up in brightly coloured outfits to hand over large bouquets of flowers, which the Premier gladly accepted. After that, Suun shook hands with the cabinet, then decided to walk along the assembled crowd, accepting various gifts and flowers which were handed to various aides walking alongside him. Finally, he gave one last wave to the people and climbed into his limousine, which was soon ferrying him back to Luozao Palace.

LSg NewsLetter (September 2003 Edition)

Last Saloon officially shut its borders and stock exchange yesterday after declaring a state of national emergency. Following Premier Chiisu Suuns visit the rioting which had been controlled broke out into the streets. Amongst the looting a few long dissatisfied politicians decided to rebel not only against the present government but against the very system of democracy upon which the governance of Last Saloon is based.

Those people chanting in the streets for Political and Civil Freedoms waving their lighters knew little what their new proposed leaders had in store for them. On this tide of sentiment President Jeb Jeremiah received a vote of no confidence shelfing not only his political career but radical reforms in policing. Organized crime took to the streets pressing forwards through the black market Gambling industry they controlled.

Between them the new would-be government and the mob set about creating vast biker gangs that would patrol the street enforcing their will. But as the strength and cunning of the bikers grew they rebelled against their own masters throwing Last Saloon into a state of anarchy. And that is how the country rests now; the remnants of the former government lodged safely away from the streets ordered the borders closed.

Looting and murder is common place. Anarchy and chaos reigns in the street - a single political issue has essentially thrown a once great nation back into barbarism. Beneath the streets the former government is building itself an army of Law Enforcement officers though. Stronger, better and faster than the bikers - the justice administered will be the only form suitable in post-anarchic Last Saloon.

Terminal.

[ See Last Saloon Current Status for Inspiration ]

"This is intolerable!"

Chiisu Suun slammed his hands down on the cabinet table, causing Sakura Mirou to jump. "Last Saloon has spectacularly collapsed. I don't care if they say they've closed their borders, they've just become too large a security risk."

Sakura nodded. "Agreed. Terrorists could establish themselves in Last Saloon and start a campaign against us! What are your orders, Premier?"

"Increase border patrols. Also, try to get me contact with their former government; not Jeremiah's, the one which started this mess. Oh, and Wufei...."
"Yes?"
"Tell the generals to prepare the MPA, just in case. If any of this starts affecting Marimaia, we may have to take action. For now though, let's just keep an eye on things."

The static breaking over Last Saloon's dead air came as a surprise to everyone. From a country seen in chaos only a day before came a television signal; fuzzy but distinct - the Border Lands of Last Saloon were trying to make contact with the outside world. Hundreds of thousands tuned into the broadcast fascinated on what this broken nation would say. How it intended to respond to it's state of national emergence. And in part to find out just how terrible things had become inside the fledgling nation - people like to rubberneck at train wrecks.

The image that broke the fuzzy static was of an office; a man seated behind a desk in a grey business suit wearing a stern expression. On the desk stood a statue of Last Saloon's national animal, the mongoose, and in the background pinned to the wall besides a glass frontage overlooking the capital city flew Last Saloon's flag. Patriotic music provided an underswell on the audio track as the be-suited man spoke.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we live in tragic times. Earlier this week good order in Last Saloon broke down; the very fabric of good democratic society sheered into two by anarchists. Our businesses found themselves looted and our corporations found themselves without staff and unable to trade. Common thieves roamed our highways putting honest God-fearing citizens in fear of their lives. Truly, friends, this is a state of national emergency.

"My name is Thomas Capstan and I am the Chief Executive Officer of MicroCorp International. We represent one of the suppliers at the forefront of the military installations technology. We have long believed that political stability is an essential requirement for continued profitability. The events of the last week have been extraordinary but cometh the hour and cometh the man. In an attempt to continue to maximize profitability for our share-holders we have actively sought the rebalancing of Last Saloons political and democratic systems.

"Through our technology we have eliminated much of the threat of looting and violence along the main roads of our country and in our major cities. We are temporarily running Last Saloon and in particular it's defensive and police forces in an attempt to curtail the violence in the streets. We can, however, provide a guarantee to the safety of any visiting businessman - we are re-opening the borders for trade though respectfully request businessmen stay on the main roads and respect the temporary curfew we have required during this state of emergency.

"We apologise for the inconvenience of the last few days and hope you will continue to make the corporations of Last Saloon your number one trading partners. At the moment our low trade prices and excellent business opportunies make Last Saloon a veritable Capitalist Paradise. Our forces and technologies will remain deployed for the next few weeks in order to ensure there is not a relapse into anarchism."

