NationStates Jolt Archive

CentGov Buildings, King’s Study 03:28

The wind howled outside the window, snow whipped into powder by it’s force smearing on the windows. The night was bleak and cold, a night to be inside and warmly wrapped around a loved one.
Owen scowled. The King was currently staring into the snowy night, hands clasped behind his back. The large bay window he was staring out of seemed to be a portal to somewhere else, clashing harshly with the warm, well lit study he was waiting in.
Waiting for a report which was taking it’s sweet time in coming. The bleakness of the night was really starting to match the King’s darkening mood. There’d not been a storm like this in years.
A soft rap came on the door.
Owen didn’t look round, barking “In!” and remaining scowling out the window.
The door opened, someone walked in, then stopped and waited.
Owen, still glaring at the storm spat out “Report.”
A man’s voice, slightly high, but carefully modulated to still be a likeable speaking voice began speaking.
“It’s bad news all round my King. Augustus was in the course of shutting down the New Dawn operation, but then was shot by a Glorious Humanity diplomat. The Drakkies have essentially flipped out; the country has shut down, aside from the military, who’re busily dragging every man they can home. We shut down our embassy as per your orders, but our agents are still in place. Uh...”
Owen stared out into the ice-shot night. The windowpane was now liberally smeared with snow. He spoke, considering what he was about to do, even as he did it…
“Deputy Director.”
“Yes sire?”
“Send a message to the UE Leadership council. Tell them we’re leaving the alliance. No reasons are to be given.”
“Ah, sire…”
“You know the reasons. Drakonia is unstable, Tersanctus is worse and the other Emirates are too isolated. The associate members of the alliance, well…they left Augustus in the lurch. Should we associate with such? No, I think not. We will forge our own friendships.” The King turned, his gaze settling coldly on the man giving the report. “Go, go now.”
The man blanched, “Yes my King.” He sketched a bow and scuttled out of the study.
Soft, female laughter came from one of the room’s comfortable chairs, which had been angled toward the fire for the duration of the interview, now swinging around to face Owen.
Arwen sat gracefully folded in the big leather seat, wrapped in thick furs, barely visible but for a pale face, bright eyes and a cap of dark hair.
“Picking on the poor director because you’re worried, they’ll be calling you Owen the Grumpy next!” A brilliant smile softened these words, then the Queen went on, “It’ll be alright my love.”
She smiled at the scowling monarch again. “We’re not on our own. We made good contacts with Tsaraine during the Utlanning project, I’m sure Der Angst would at least be polite after leaving their spies unbothered all this time. You’ve made the right choices. Now come here, I’m cold.”
Owen slid onto the chair, and Arwen draped the furs over him and burrowed into his chest. He stroked her hair, looking down at her, “Sure you made the right choice by sticking with me? Sure I made the right choice just now?”
Arwen looked up and grinned. “Of course I’m sure about you and as for just now, well if we’re really stuck diplomatically, we can always talk to my mother...”
Owen blanched, then grinned himself as Arwen started to giggle…

CentGov Buildings, King’s Study 11:04WST

Owen covered his mouth with the report he was holding as a jaw-cracking yawn erupted. The middle aged man, dark hair cut appallingly, seated in the chair across the desk from Owen, eyed the King consideringly “Late night your Majesty?”
Owen did his best not to blush. “Uh…yes, I was up waiting for the report…which we’re basing today’s work on. After I’d got that I had to discuss it with some advisors I had on hand.”
The man opposite, John, Lord Ringo, head of the Diplomatic Service nodded understandingly “Oh fair enough. Strenuous meeting for all I imagine.”
Owen coughed “Yeah, I guess you could say so. Um, Right, where were we?”
John raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged “We were detailing the nations we wanted to formally establish contacts with. Have you finalized whom you want to approach?”
Owen leaned back in his chair and unleashed another massive yawn. “Yes.”
He yawned again. “Damn, s’cuse me. Anyway, the Menelmacari bloc, particularly New York and the elves themselves, Lavenrunz and maybe the Fed. We’ll also want to speak with Tsaraine further, but not…well they don’t seem to bother with much outside their borders, very much the model NDA state, but useful people to know nonetheless. But essentially people we’re comfortable ideologically with.”
Lord Ringo jotted this down, and then looked up questioningly “Not DA?”
Owen rubbed at his chin, producing a rasping sound. “Well… DA are pragmatists. We’re quite likely to diverge in viewpoint at a crucial time…but all right, add them.”
Ringo wrote some more. “Anything else?”
Owen spun his chair around and looked out the window onto the icy street below. The metal fence glittered in the weak sun, ice crystals hanging along it’s length. “Not really. It’s just hoping they’ll talk to us now isn’t it?”

"Any progress John?" Alois Birmingham, acting Head of State in Owen's absence eyed the diplomat over halfmoon spectacles.
The paratrooper-cum-diplomat grinned. "Well obviously the invite to GMC was a gift from Eru, Owen and the Queen can get in some obsequious grovelling for trade and alliance talks while they're in country."
The Duke frowned, "We do not grovel. Especially to the madmen in GMC."
Ringo laughed. "Madmen in GMC? Owen had to threaten Vlad with physical violence to stop him putting a copy on this year's naval appropriations."
Alois frowned again. "Northern madmen. Any other progress?"
"Well...we need to make direct approaches. They're not going to come to us. And the New Yorkers have gone isolationist with Santos's elevation."
Alois muttered and shrugged in what outsiders would call a Gallic fashion. In Britmattia of course, it was a Brumese fashion.
"Well, it's certainly a pity he chose now. Ah well, it might help us in the long run I suppose."
John nodded, appalling haircut bobbing with the motions. "Well, we can still talk to the elves, and DA. Lavenrunz will be at the launch, so if we play our cards right..."
Alois leaned back in his chair, reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a packet of cheroots. Lighting one, he took a deep drag and nodded.
"Yes. Yes indeed. Turning out better than we had feared, no?"
John waved a hand at the smoke "Yeah. So, anything else?"
Alois took another drag, then grinned around the cheroot. "No, I think not. Anything else you wished to discuss?"
Ringo shook his head as he stood. "Alright then. Salut Alois."
The Duke waved lazily, luxuriating in his cigarette.
John chuckled and let himself out of the office.

0923 Zulu
Near Augustus
Drakonia, Drakonian Imperium
Drakonian Intelligence Agency (DIA) Headquarters

"So they've pulled out," the Director asked.

