NationStates Jolt Archive

The rain pattered onto the runway, the lights lit up in the darkness of the Hogsweatian night. Chatter filled the radio. Another trio of planes took into the sky, flying off for another night's patrol on the shores. Doubltess they would find nothing. In the second runway, two strategic bombers where taxi-ing and preparing to shut down in the hangar. It was a mostly military airport, with a few B747's and B777's, but aside from that it was filled with helicopters and planes that bore the red star, yellow outline, of the Hogsweatian Army. Several soldiers, their overcoats soaking with rain and the thin precipitation bouncing off their helmets, lit up a cigarette each with their rifles slung over their backs in typical guard fashion.

At about 11 PM, the foreign planes began to arrive...

Queen Catherine ni Fiona settled back in the luxurious chair aboard Farinor One. The sidhe was breathtakingly beautiful, even by the superhuman standards of her race, with a literally radiant visage and long red hair like waves of flame. Her shine was silver over alabaster skin. She tucked her red hair behind her long, elegantly pointed ears self-consciously as the plane landed in Hogsweat.

As the plane taxied to a stop, Catherine rose and needlessly smoothed out her gossamer gown of crimson with silver lining. Fiona, of course, had no fear but she was still somewhat concerned about this meeting. Hogsweat was a nation currently involved in a war it started needlessly and one which organized its social life on principles fundamentally contrary to those held dear by the Danaan High Kingdom. If anything was a test of the High Queen's open diplomacy policy, this was. Still, it was a challenge Catherine was prepared to meet as she began to disembark from the plane. In the doorway, she spent a long moment staring blankly at the bare pavement below the stairs.

An attendant saw the Queen waiting to be led out of the engaged plane, and as he saw the beautiful Resurgent Queen, the man bowed and stood the side.

"Your Excellency, Queen Catherine Fiona of The Resurgent Dream, I presume? Welcome, your Highness, to Hogsweat. May I escort you through security?"

The man spoke elegantly. The respect he held for the Queen was evident in his tone.

The old Mk. IV Paladin executive VTOL capable passenger aircraft’s stubby form barrelled through the pouring clouds, made a banking manoeuvre while slowing then neatly folded its wings upwards as its jets pivoted downwards and vectored thrusters along its body flared into action. The aircraft in a wash of steam from the now superheated rain on the airports runway slowly hissed to landing at the end of the its designated runway and began to taxi towards the bulk of the airport. It was a privately owned air craft its sides emblazoned with a ZMI air reg number that showed it had been retrofitted with an in city magnetic link drive that would while it was in Megacity confines allow it to act like any other air car.

The cabin was illuminated by recessed now low dimmed decorative light fixtures, its only inhabitant a middle aged man. Carl Burthel was a single 43 year old executive on a five year sabbatical from company duty.

He watched the rain slowly drip down the window on his right as his butler and body guard Hugh Paterson (32, bald and terrible at chess with a prosthetic right arm) came in from the cockpit a control headset still looped over one ear.

“Sir we have arrived.”

“Jolly good Hugh brake out the great coats would you?”

“Of course sir” Hugh replied as he neatly stowed the headset and went about shutting the aircraft down.

Carl got up and went to the back section of the aircraft which had been converted from passenger space for his own use. As well as storing the bulky magnetic link drive and a large galley and sleeping compartments it also stowed his personnel drone a brand new Govshin mark 33, its shiny copper spherical hued hide hooked into its charger. Hearing Hugh begin to unpack things further back he activated the little sphere and smiled as its lights blinked a reply. Named Cuthbert of all things the drone amongst other menial tasks could deploy a decent sized golf umbrella.

“Sir your coat” Hugh said, Carl sighed, “Hugh how many years have I asked you not to move so damn quietly when you come up behind me?” “12 sir” said the butler a badly hidden grin on his face. Sighing again Carl took the proffered coat and the dinky spherical little drone following them they made their way down onto the runway locking and alarming the aircraft behind them. After a few seconds the drone made its way between both men and neatly unfolded its umbrella.

“Welcome to the wonderful nation of Hogsweat I suppose sir” Hugh said under his breath as they took in the dreary surrounds. Hugh checked his arm once and then made his way towards the nearest guard to ask directions to the terminal.