[signal fades to black - replays on a continuous loop]

The Marimaian cabinet watched as the broadcast ended, and Premier Suun turned round to face them.

"Looks like we underestimated them. Ryou, I take it that our embassy in Last Saloon is still standing?"

"Indeed it is, and our ambassador is fine. The Last Saloon embassy in Marimaia is currently very quiet, even though we know there are people in there. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to talk to this Thomas Capstan. Get me in communication with him."

"I have some news reports to read and some people I need to phone. There has, my troops are telling me, been an incident in Zanxax which may have promising research possibilities. I am told that MicroCorp International may need to branch out into Electricity Supply; and I've been told it's all in the LSg Newsletter. So hold my calls, Lucy."

The man from the broadcasts only moments before spoke to his secretary; a neat professional woman with piles of paperwork in front of her.

"Very good, Thomas, do you want to hear your messages?"

"I don't think I have time, can they wait?"

"Most of them - but you'll want to know about one of them now."

"Thrill me."

"I thought you didn't like the idea of secretaries flashing their bosses at work?"

The secretary flashed a disarming grin at the flustered professional before her as she flicked through the call logs on her computer. She needn't have bothered - it was rare enough a foreign minister phoned MicroCorp International on political business and she could remember most of the call exactly.

"The Foreign Minister of Marimaia phoned ..."

"Lucy", the hurried CEO cut in, "You know the drill. Tell the minister that we cannot sell weapons to a nation which doesn't have an account with us. Give him the details on how to get the paperwork and get some intelligence on them. This is basic stuff; I don't need to hear this right now. I'm trying to prop-up a country, remember?"

"Uhh ... yeah ... that's great - but I think that's kinda what they wanted to talk to you about. They didn't even mention weapons."

"Oh. Err ... could you tell ... Mr ... ?"

"Mr. Li. Ryou Li."

"Right, Mr. Li, that whilst we'd love to calm his fears right now that we're kinda little busy stopping our country descending into chaos and barbarism. Whilst you're at it check to see if his country is in any way responsible for the huge vacuum at our border - and if it is what exactly it is meant to do and whether draining gigawatts of energy of it will piss him off. Dress that up in fancy diplomatic language and hand it to him."

"Right, sir."

"All other queries of this nature - just tell people that I'm not considering myself an elected government official. I am just a concerned business man taking the steps I consider necessary to protect my investment. I have considerable invested interest in the politics and country of Last saloon and it's weapons platforms and infrastructure and am unwilling to liquidate that investment at this time. If any of them get jumpy tell them that we have the people of our country firmly under control and guarantee any businessmen entering our country safety if they stick to main roads, the city and meet curfew regulations. If they are still not happy tell them we will aggresively protect our investments and remind them just what business we're in. I don't want to be disturbed again, today. Got that, Lucy?"

"Yes, sir."

And with that the CEO of MicroCorp International marched off into his office only stopping to scoop up a reel of news supports from the government newspaper - currently being published by his own company.

Ryou finished reading out the message and looked at the rest of the cabinet, who then looked to the Premier. The irritation was clear on his face.

"So let me get this straight. Corporations are running that country."
"Yes, Premier."
"So they only really want to talk about business."
"Yes, Premier."
"Very well then. Since our beloved neighbours won't talk to our government, we shall take a different approach. Get me Tsing Wa."
"The head of Shin Fai Armaments Systems?"
Suun raised an eyebrow at Wufei. "Correct. Who better to talk to big business than the head of Marimaia's largest private corporation? Ryou, brief him on what I want, then get him to contact them."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"I understand. I'll contact them at once."
Tsing Wa was a short, stocky individual who was also one of the most capable businessmen in Marimaia; he was the perfect ambassador to use for the new business-owned Last Saloon.

Thomas Capstan scowled as he flicked through the reports; columns and columns of numbers were intertwined with complex engineering notes. The odd diagram was scribbled in the margin; it was, undoubtedly, a very interesting report though not because of the physics. He didn't understand a word of that; what he did understand was the potential power output. His fingers tapped away on a desk calculator as his eyes stared vacantly into space wondering just how much he could tap this new money supply ...

8c per kilowatt hour of power, served to ... how many people could he serve with that power output?

On the desk in front of him the light on the intercom flickered momentarily before the buzz. He ignored it, slowly and purposefully he wrote down a figure on the pad in front of him. Then he underlined it. The intercom buzzed again; but still Capstan stared into space. He circled the figure. Deep inside him his inner accountant was having the time of his life.

This time the intercom managed to buzz him out of his revery.