"Yeah," the assistant Director of the DIA confirmed. "Britmattia and Polska both backed out of the United Emirates."

"Damn," the Director replied. "Bet that's got the Diplomats going nuts."

There was a smirk on the Assistant Director's face. "Sure does, and they can't do anything about it until this International Communications block out has ended."

The Director would have laughed if he felt he had anything to laugh about. First the assassination of the Praetor by the citizen of a close ally and now Britmattia abandoning not just Drakonia, but it's other allies in the United Emirates. And now it seemed likely that Glorious Humanity forces would be pulling out of Fyreheart, leaving the Drakonians to fend for themselves against the Hurst Loyalists there. Thing seemed bleak, very bleak.

Both men stood in the office of the Director. A room that seemed very basic and spartan. His desk was plain, with practicly nothing on it. There was a large flat screen plasma television hung on one wall. A couple of chairs were sattered about, but the room still seemed empty and spartan, something the Director usually enjoyed.

"What about our plans," the Director finally asked.

The other man paused before he spoke. "Their proceeding. Everything is falling into place, but it looks more and more like Rukemia is a loss." He paused again. "Still we have to try."

"Yes, we do," the dark-skinned Director replied. "Whether it destroys us or not. We have to try."

Gondor Massiv Industries Aircraft Assembly Plant, London Earldom, The Kingdom.

Begli Gondor clasped his massive hands behind his back, chewing a cigar the thickness of a man's thumb, reflectively peering out into the brightly-lit, workshop floor below the ceiling to floor office window he stood at.
The massively built, luxuriantly ginger-haired dwarf stared out at the view for a few moments, then exhaled contentedly, luxuriating in the view of assembly line after assembly line stretching off into the distance of the truly enormous cavern this particular workshop of Gondor Massive Industries was situated in.
Still chewing his cigar, grinning happily, he turned around and looked at the blonde dwarf who was sitting at a desk on the other side of the room, tugging on his beard and looking pensive.
"Right then Skeggi. Ah've got a wee job for yae."
Skeggi tugged his beard harder. The GMI C.E.O was noted for expecting as much from his employees as he put into the business, and he was regarded as being insanely keen on it, even by dwarf standards. So a little job could well be...
"You're gaein on a wee trip me laddy."
"Oh bloody hell." thought Skeggi, trying to remember if his will was up to date.
Begli chewed his cigar more, gesturing skyward.
"Hiv'ye ever heard ae somewhare cal'ut "Paantaecraetoria" ?"
Skeggi shook his head.
"Nae boss."
"Wull, yae're gaein tae get tae ken the place. They've express'd a need fur new combat aircraft, and bein' as thae wee Warwick wants tae improvit relations, wull, yur gaein and thae's nae fockin argument, ye ken?"
Skeggi nodded, sighing.
"Aye boss, Ae ken."
Begli grinned again, contentment suffusing his beard-covered features.
"Grand laddy, grand. Yae heid oot in thae morn, sae Ae'd knock off abaet nae and gae ae'pack."
He unlaced a belt pouch from the thick, metal studded belt around his tunic and tossed it onto Skeggi's desk.
"Ae thaes yae wee promoeshanal materials. If yae dinnae scrae thus up, thaes promotion in ut tae, yae ken?"
Skeggi nodded worldlessly and Begli grinned.
"Gie sound mah lad, gie sound."

Ministry of Defence buildings, New Rome, Pantocratoria.

Skeggi Ironback chewed thick blonde moustaches as he waited outside the conference room.
Being a dwarf he'd been examining his surroundings with an engineer's eye, the baroque, gold-leafed ostentation winning a critical grunt as he decided the building was solid enough under the heavily ornamented plasterwork.
After he'd gotten bored with pulling the building apart in his head he'd absently been glaring at the desk next to the doorway he was seated outside.
It wasn't that he wasn't a desk type of dwarf, it just looked like shoddy work.
Nothing irritates a dwarf more than shoddy work apart from orcs, and even then it's a near-run thing.
He also didn't like the looks the woman behind it was occassionally giving him, the sort he'd seen other women back home give other people's unrestrained pets.
However, he was here to sell things, so he contented himself by aiming his glare up now and then, much to the secretary's dismay.
Eventually, after Skeggi had mentally stripped and rebuilt the engines of one of the Faulkner fighters he was here to offer, a telephone on the woman's desk buzzed.
She pressed thin lips together and flicked her head at the doors, speaking very slowly, as though to a child.
"You can go in now."
Skeggi glowered at her again, getting a squeak in response.
Carefully smothering his grin he picked up his bag and moved through the doors, which had been rendered into one giant painting of some improbably noble figure stabbing what looked like a midget dragon.
Skeggi wasn't very impressed, the perspective was frankly appalling and the guy had a yellow half-circle round his head, either it was the world's worst helmet or the painter'd buggered up.
Dismissing the painting he moved into the room beyond, where tables had been set up in an 'n', Skeggi standing in the gap between it's legs.
The tables were peopled mainly by bureaucrats, mostly clustering around older men with better tailoring, but there were also quite a number of men in what must be a military uniform with that tailoring, but ornate enough to qualify for one of the worst epithets a dwarf can bestow.
"Elvish work."
Skeggi shook his head, waited politely till the buzz of conversation that his height, or rather lack of, and massively bearded person had brought, faded completely away.
"Gentles, surs."
He bowed as much as any dwarf is able, i.e. not much and clasped his massive, work-roughened hands behind his back.
"Ahm Skeggi Ironback of Gondor Massiv Industries and Ahm here tae provide you gaed surs w'ae wee bit ae technical detail, as well as ae spot o'combat data frae the engagements thae designs under evalutation."
Skeggi fished into his bag, pulling out a small tripod about a foot tall, which he screwed what looked roughly like a purple light bulb into the base of, settling it carefully, a sausage-thick finger tapped a switch on, and a solid-looking hologram about the size of a car popped into life.
The image was obviously of guncam from a violently manouvering aircraft, blurry and rapid, but as it ran you could occassionally make out insignia on the aircraft, a red kiwi inside a black circle, and the Syskeyian golden cross.
"This is footage ae one o'thae wee fights in the Syskeyia-Reich war. Those things in thae ugly bloody camo are God's Own Locust-type fighters, which are designed, manufactured and exported frae oos in G.M.I."
The camera angle twisted suddenly, and the watchers found themselves suddenly diving towards a Syskeyian F-16, flashes of tracer leading out from their viewpoint, impacting around the cockpit of the Falcon.
The image grew closer and closer, zooming in on the cockpit and the pilot within until all that could be seen was the look of despair on the pilot's face.
Skeggi had been watching the faces of the various better dressed officials, and smiled within his beard.
Those faces were now almost all watching the display fascinatedly as it moved into a segue of an other Locust, this time painted in the grey and white arctic camo manouvering back and forth, being joined by other types of aircraft.
Skeggi smiled again as one Admiral pumped a fist as a Kahawai strike fighter rolled away from a successful anti-shipping missile launch.
"Ah hae yae noo wee Pantae mon."