Catherine smiled lightly, the man's obvious respect making up for the fact that he rather butchered her title. "Close enough..." she said gently as she stepped down to join the attendant. "I would be most pleased at the escort." she added.

"Then follow me, your Majesty." Once the Queen had stepped down from the stairs, he made a gesture for her to follow him and he walked down a hallway with pictures of Hogsweatian Aviation on. They reached the first terminal, a scanning section with an armed guard.

"Your passport, Madam?" He asked sternly, the submachine gun hanging losely from his belt.

--------

The Guard saluted as what he assumed as foreign officials stepped up to him.
"Sirs, that way, if you please. This is the first of one of three security terminals." The Guard pointed over to another guard behind a desk, and as the ZMI Officials stepped up to the desk, he said.
"Your passports, please, sirs."

Catherine followed the man, stopping at the guard as instructed. She arched a brow rather incredulously at the man, her aura flaring in a chilly and unconsciously intimidating manner, like silver fire. She looked confusedly towards the attendant and then back towards the guard. "I beg your pardon...?"

Hugh reached into his coat and slid out two active flimsies onto the guards desk. There surfaces now exposed to even the dim rainy light in the airport they would now endlessly repeat his and Carl’s passport data. Unlike ordinary active ZMI flimsies the thick mass of an odd shaped data cartridge lay attached to its top. It was an exactly replicate of the ID cartridge buried somewhere in each of their bodies on its surface a dozen ID numbers and holograms flashed in the airports lights. He then held out his hand and stared at Cuthburt for a moment. The drone ejected a neatly printed still slightly warm plastic card from a slot, its I.D. read out.

Carl on the other hand was looking around at the jaw dropping woman at another pass port desk in the nearly empty and décor filled airports terminal hall having it seems some trouble with the Guards. Her face looked familiar, Carl was sure he had seen it somewhere. Hugh looked over at her as the guard started to check the passports then glanced back at where his employers gaze rested. “ Her majesty Queen Catherine Fiona of The Resurgent Dream sir” Carl visibly blanched and muttered “Good Grief”.

The Guard gave the Queen a funny look, and said slowly..

"You need a passport to enter here, ma'am.."

The attendent spoke;

"Her Majesty, Queen Fiona of The Resurgent Dream" The attendant bowed again graciously, catching the Guard by surprise. Several seconds later, keeping the surprised look on his face, he bowed too, as elegantly.

"Your majesty, of course. My deepest apologies. You may continue." The Guard punched in some commands and started talking on the phone.

"Let's go, then." The Attendant continued down the ornate hallway, passing the second terminal and then the third, the gun cameras swivelling from side to side robotically searching for a target.

Soon, the Queen and the Attendant where in a huge room, several corridors leading away into it and nearly a squad of armed guards milling around. At this time of night there were no other tourists.

"Come this way, your Majesty."
As the Queen followed the attendent through the left corridor, into a sign marked Qlurubf eiin, or, in English, waiting room, the soldiers stood to attention if the Queen passed them and bowed in a fashion that could be easily mistaken as patronising had they not been warned by the Guard at the first terminal.

The Attendant opened the door, and inside was a room with some very-comfortable looking sofas, a widescreen plasma TV, a very nice view of the countryside, and a phone.

"Someone will be here to meet you soon, your highness. Thank you." The Attendant bowed a final time.

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

"Alright, your clear to pass. Continue down this corridor, and then take your left in the big room. Thank you for visiting the Soviet Union, and I hope you have a good stay in your chosen locale."

"Just of Farinor, actually..." she corrected gently as she moved past. She inclined her head politely to the bowing guards. She had heard Hogsweat's war with the Scandinavians had started over a diplomatic insult. If nothing else, she had to admit they weren't hypocrites. They certainly tried to avoid insulting foreign states themselves. True, there were about a dozen technical points where, by ancient sidhe law, she could have considered herself mortally offended but...the intent was clear.

She nodded to the attendant as he left her in the rather comfortable room. "Thank you, kindly."

Smiling, she settled gracefully on the couch, crossing her legs with unconscious elegance. She reached for the remote, flipping through the channels on the television.