"Damnit, Lucy. I said to hold my calls. This is important!"

"And so is this, sir."

"It damned well better be; what do you want?"

"A Mr. Tsing Wa is on the line for you."

"Tsing? Wha'? I'm sorry; is this name supposed to be familiar to me?"

"Mr. Tsing Wa is the man in charge of Shin Fai Armaments Systems. You'll recall that we tried to offload a load of small arms onto him but he turned them down because of the effect they'd have on his maintenance bill. More importantly, considering the timing, he's Marimaian."

"Ah ... obviously they really DO want to talk to me. Okay; they've perked my interest. Does Mr. Tsing Wa have a valid, current and open account with us? And if so, what is his credit limit?"

"He does indeed; and he's seen as a good credit risk."

"I see. Now what to do with Mr. Wa. We could put him through to accounts, that would annoy the Marimaians - or I could put him on hold. Oh; the possibilities. But he's a good credit risk; that might make him a potential customer - and I've always liked people who give me money. Hmmm ..."

Thomas Capstan looked down at his pad as if seeing it for the first time again. The solution to all Last Saloons power problems; and plenty to spare - no chance of future blackouts in the future. He'd become a hero; and more importantly he and the shareholders would become stinking filthy rich. He tapped the pad with his pen; the only problem was if this was the responsibility of somebody in the region. That might cause problems; as an accountant he was risk-adverse - a good way to avoid risk is to quantify it.

"Very well. I will talk to him; perhaps he can tell me what, if anything, the Marimaians know about this phenomenom at our border. Besides; I can inform the Marimaians that we're quite safe for now and that we'll be reducing our border guards again. Put him on hold for about fifteen minutes before patching him through to me - I can't make this too easy for them after all."

"Very good, sir."

Yes; the CEO mused; these events could turn out to be very profitable indeed.

Tsing Wa grinned broadly as the video conference began.

"Greetings, Mr. Capstan. How's business? I've heard a lot about this weird phenomenon at your border; suffice to say, I've spoken with our government and they don't have a clue what happened to cause it. That's of little concern right now though. I hear that you waved off a request from our foreign minister; not necessarily a wise thing to do. Even though it was private, you still acted as if you're better than our government, so maybe an apology would be in order at some point in the future."

Tsing Wa looked at some papers before continuing.

"Anyway, I was just wondering how our neighbours were doing, that's all. All this talk of civil disturbances and biker gangs sounds pretty disturbing. How are your stabilisation efforts going?"

Capstan's face flushed as the businessman mentioned the government; his eyes barely flickering despite his rage; out of the view of the camera his hand reached towards the disconnect button. As the man on the screen continued, however, he quickly regained his composure and moved his hand slightly further from the console; though close enough that disconnection was still an option.

"Mr. Wa; must I remind you that I am neither a diplomat, an elected official or a civil servant? I am a businessman, a private citizen, whom your government neither regulates or has diplomatic relations with. I am neither under the auspices of your government nor am I under any obligation to do business with them - or for that matter to acknowledge them in any way. It is not your place, as another private citizen, to question either my conduct or my politics.

"I have taken this call because your account indicates you have money to spend; that you're a good credit risk. I consider the fact you happen to be Marimaian completely irrelevant and meaningless. I don't spend my time reassuring the remnants of our government so I feel no need to pour attention on your government either. I have stated the official position of my company; we will ensure the safety of any visiting businessmen and we have secured the border - at not some inconsiderable cost.

"Whilst I can, obviously, sympathise with your governments concerns as a private individual I am under no obligation to directly address them other than to say that our citizens are contained and that we will continue to aggressively defend our investment in Last Saloon using any means necessary to us; whether that be economic or political.

"Mr. Wa, I am not in the habit of apologising for my conduct. If your Foreign Minister has a complaint about my company then I suggest he phone our complaints department.

"For the purposes of trade and tourism you can consider Last Saloon to now be fully stabilised. I will personally guarantee a level of safety equitable with any other similar Western power for any private non-government individual entering Last Saloon for commerce or tourism providing they keep to the strict guidelines that we have already set out. Likewise I will continue to guarantee the safety of private Last Saloon consumers, radicals or not, from any unauthorised incursions across our border.

"My company has the situation entirely under control; we do not need or desire assistance and will not appreciate any that is involuntarily presented by any other external power, private or government controlled. We will, in due time, be re-instating the former government, the ORIGINAL government, as soon as it is politically feasible to do so and when we have achieved that aim I am sure that they will be only too happy to tell your country officially how stable and secure Last Saloon is.