"Monsieur Ironback..." started one of the Treasury bureaucrats. "What is the price per unit we're talking about here?"

"And the expected lifespan for that matter." added a Defence bureaucrat.

"Which of these aircraft are suitable for carrier operations?" asked Lord First Admiral Phocas.

Syskeyia,

Those who start threads in NS and II have the option of requesting that certain people do not post in their threads. Those who frequent these forums have the obligation to obey those requests. The Moderators have the authority, and duty, to enforce those requests.

Now, you were not specifically told not to post when this thread started, however the utter vanishing of your post should have been a distinct hint that Britmattia did not desire your comments.

Instead of taking that hint, you have chosen to post again and threaten to keep posting until your questions are answered. I will tell you this exactly once: do not post in this thread again. You comments are, rather obviously, not welcome here. If you questions that just need to be answered, try telegram. Continued posting in here is spamming and you will be punished as appropriate. And since I believe you already have a warning against your nation, you should think long and hard before continuing this path.

Again, do not post here any more, not even to acknowledge this post. Your absence from this thread will be acknowledgment enough.

-The Most Glorious Hack
NationStates Game Moderator

OOC : O_o!

Skeggi, hands folded behind his back smiled pleasedly,
"Well, thae unit cost depends on thae aircraft in question, y'ken? It ranges frae aboot 11 million realms for the Karareas, up tae aboot 25 million for thae Faulkner, tae 700 million for thae Vorpal."
The dwarf paused and shrugged unhappily.
"Stealth is expensive y'ken."
He flicked one of the braids in his beard, look thoughtful.
"O'course unit cost is less for yae than oos, and wuld be lessened again by thae time we got tae producing yae yaer planes."
An other shrug.
"As fur service life, the designs are all recent, sae thurs nae built-in obsolescence, sae as much use as yae can wring oot ae'the airframes, depending on design it'd be 15 tae 20 years, depending on the complexity ae thae airframe in question."
Skeggi keyed a button on the hologram and the image changed from the rotation of aircraft to an aerial view of a flat-top carrier, deck crammed with aircraft painted in the grey/white arctic camouflage of the Kingdom.
"As yae can see Admiral, the Kahawai and Kararea were carrier aircraft in Kingdom service, the Locust was designed specifically for God's Own and they launch them frae conventional carriers. As frae thae Faulkner, it's nae a specific carrier aircraft, but that's easily solved, though it will make thae aircraft a wee bit more pricey."
Skeggi tugged on a thick blonde moustache.
"Other questions?"

"I make that.... 9.74 million ducats for the Karareas, 22.14 million for the Faulkner, and 620 million ducats for the Vorpal..." said the Treasury official with his calculator.

"Airspeed of each model? Operational range? Maximum payload? Mission profiles for each model?" asked a man in an airforce uniform. "And I assume you wouldn't be adverse to an initial purchase of a testing squadron for our test pilots to take out for a spin, before we decide whether to award the entire contract?"

o.o.c this probably looks a little weird to people, given as the last post is Panto asking a question, as an explanation the rest of the negotations were dealt with via irc and away from...well. the above. Anyway, this thread is being retroactively declared my general diplomacy one. Continue!


Kingdom Embassy to the Non-Democratic Alliance, Unity Island.

David Hendricks swirls the expensive cognac in his glass and smiles opaquely at his guest, who frowns back.
"So glad you could finally sign off on this old man, the Navy people have practically worn a hole in the carpet trekking up to ask if you were ah...ready, shall we put it, for the ships yet."
The other man grunts and shrugs. David's smile doesn't slip, Capitulus Bellorum-raised or not, he's as polished as any scion of House Birmingham. A swallow of that very good brandy, paid for by the very good wage the Kingdom pays him to sit in his expensive chair and solve problems someone with half the brains could do, suffices to soothe any irritation at the other man's intransigence.
Understandable intransigence, given how long this has taken to come to fruition. In the privacy of his own head David shrugs as he leans forward to scrawl a signature onto the sheet of paper between the two men, sealing it with his Academy ring. An officer's word is his bond after all.
He spins the paper round so the dotted line is at the black-clad man's end of the table.
That worthy pulls out a garish, swastika be-decked pen and signs, blowing the ink dry before finally a smile cracks in his features.
"Ah...You have no idea how useful these vessels will be for our campaign against the insurgents, up-to-date gear to patrol our coasts and keep the terrorist Yut pigs from the fatherland."
David nods equably. "Quite." is his only response before raising his glass. "A toast, to the Kingdom and the Reich."
"To the Reich and the Kingdom!"
"Indeed."

Some hours later.

David yawns, the yawn tasting sharply of brandy, leaning back in his chair, indulging in a joint-popping stretch, before leaning forward and tapping the send key on his console.
That done, he bestows a benevolent smile on the machine, stands up and wanders off to seek his bed.

Message Format: Report
Message Originator: O-7 HENDRICKS, D.
Direct To: O-11 BATHAME, V//O-11 EDINBURGH, A//O-12 WARWICK, O//L-1 WARWICK, A.

Text of Agreement Below:
Conditional to Iraqstanii adherence to D.M.Z principles, the following are transferred on a lend/lease agreement (details listed in financial report to follow) from Inactive Naval Reserve to Reich of Iraqstan Naval control:
- X Catastrophe Class Light Cruisers
- X Victory Class Battlecruisers
Also agreed upon were transferral to Iraqstani Aerospace Forces and continued supply of:
- X Mako Type Stellar Fighter Craft
- X Dragonfly Type Stellar Attack Craft

Brigadier General David Hendricks, Military Attache,
Kingdom of Britmattia Embassy to the Non-Democratic Alliance,
Royal Britmattian Army

Keranes Design Association Offices, Nova Tsarai Arcology, Twisting Coast, Continent Rusalka, Sahel AI, Sahel


"Good evening?"