Channel 1
Fighting is still raging in Karnobayl, as our forces battle with the Kriegos scum continues. Kriegos losses are estimated at some 35,000 soldiers, while our brave troops have calculated minute losses of only 150 men! The Capitalist dogs Ilek Vaad and Tiburon, the opressor nations, are accusing our government of using Napalm and Gases to destroy the Kriegos but this is untrue - our grand army has no need for these weapons to win our wars!

In other news, healthcare has improved 250% and education has improved 370% percent in the last year! Glory to our Soviet Union!

The man on the screen fades out, as the national anthem plays and the Hammer and Sickle fades onto the screen momentarily as the next program begun, a documentary about Capitalism and it's Evils...

Hugh slid the passports back into his coat pocket while the drone finished drying off its umbrella and stowed it behind them. Picking up his bags, he being steadily followed by Carl made his way past the lines of gun cameras to the large room. Staring at the odd legend emblazoned upon the door for a moment Hugh turned to Carl. “Sir I think were here”.

Carl stared at the door for a moment before responding “So we are Hugh, I will have to get Cuthburt to print you off a phrase book” saying that he opened the door and began to enter the room the sounds of a TV coming from within.

Catherine watched the television with interest and a certain degree of horror. She kept her expression tightly controlled. Once the documentary started, she flipped the channels, seeing what else the Hogsweatians watch in addition to such news.

It hit the runway at seven hundred kilometers per hour, which perhaps was not wise, and which was the reason most Weyrean craft preffered not to land on them. That it didn't actually touch the runway, but rather angled up and began repulsing backwards to brake was nothing strange, at least for a Weyrean craft. That it had dozens of barcodes at strategic places on its hull was also a common feature, at least where a craft employed across two different prefectures and at times loaned to several agencies was concerned. The only ones of note among them were the mountain, sun, and three stars of the Kingdom and the ouroborous of The Tower. That the craft belonged to Weyrik Skyways was a moot point. The company had about as much clout among Weyrean corporations and Phyles as the person of import to this story it carried.

It landed on its designated runway, a somewhat charred, sleek craft with stubby wings that were at that moment fully folded into the peachpit hull, and taxied to its destination.

Kira decided to beat fate -- she picked a country already at war. This way she wouldn't find herself in the middle of a war zone, as had happened at Lethislavania. The Service offered a bit of cash in return for some diplomatic shindig. Alchemists didn't get paid -- maybe when she'd finally get a certification, she'd get a job with a real firm, and repay the money she owed Fiona, and maybe find a place that didn't regularly stink of refuse, and stop leeching from public matter compilers funded by the Neo-Alicians....

"Attention passengers. You are now in Soviet Hogsweat. Please be advised that Weyrik Skyways takes no responsibility for any problems you may have during entry. This craft will enter autopurge in thirty minutes. Thank you," the cool, mechanical voice announced as she finally got off the plane.

Is there a fucking terminal, or ticket check, or... Weyrean airports didn't have customs. A state that was not a state didn't need things like security, not when the transport company could take care of it. Kira pulled a stray crimson strand of hair out of her eyes and back behind a long, somewhat pointed ear, and decided to follow the crowd. There'd probably be problems with the customs people over her uniform (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v485/Weyr/char-mustang.jpg).

Carl pushed the door open, then stopped in mid stride. Hugh neatly for all his training was carrying three pieces of synth leather luggage. The ensuing calamity left Carl buried under 23 pairs of socks (grey) a bottle of mouthwash happily spilling over his hat and the floor.

“Oh sir I’m terribly sorry! Oh your majesty we must have the wrong room terribly sorry ”said Hugh as he dropped the one remaining piece of hand baggage and dithered trying to clean the mess up, bow and help Carl of the floor all at the same time. Carl stood up pushing Hugh’s help away and reached up and gingerly removed the now near empty bottle of mouthwash from atop his hat.

Speaking in his deep voice he removed his hat and dripping minty green freshness and bowed.

“Your majesty terribly sorry to intrude upon you, I’m sure the locals gave us incorrect directions”

Catherine laughed and shook her head. "We are all here for the same thing, aren't we? Diplomacy with Hogsweat? Do come in and have a seat. I was just watching the local television. Rather...martial...to be sure."