"Now, Mr. Wa, do you have a genuine commercial need for our technology or is this purely a social call?"

"Very well then Mr Capstan, we shall leave you to it until we can speak with someone who can give us the answers we wish. We just thought that since your corporation is running your country, as you yourself said, then you could have been more forthcoming and much more polite. After all, being rude to customers and potential customers is very bad business practise. Good day."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Premier Suun listened to Tsing Wa's report, and watched the recording of the video conference.

"When their government is eventually restored, I do hope they'll be apologising for his actions. I would hate for the disrespect of one businessman to ruin our relationship."

Choppers buzzed in the air like hornets around a nest; the tall building reaching skyward amongst a mass of tanks, chainmail fences and sandbags. A man dressed in a black suit carrying a briefcase handcuffed to his right arm walks between a pair of soldiers carrying their guns ready to fire at the least provocation; this strange sight only a small part of the procession of armed guards. At the door to the radio station the man in black nods at the soldiers flanking him and they break formation. One stands to the side of the door gun toted as the other gingerly reaches out to the doorknob. Slowly; silently; it turns and then with a sudden motion is kicked in the first soldier throwing himself to the side as the other points his gun into the darkness.

"Don't shoot!"; comes the cry from the dark the soldiers flashlight dissecting the blackened room into shafts of light. At the far end near the console and booth a group of technicians stand hands up in the air amongst wires streaming from the booth criss-crossed in complex patterns. The soldiers entered first followed by the man in black who merely nodded at the technicians.

"Gentlemen, my name is Johnny Foreigner, I was the Foreign Affairs Minister for the government of Jeb Jeremiah. These gentlemen accompanying me are employees of MicroCorp international who are helping us reclaim the streets for the citizens of Last Saloon. We need your help; though I want you to understand that we will not force you to do so - you are free to leave at any time you wish.

"We need to re-establish diplomatic relations with our neighbours in Genyosha; it is, however, imperative that the remnants of the rebel government are unable to decode our communications. We need a secured broadcast line we can use to talk to all our neighbours at the same time. There is no extant regulations for secured communications with these nations so we first need to find a way to tell them how to descramble our communications without allowing the rebels the same luxury. It is quite the complex technical task; and we believe that radio may have the answers we're looking for.

"It would be appreciated if you could provide us with assistance."

And so it was that another signal rang out across the dead air of Genyosha; carried on a seemingly random wave it seemed at first no different than the wide bands of static around it but slowly in a few intelligence offices in it's neighbouring countries the signal became clearer. The government of Last Saloon was back; and it was willing to talk.

"Ambassadors, Premiers, Presidents and Kings of Genyosha; my name is Johnny Foreigner and I am the duly appointed representative of the official government of Last Saloon. You are, undoubtedly, aware of the anarchy our great nation fell into and you are, undoubtedly, concerned both for your own safety and the safety of your nations. We are in grave times in Last Saloon, hard times, but we will rise from these times triumphant. Even as we speak the government of Last Saloon are returning to the seat of power in our capital - there are only a few of the cabinet left to retrieve from their secure locations.

"We would like to thank Mr. Thomas Capston and MicroCorp International in their continued assistance in curtailing this national emergency and to reassure our neighbours that Last Saloon does not represent a threat to their security. For a short time, during this transitionary period only, we are reclosing our borders to prevent the remnants of the rebel government fleeing to neighbouring countries - we ask that our neighbours authorities co-operate with our border patrols during this difficult time.

"I understand your concerns and will happily address them if they are directed to me through this secured system. We thank you for your patience during this time; as soon as President Jeremiah can be safely extracted from his secured location I am sure he will be making a public address to you all."

Even as these words were being rushed from Intelligence Officers to ministers a small force was assembling in the underground car-lot of the headquarters of MicroCorp International. Men in body armor fussed around their armored vehicles as ammunition was man-handled into accompanying tanks. Sitting sedately in the back of an Armored Personel Carrier Jim "Fireworks" Bradley carefully loaded six bullets into his pistol. It was time to bring the President home.

Chiisu Suun gazed out at the bright lights of Heiphong from his office window as Ryou relayed the information.

"It took them long enough."
"At least they're back now though. Well, nearly."
"Hmmm......Wufei."

Wufei nodded. "Yes, Premier?"
"Has anything crossed our border?"
"Our border patrols picked up four men and a woman with a substantial amount of gold bullion. We currently have them in custody; do you want them brought here?"
"What for? Find out their names, and keep them locked up. Ryou, contact the Saloonians; let them know that we have some of their waste, and we'd like to give it back."