"Sarya, it's Irény. I hope it's not too late?"

"Not for you! One moment - work work work, it never ends ... there. Okay, I'm with you."

"I've a question regarding the brief you farmed out to me."

"The dropship? Go ahead."

"You okay with going outside the Ascendancy for drive systems? Only you wanted VTOL capability, and I can't do that with fusion rockets."

"Uh ... sure, go ahead. Have you anyone in particular in mind?"

"I do. What's more, they're even allies."


Message To: Brondugan & Barnes Inc, Glasgow, Edinburgh Duchy, the Royal and Imperial Kingdom of Britmattia
Message Fr: Keranes Design Association, Nova Tsarai Arcology, Twisting Coast, Continent Rusalka, Sahel AI, Sahel System, the Greater Ascendancy of Tsaraine
Message Re:

Dear sirs,

As the founder and chief representative of the Keranes Design Association, I have the honour to approach your corporation regarding a potentially mutually profitable buisness arrangement.

KDA has recently been issued a brief for the development of an all-terrain dropship and interplanetary freight spacecraft, which shall one day hopefully be avaliable for purchase on the international market.

Regrettably, the drive system of choice for Tsarainese vessels, the Type One Antimagnetic Core, is proscribed for sale outside the Ascendancy by fiat of the Arkhreifiates of the Star Command and Air Command, who are naturally anxious to protect Tsarainese citizens by mantaining secrecy around certain technologies, such as the antimagnetic core.

As such, KDA has been forced to look abroad for suitable drive systems to fill the assigned brief, and I am pleased to say that your own corporation possesses technologies which would seem - given the information made avaliable - to be suitable.

In particular, we are interested in the B&BISD02-model drive system, which, if I am correct in my understanding, is suitable for a medium freighter of the mass specified (approximately 24,000 tons) and desired maximum acceleration (between 50 and 100 m/s^2).

Would it be possible, at some future date, to place a running order for drive systems of that class, to be installed during production of this vessel design?

Sincerely,

~ Irény Keranes
Founder and Chief Representative
Keranes Design Association

Duchy of Edinburgh, Brondugan and Barnes Testing Range.

Mostly, the Kingdom conducts it's heavy industry underground, power generation, smelting, manufacture, you name it, if it can be done, you do it under the surface.

However, there are some things you can't do below ground, no matter how much your dwarvish colleagues may grumble, so, Willy Barnes is standing in the middle of a airfield on the outskirts of Hamilton, thousands of kilometres from his office in Glasgow, watching a team of engineers fiddle with turbines mounted to a military powersuit when his toot makes a polite "beep!" inside his skull.
Ignoring the burst of shouting, and one, dwarven engineer shaking a spanner at a comrade in a distinctly un-comradely fashion, Willy dives into the innerspace-files to consider a reply.

Message To:Keranes Design Association
Message Fr: Brondugan & Barnes Inc.
Message Re:
Hail to thee Irény, who's message questions and I shall answer.
The engine system in question would be sufficient for your needs, especially as military designs inevitably include fail-safes and redundancies, which, given your status as a fellow N.D.A member, I can see little objection to fitting any units ear-marked for export to you.
So, with that taken into consideration, given a little lead time to re-tool large-scale production facilities, we can produce as many drives as you need, as quickly as you'd like, installation limited by how many trained technicians we at first could provide, and then presumably your own people would step into the breach as they upskilled.
In the hopes of a mutally profitable association,

William Barnes,
Chief Exectuive Officer
Brondugan & Barnes Incorporated

William finished his missive, floating back up his consciousness just in time to see the engineers who'd been grouped around the modified armour scatter as it's turbines spooled up to a scream before exploding with a resounding "BOOM!", sending the powersuit pinwheeling at least a hundred feet into the air, before the half-tonne armour dropped tumblingly into back the tarmac below.
"Hm. That's going to need work."

Message To: Brondugan & Barnes Inc, Glasgow, Edinburgh Duchy, the Royal and Imperial Kingdom of Britmattia
Message Fr: Keranes Design Association, Nova Tsarai Arcology, Twisting Coast, Continent Rusalka, Sahel AI, Sahel System, the Greater Ascendancy of Tsaraine
Message Re:

Kuirau esar Barnes,

Thank-you for your prompt reply; I had not expected a return missive so soon (isn't technology wonderful?).

It's very pleasing to hear that Brondugan & Barnes will be able to assist us - I should explain that, as KDA currently has no shipyards of it's own, we'll be relying upon the Star Command yards until that situation changes. We hope to design a relitavely modular vessel, capable of being produced in several different variants, which will serve to further enhance the ease of installation.

Thank-you again for your interest and that of your corporation; I shall contact you again once KDA has a prototype ready for installation - which will hopefully be in a few months.

Sincerely,

~ Irény Keranes
Founder and Chief Representative
Keranes Design Association


OOC: Ack, sucky. Ah well, 'tis good to get stuff written.

ooc wow, i sure do a lot of diplomatic stuff :rolleyes:

As always when Owen finds himself committed to a decision he doesn't like, the King of Men is brooding, in a kingly fashion of course, but brooding nonetheless.
He's slumped back on the basalt throne rasping his thumb along his jaw, every inch a King, and one about to do murder at that.
Of course, brood as he may, the undisputed ruler of the Nova system can't get away from his responsibilities, the throne room is busy with functionaries, citizens come to speak with the monarch, bodyguards and the few courtiers that tradition allows, all pressed together in the storey-filling throne room at the very spire of the CentGov tower, a kilometer of black stone stabbing into the sky above the transported city of Royesse.
Even as the King scowls down from his throne, lightning booms behind him, the inches-thick viewing window behind him swallowing the sound, but not the flash as petitioners quail under Owen's far-away but still burning gaze.
Still, scowl as he may, his people are Britmattians, sturdy souls to whom the mere displeasure of a King is only quelling for a moment or two.
"Your Majesty?" comes a voice from the crowd, and Owen returns to the present, a decision is reached, resolution made, and regret is washed away for good or ill.
"My subjects, I bid you welcome with regret in my heart, for I have just reached a decision impinging on our relations with our closest friends..."

Message Format: Diplomatic Missive
Message Originator: A//O WARWICK, O
Direct To: NDA{ALL},AXIS{ALL},MEDIA{APPROVED}

Pursuvant to the continued non-adherence to Article IV, Section II of the Griffin/Royesse/Caer Malant Axis by the Federation of Sentient Peoples and the Exalted Star Supremacy of Revenia, the Kingdom hereby utilises its' right to leave said Axis, effective immediately.
We chose to end our participation in the alliance on these grounds because of the ready willingness of both Revenia and F.S.P. to treat with those enemies of free men, Arda's Five Kingdoms.
The successors to Morgoth Bauglir are just that, his successors. E'er will they be tempted by ruthlessness cloaked by expediency and e'er will they be susceptible to treachery, rapaciousness and instability, whether on their own, or at some behest from their so-called 'former' master.
His Majesty's Government will not rush to their aide, civil war or no civil war.
This being said, relations with Caer Malant and Griffin remain amongst the Kingdom's highest priorities, but with the diplomatic recognition of the Five Kingdoms by both Revenia and Sentient Peoples, and the latter entity's tacit support of said Five Kingdoms in its' war with Automagfreek, the Kingdom feels it has no choice but to disavow the Axis, being as that any pretence to a unified international front would be just that.
We will still honour trading, training and security agreements made with both the F.S.P. and with Revenia, but we no longer consider ourselves formally bound to them diplomatically or militarily alliance-wise.

~ So Signed and Sealed in the name of the King, His Majesty Owen I

Executive Council Room, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

D’ron frowned as he read the hardcopy that was printed out in front of him, the same as was arranged in front of each of the members of his government that sat around the table, physically present for once. “Alright, ‘Nathan, talk to me.”

“Well, the under the treaty, each leader of an Axis member has the authority to do what Owen has just done.” The Minister of International Relations shrugged. “It’s usually considered to be nothing if not polite to at least discuss things before they reach this level of dissatisfaction with your allies, but it is not written anywhere that they must. If anything, the way this was approached makes it appear that the Britmattians were looking for a face saving way out of the Axis and ceased upon the first set of events which on the surface would fit the requirements.”

Nodding thoughtfully, D’ron glanced at John, the Minister of War. “What do you think?”

“Well,” the man began, thoughtfully setting his scarred hands on the table, “they seemed enthusiastic enough when we discussed the recent expansion plans for the ARIF, so I think this may be an honest reaction. Everything we’ve seen so far would indicate that the new Five Kingdoms government will hold little functional difference with many of the governments of the NDA, generally shifty and not precisely trustworthy, but not dangerous. The war to remove Morgoth from power effectively destroyed their threat to most other nations, and it will take them a long time to repair it, given the civil war they then underwent, and now this war with AMF. Arda is basically taken out of the geo-political equation for long time, especially from a security standpoint. Also, this will make it much easier to complete Third Fleet now.”

Steepling his fingers in front of him, the Imperial President sighed softly. “I suppose I had best make a statement.” He looked to Rebecca. “I’ll write my own speech, but hold off on releasing Owen’s statement to the media until I’m ready to immediately follow it.”

The woman, who today was wearing a rather sedate number of a peasant blouse and a knee-length, loose skirt, as she had no statements planned to be given, nodded her (today) golden head. “As you wish, Mister President.” The more formal mode of address was something he had yet to break her of, given that she was, in fact, the only member of the cabinet younger than him, though only by about seven weeks.

Already marshalling his thoughts in his head, D’ron waved his hand in a vague sort of dismissal. It was rare for actual face to face meetings to occur, given that flying out to Imperial House was rather an imposition, but sometimes the situation just called for it. The others left, Rebecca commenting to Currey as she walked out with him, “Bruce is going to be devastated when he hears about this.”

“Take him out to dinner and distract him tonight. I’m sure you can think of something.”

The door sealing cut off the giggles.

FPBO Broadcast, Immediately Following Repeated Statement by Owen

Office of the Imperial President, Imperial House, Griffin, Commonwealth of Sentient Peoples, FSP

When D’ron came into view, he was not, as he was normally, wearing his best formal blacks, inherited from the time of the Empire. He was dressed somewhat more casually, though he wore floor length cape and the Sword of the Commander on his belt. “People of the Federation, tonight I bring you sad tidings. Due to disagreements in the area of foreign policy, regarding the recent decision of this government and that of the Exalted Star Supremacy, to support the new government in the Five Kingdoms, the Kingdom of Britmattia has decided to dissolve the Axis, as is their right under the treaty.”

He turned to face the camera, frowning. “As you have just heard, His Royal Majesty cited the fourth article of the treaty as his reasoning, and he was correct to do so, though perhaps, he might have chosen a better way to go about it. Yes, the governments of the Axis nations were supposed to present a unified front in International Relations, but given that two thirds of those governments chose to support the new government of the Five Kingdoms means that the nation which failed to present a unified face was, in fact, Britmattia.” He smiles, and everyone watching can feel the understanding in that smile. “It was only proper of them to do so. We would not want people we consider worthy of being our allies to dishonor themselves and their beliefs.”

His smile turns a bit colder. “But unfortunately, the Britmattians have also failed to uphold the treaty. The same article and section which they cite continues on to state the Axis is supposed to support Stability and Peace, which the recognition by this government of the Five Kingdoms is an attempt to do. The current regime in the Five Kingdoms was an opponent, in the end, of Morgoth, just as all civilized peoples are an opponent of such limitless evil. His return absolutely cannot be permitted. The support for that same nation against the aggression of the Empire of Automagfreeks is just a further expression of that goal. Because of this, in order to actually permit the Britmattians to leave the Axis, under the terms of the treaty, the Federation will also move for the immediate dissolution of said organization. Our units in the Axis Rapid Intervention Force will, as soon as they receive this message, be under orders to begin immediate return to the Axis Base at Larissa for immediate debarkation of Britmattian personnel, then to proceed to the Apache System for immediate conversion back to Federation requirements.”

The cultured smile turns warm again, and D’ron’s hands move slightly, relaxing his body posture. “As His Majesty stated, though, this will not be the end of the friendship between the Kingdom and the Federation, at least not by our part.” The Imperial President nods to the people watching. “I apologize for interrupting your regularly scheduled nightly entertainments, but the responsibility of government is serve its people, and this was best. I bid you all goodnight.”

Outer Edge of Nova System, Some Days Later

The S.P.S. Democratic Peace blinked into existence as its FTL drive shut down precisely on schedule, depositing it some many lighthours from the star. It transmitted its identity and purpose immediately to System Command, and waited patiently for permission to continue to the capital planet of Britmattia.

It was quite number of hours later when it finally entered orbit, and a small shuttle, black with the Federation’s Stars and Sword stretched across its outer hull, detached, headed to the capital. On board was Fourth Ambassador Christopher Lebenzon, carrying a stripped down version of the Axis Treaty, with the Axis specific and alliance parts removed, relegating it to a trade agreement and an agreement to hold joint military operations.

His goal was to see if the Kingdom would back up its words with deeds and agree to sign it. He had no reason to suspect otherwise, nor did his superiors. But there was always that uncertainty until the deed was done.

Office of the High Chancellor, Caer Malant, Northfell

"They did WHAT!?"

Sero Relaren was famous for his icy cool. If one were to view him at this particular moment in time, one would be forced to wonder why. One would also fear for the structural integrity, as he was presently slamming his forehead into it...rather vigorously. And for all of his sword-blade slenderness, the High Chancellor of Revenia was a strong man.

Then he forced himself to relax, and the mask slid fully into place again. Calmness. He looked across the desk -- apparently unharmed -- into the face of Harm Coldfist, the second most influential, politically speaking, man in Revenia, and the much-feared Director of Intelligence.

"Alright. Severance is Go. No quarter."

Harm nodded, turned upon his heal, and left.

The Revenian Embassy, Royesse, Britmattia.

"GENTLEMEN! WE ARE LEAVING!"

Administrator Aeryn Vash had been on-station for only a few months. She hadn't much liked it, but it had been a bit of a prestige post. No longer.

In fact, it would no longer be a post at all in, she checked her watch, approximately five minutes. She ensured that she was the last person to board the Embassy's on-station assault shuttle -- painted a gleaming RDS white - then nodded to the pilot, who rammed the induction drive to full and sent his shuttle screaming skyward.

Approximately thirty seconds later, a series of controlled explosions vaporized the former Revenian embassy within Britmattia's capital city, the squat, bunker-like structure being reduced to so much dust. Pity.

But. Policy was Policy.

Onboard the AIS Maidhin Hill

"THEY DID WHAT!?"

Admiral Sir Algernon Kel lacked even the modicum of restraint that had been shown by the High Chancellor. He had been getting increasingly uncomfortable with the Britmattian presence -- their drone fighters, especially -- but...had managed to remain civil, thus far. Now...not so much.

"Fine. Fine. Severance? Very good. Len, you know what to do, yes?"

Colonel Len Orwell nodded sharply, saluted, then made his way from the Admiral's briefing room. This was going to...somewhat...unpleasant. But such things WERE necessary. He tapped his belt-comm and spoke clearly into the lapel mic.

"Control, this is Orwell. Severance B. I say again, Severance B."

The klaxons began to ring, the pattern of buzzes, beeps, and klangs, accompanied with the light-pattern, indicating a suit-drill. Pity. Very much a pity.

It would certainly be a surprise when the small handful of Britmattians onboard the Maidhin Hill and her sister ships were rounded up by battle armored SONAC troopers, faceless behind the gleaming faceplates of their Berserk Boarding Armor, then gently, but absolutely, manhandled onto a handful of Fleet Shuttles, which were promptly launched towards the Larissa Naval Base, wherein they would be handled much more...diplomatically.

Such things did not concern the Revenians who, despite their ARIF Insignia, had difficulty shaking the straightforward and direct traditions of their prior service. They were expected to kill, not to coddle.

That said, it was the explanation for the manner in which the Britmattians were treated -- the same way in which a Revenian whose loyalty had suddenly become questioned would be treated. In its own manner, and it was likely that the men and women of Britmattia who had served with Revenians would understand this, it was a mark of utmost respect: they were worthy of swift reaction, because they were possessed of the capability to do harm. This was something that Revenians did not attribute to everyone.

Moments later, the Revenian-commanded vessels of the Axis Rapid Intervention Force vanished, with all of the brilliance of a dying star. This was the first time that the jump-ships had proved their name, visibly, to others. The first jump had been from Nexus to Sol, and the exit from said jump was not nearly as impressive as the entrance...

Office of the Sector Administrator, Calirnevris, RSN Sol Station, Sol

Severance had not been his idea. In fact, he had strongly opposed it...primarily because he had seen the potential for fall-out. Though, to be honest with himself, it wasn't that his superiors hadn't seen the likely harm it would do, but rather that they did not care. Rel, however, had begun to adopt a more...Solar...approach to things.

Thus it was that it fell to him to perform what damage control he could.

--
TO: Britmattia, Kingdom Of, Proper Representatives Therof. (Copied to: FSP MoFA)
FROM: Sir Rel Markinson, Sector Administrator for Solar Affairs, Earl Hartford.
SUBJ: YOU COULD HAVE WON A NEW CAR!

Message Begins

By this time, news of the withdrawal of Revenian diplomatic personnel from Britmattia, as well as the removal of Britmattian nationals from the Revenian-commanded ARIF vessels has reached your ears. It is unfortunate that these actions must occur, but they are necessary.

It is understood that one may interpret these actions in many ways, but it is wished that they are interpreted in the correct manner: Britmattia no-longer holds Favored Nation status with the Star Supremacy. It no longer enjoys a status of Military Equivalency. Its nationals are no longer afforded protection under the Law of Revenia equivalent to our own. Britmattia now enjoys a status identical to that enjoyed by all Solar nations. All interaction will pass through the approved conduit, namely, the RDS offices onboard Calirnevris.

If this message seems disjointed, well, we remain a little shocked.

--RM

Message Ends.

Office of the Commander of Special Operations, Castle Starguard

Dysaryn Stark read the missive, and managed far more successfully than any of his other countrymen to remain calm. In fact, he merely nodded, shrugged, shook his head a little, then looked up from his screen to meet the eyes of his cousin.

"So? I'm not surprised. The Britmattians were never as...devoted...to the core concepts of the Axis...as the Federation and our own nation-mind were. If it wasn't this, it would be something else. Pity, but inevitable."

He rose from his desk, moved to the wall of his office, selected a sword from the wall, where it had previously been part of a decorative crest consisting of three swords crossed over a shield, then took that sword by hilt and blade and brought it swiftly down across his knee. Two swords remained. The third, now broken, was placed upon his desk for further contemplation.

Pity, indeed.

I don't mind if you try once in a while,
I don't mind if I cry once in a while,
The doors aren't shut as tight as they might seem,
I'm just trying to fight my way out of this dream.

--The Who, I Don't Even Know Myself

The Angsiyan was furious. Not so much because he had a political interest in the Axis, but because of the obvious ridiculousness of the Britmattian position, and the blatant and pervasive insinuations that Arda remained true to Morgoth's principles. Khusru Delabi, Althalon's liason man with Kit's Foreign Office, bore the unfortunate responsiblity of making his sovereign aware of the missive, who at the time was inspecting reconstruction of Kainking, in south central Rhûn.

His reply was immediate and severe; dispatched immediately by the Ardan Foreign Office upon receipt as ordered. Delabi was instructed to transmit the missive as an open one.



The Kingdom of Britmattia, before leaping to such irresponsible conclusions, ought first to examine the Ardan continent with its own eyes before condemning its inhabitants to the thoroughly insulting degree which it has. My continent lies largely in ruins, and millions of my countrymen have died in the hopes of expelling Morgoth from Arda: a hope that was finally realized.

There is no reason save prejudice availible to rationalize such an ignorant and exasperating decision. While Arda cannot rightly editorialize on your previous relations with the Federation or the Star Supremacy, I feel compelled to object strenuously to your slanderous allegations.

You claim we are "Enemies to Free Men," while we have paid an enormous price to free the world from a threat that sought to expand and envelop at all costs. What are your greatest feats in the name of freedom for men?

--Konrad Althalon

Owen stares down at the missive, lain on his desk by a grinning Erek Bathame, rubs his chin thoughtfully and speaks to the air, his face set in a grim smile.
"Well I'd imagine my people defeating our own version of Morgoth, rather than spending millenia mewling around his boots would count, but then I'm prejudiced. Perhaps I should be kinder to the Ardans, it can't be easy being a global stereotype of how not to rebel against a Dark Lord. Hmm. Actually, on balance no, I shouldn't. Bin this for me would you Erek?"
"Gladly sire."
The King watches his cousin trot from the room, then turns his attention back to important matters, like watching the Royesse Dragons hammer the Edinburgh Rangers rather spectacularly.

Meanwhile, the Federal representative finds his shuttle flanked all the way in from the system's edge by manned Hammerhead fighters, a distinct sign that whatever the circumstances of the Kingdom leaving the Axis, the Federation is still welcome in Nova, a non-favoured nation's escort would have been made up significantly less prestigious Nazgul dronecraft.
The shuttle is arrowed toward Nova V, settling down into the usual underground aerospace port, a military one cleared of all traffic and virtually empty except for the two-squad strong escort, Queen's Own Regiment troopers in blindingly white uniforms, crashing into a full, if limited in size, welcome.
The necessities accomplished, Lebenzon is hustled to the CentGov Spire and given the murmured assurance that someone would be with him shortly, leaving him to stare out over the disjointedly-medieval city below the Spire.

The Federation’s Fourth Ambassador was a rather large man, in a healthy way, the way all the government officials around the age of the Imperial President seemed to be. He was stocky, but only because his well muscled form was not very much above a fairly below average height.

In all honesty, Chris was short, compared to most Federation citizens, so the Kingdom’s Marines, even if short, probably still towered over him. He probably, on the other hand, looking like he could tear one of them in half, which was no more than a misrepresentation. He had absolutely no training for violence, but he was the sort of man who would keep a bar fight from happening, were he there – and not because he was a diplomat.

So it was probably a good thing that he eschewed the normal business attire of the Federation – a two piece suit – because it generally looks odd on someone who’s shoulder width can be measured as sixty percent of his height. Nor, on the other hand, did he feel like he was sufficiently high enough ranked to dress in the very casual manner of Second Ambassador Reynolds. His own style matched the other, slightly less business oriented style of formal wear in the Federation. He wore a dark green tunic jacket over a lighter green turtleneck, and charcoal grey slacks that matched the cape which hung from his shoulders.

Once he was left to wait, he calmly looked out over the city, not really seeing, and reached up, feeling the inner pocket of his jacket to reassure himself that the datapad was still there. Even after a number of years of alliance, direct transmission of data from one nation’s implants to another was not the best solution, especially given the recent failure of said alliance, assuming, of course, that the person who met him was high ranking enough to deal with and had implants.

Pressing on the wall slightly, clearly testing its strength, he smiled, and leans against it, the picture of calm, as he fully expects to met by a flunky who will take him to someone’s office. But then, this may be someone’s office. Unlikely, but possible.

As for testing the wall, well, all he will tell anyone is that he had a bad experience. And then he smiles.

"I'm almost certain the Spire won't fall down sir Ambassador, but if you've got to be sure, you've got to be sure I suppose."
The speaker smiles and extends a hand, callused and broad, almost at odds with the sense of lithe power he exudes, but at the same time oddly suitable to the look of its' owner's eyes.
Lebenzon recognises him of course, the tall, dark-haired and grey-eyed man in House Warwick dress Blues can only be one person, especially given, in contravention to the Kingdom norm, he towers nearly a foot over the broad shouldered diplomat and, even more in contravention to Kingdom norms, isn't visibly armed.

The handshake he offers is firm, but not a power-grip. Owen is King of Men, he exudes authority and presence and doesn't need any such games to take the measure of a man.
"It's a pleasure Ambassador Lebenzon. I'm sorry we had to meet under such circumstances, so I felt I'd handle the meeting myself, both as a mark of my immense respect for the federation, and its' administration, and to make sure my reasoning behind leaving the Axis reached you in as clear and unambiguous fashion as possible. After all, it was my decision, the buck, as they say, stops here."

He smiles again and, if Lebenzon is not already facing the window, ushers him to the solid-looking table next to it, the archaic-looking piece of furniture notable for the present of embedded holo-projection crystals at each place along its' length.
Owen, looking out at the city-lit night with some satisfaction, seats himself across from the Ambassador and cocks his head, expression thoughtful, hands clasped in front of him, doing his level best to not fiddle with the buttons on his shirt cuffs.

"I know it must have come as a shock and shocks tend to make people irritable, so, if the Federation has irritation to express, here is the moment for it. I give you my word it won't be held against you."
He smiles, leans back and makes a "Your turn." gesture.

During the handshake, Chris manages to make eye contact without seeming to tilt his head back, an impressive trick that he has no doubt acquired serving with many people taller than himself in the Federation. As for himself, he returns the handshake with what is a clearly measured grip, that like testing the wall, is apparently a habit required of a man who is well aware of his physical strength. Guided by the King, Lebenzon sits down opposite him, and listens calmly, without fidgeting. In fact, he might have been almost disturbingly still if not for the smile which slowly creeps across his face as the King speaks.

“In all honesty, your Majesty,” he replies after a brief pause to collect his thoughts, “the Federation is less irritated about the action than the manner in which it was performed. I realize that we’ve been rather quiet of late, ourselves, but the lack of any sort of warning or previous objection to our actions was seen, at the worst, as somewhat disrespectful. The reasons for which you broke away are perfectly valid, at least, your announced ones,” this leaves the possibility open with the hope there will be an expansion on the words Owen had previously and publicly spoken on the matter, “and as such, cause no irritation. In fact, the respect that garners you, that willingness to stand up for what you believe, despite our own disagreement with it, more than makes up for any insult your abrupt withdrawal made.”

The Fourth Ambassador smiles, clearly closing his end of the subject, and moves on. “But speaking of your statement, the Federation has sent me with the hope of formalizing the ties that the Kingdom wishes to keep between us.”

Owen taps his fingers together, considering.
"Something we welcome, sir Lebenzon. Your diplomatic credentials made reference to trade agreements and training exercises, both of which we welcome, however I feel that the language of my proclamation may have caused some confusion as to our exact intentions."
The King shrugs, looking a little guilty.
"Perhaps I should have been clearer. When I stated we were no long bound diplomatically or militarily alliance-wise I meant the Axis, specifically. It was never my intention to dissolve the bi-lateral portions of the Axis, merely to distance ourselves from its' whole. As far as I am concerned the Kingdom is still bound bi-laterally by those terms with the Federation. We did intend to also apply this policy with the Revenians, but, if I may be blunt, their response neatly crystallised why I chose to remove the Kingdom from the Axis."

Owen pauses, looking at the Ambassador thoughtfully for a moment.
"I know that clashes with my public reasoning, somewhat, but as I said in the proclamation, we were meant to be unified internationally in our attitudes. I felt we could no longer be so, so I ended any attempt to do so. I am quite cognizant of it being the Kingdom who were not up to this, and I acknowledge what your president said about this. It wasn't my intention to present it as being otherwise."

An other pause, the King snaps his fingers and a voice coming from nowhere in particular responds.
"Sire?"
"The usual. Anything for you Ambassador?"
Whatever Chris wants, or doesn't want, as the case may be, is provided by a white-enameled droid, trots into the room, the inhuman grace of the machine tempered by its' blank face plate. The Kingdom's engineers have encountered the Uncanny Valley and dealt with it by a clear separation between Robot and Droid.

After he receives his drink, Owen sips, smiles appreciatively and continues.
"So, I felt I couldn't maintain a unitary line of behaviour in light of the Federation's decision to get closer to the Five Kingdoms than I think is necessary, but my decision was also somewhat informed by the increasingly erratic behaviour the Revenians have displayed. I, and the Kingdom, tired of being treated as the junior partner in an alliance where economically and militarily we were ourselves at parity with you, and superior to Revenia, not even factoring in our relative levels of influence in international dealings. I refuse to have the Kingdom dragged down by laxness and instability when other options were available."
He frowns and takes an other sip.
"Frankly I am disappointed it turned out this way, but it was always my private suspicion it would. Now, my reasons are explained, so if you want to say precisely what the Federation feels itself willing to commit to with us now, I'll smile and sign whatever you put in front of me."
True to his word, the King does don a genuine smile with this last, once again yielding the table of discourse to Chris's agenda.

Chris calmly sips his requested water glass as Owen finishes up his remarks. “You are correct that your words prompted a misunderstanding in the Federation, and that is, in fact, the main reason for my presence.” He swirls the drink a bit. “On the other hand, it is just as well that I am here, for we,” and by that he means either the Federation, or the Federation and the Kingdom, “were rather lax in our formalities, and allowed the Axis treaty to substitute for the actual bi-lateral agreement that was supposed to exist between us.” Apparently both.

Another sip. “In all honesty, I came to formalize something of a trade relationship such as the one the Federation maintains with the Dominion, but your words give me hope, and will no doubt bring relief to the President. He was distressed at the thought of losing a valuable friend and ally.” The Fourth Ambassador shrugs. “I’m not authorized to negotiate a treaty of alliance, and I’m loath to awaken the President at,” his voice trails off very briefly as he consults an internal chronometer to convert time between Nova and Earth, “two in the morning in Griffin.”

Another shrug. “From what it sounds like, though, if the Axis treaty were to be edited to encompass two nations instead of three, and certain elements, such as the joint forces agreement and the offending Article Four Section Two removed, we would have, at least, a place to start?”

He declines to comment on the Revenia issue at all. His job title, after all, proclaims him to be a diplomat.

Owen swirls the remainder of his drink round in the tumbler, looking at the tawny liquid thoughtfully.
"That would be an excellent start Ambassador, honestly, with the exception of my already mentioned concerns, the Axis treaty was an excellent document. Were you to present me with it, modified as you say, I would have little issue with signing it anew."
The King drains the rest of his whiskey, laying the glass back on the table, then absently toying with it as he thinks.
"Huh. For now, I think that will do actually, unless you have anything you wish to add? If not, we'll adjourn so you may consult with Griffin and your President. I have no desire to stampede you after all."
If Chris has nothing further to add, the King will conduct him to a shuttlepad for quick transport to the Federation's embassy, resuming the discussions at his earliest convenience.

When the two men return to the shuttle pad, the Eagle-class Diplomatic shuttle that brought the Fourth Ambassador down from orbit is still there. As is their custom, the crew of the shuttle has remained aboard, and will stay so, the shuttle unmoving, unless they are specifically requested to come out by their passenger. Or their hosts take great issue with it.

The accommodations in the sixteen meter long shuttle are more than enough for the three crew and any passengers. Lebenzon, on the other hand, has no intention of spending the night aboard. He knows the President, if given a choice, will stay in bed for another six hours, and it is unlikely anyone would be awake in Royesse then – including Chris. He uses the shuttle’s systems, tied into TacNet with an actual communications array instead of the standard black box transmitter which is all most Federation small craft have, to send a message home. It is safe to say that D’ron will receive the message and reply well before it has to be dealt with again here.

Retiring to the offered rooms, Lebenzon works on the treaty, counting on a positive response from the President to cause him not to be wasting the couple of hours it takes to make his revisions, and then heads to sleep, well before local midnight.