NationStates Jolt Archive

Corporate Cathedral - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - Orion Sector

http://67.18.37.14/129/44/upload/p158.jpg

Emperor Dave Bivens smiled as he looked up from his desk. The sunlight emerging from his window reflected off the glass which his desk was entirely composed of. For months, most of the planet of Bivens, named for his ancestors, had been shrouded in think clouds. Now, as winter was passing, the clouds were as well, letting the light warm the dreary capital. The young Emperor hoped that spring would soon arrive, and that this wasn’t merely the weather teasing them once again, getting their hopes up only to make fools of them all.

The Corporate Cathedral was a building, a city, and an ideal all molded into one. On Bivens, money was god. Wealthy men were praised, and the pursuit of wealth itself equaled the pursuit of happiness. While capitalism drove most of the Empire, Bivens was, and always had been, the most extreme example throughout the Orion Sector.

The Cathedral itself, a splendid mix of ancient architecture and futuristic technology, was the home and office of the Governor of Bivens and the CEO/President of Bivens Inc., a corporation which manufactured and produced, without overstating, nearly everything. In addition, the Governor and the President were in fact the same man, ruling the planet-protectorate and running the corporation at the same time.

The Civil War, ended for only over a year now, had changed this formula a bit. From it, the young Governor of Bivens, and not Steel Butterfly as usual, had emerged as the new Emperor. Not only that, but due to Steel Butterfly’s destruction during the last months of the war, the Imperial Capital had to be moved for the first time in history off the planet of Steel Butterfly. Naturally, Bivens and the Corporate Cathedral accepted the title with open arms.

It was for this reason that the city of Corporate Cathedral, once the capital of Bivens and now the capital for the entire Empire, was now buzzing with activity. Diplomats, Ambassadors, Merchants, Soldiers, and all other sorts of people littered the streets and the skies, most ignorant to the fact that the sun had returned as they raced along with their usual lives.

Not Bivens, however. The Emperor made sure he took the time to notice, to realize the full extent of his newfound Empire. The intensity and complexity of it consumed him at times, as did the challenge of restoring an Empire, and a people, torn in two. The peace was shaky, patched together by excellent efforts on his part, and Bivens intended on it staying that way. He wasn’t, however, ignorant enough to believe that one small act couldn’t act as a catalyst to yet another war, and for that reason he was always on his toes, always double checking his words before and as he gave them.

“You sent for me, sir?” a voice asked, shaking the young Emperor from his self-reflection. Bivens turned from the window, stood, and saluted the man before him in return. General Jack “Lionheart” Valkare was a war hero twice over, and Emperor Bivens was eternally grateful for his contributions and leadership during the Civil War. When piecing the remnants of the Empire back together following the Imperial surrender, and the victory of the resistance which they all had led, Bivens could not think of any other man more worthy of protecting the Empire. General Valkare had fought tirelessly to bring the Empire back to its former glory during the war, and Bivens knew he would not stop now that the physical battles had ended.

“Time to dig the old dress uniform out of the closet, Jack,” Emperor Bivens said with a smile. General Valkare cringed. It was bad enough that he had to wear formal wear during his day to day job. The dress uniform was above and beyond the call of duty.

“Tying the knot, sir?” Valkare asked, joking. Bivens frowned in reply. The Emperor’s relationship had been strained as of late, with too much politics and not enough time spent together. That’s what he got, he told himself, for falling in love with the sister of a leader who he was on less than friendly terms with.

“No, General,” Bivens replied, calling Valkare by his title and not his first name as a way of asserting his authority. “We’re going to be having a party.”

“And I need my dress uniform for that?” Jack whined. “Couldn’t I just bring the vodka this time, sir?”

“Shut up, Jack,” Bivens said, trying to suppress a laugh as he shook his head. “It’s for the Trium. I’m inviting them to a conference with a party as the backdrop. The leaders or representatives will be with us, and we’ll provide entertainment for the others they bring along.”

“Are you sure you want to do that, sir?” General Valkare asked as another man made his way into the office. “Invite the Yutties here?”

“The invitations have already been sent out,” Dr. Julian Rane said, sitting down beside the General and crossing his legs so that his right ankle rested on his left knee. He slyly smiled at the both of them. “...and I know you weren’t just questioning his judgment, General.” Dr. Rane was a jack of all trades, it seemed. Throughout his life, he had been a lawyer, a judge, ambassador to the Order of the Seraphim, and a field agent for an intelligence bureau. It was due to the failure of the third, not his failure though, and the success of the last, that he got his current job: Director of Imperial Intelligence.

“The fact is, boys,” Bivens said, looking at both of them. “We need allies...now more than ever.”

“You didn’t apply...” General Valkare began, but the Emperor cut him off with a simple glare.

“Right now,” Bivens explained. “I’m merely trying to get rid of enemies. Granted the Triumvirate of Yut is neither...but their sphere of influence is unquestionably enormous. It could not hurt for us to come to good terms with them.”

“I...” Valkare said, thinking out loud. “It just seems like an underhanded attempt to get the Order...”

“I honestly don’t care,” Bivens replied as the tone of the room grew darker. Both Rane and Valkare instinctively sat up straighter in their chairs. An explanation wasn’t needed. The Order of the Seraphim had abandoned them during the Civil War, instead supporting a regime which in turn supported corruption and genocide. The race threatened was humanity, and that put nearly everyone in danger. It was understandable that Bivens was a tad bitter.

“What about the machines?” Valkare asked. Artificial Intelligence was perhaps the most illegal thing throughout the sector. Not even the black markets dared to venture into this dangerous category. Long ago, machines had started a war that nearly wiped out all other life. Since then, all electronic sentience had been outlawed and banned from even entering the borders of the Sector. Bivens shook his head. Why were they, the humans, threatened with extinction so often in Orion? First the Machina War...then the Civil War...

“Dr. Rane will be taking care of it,” Bivens explained. “Measures will be taken...the machines will be allowed but contained.”

“You’re really going out of your way for this, sir,” Valkare noted.

“Friends are important, Jack,” The young Emperor replied, speaking about topics broader than simply the Trium and the Empire. Both men nodded in response, then at Bivens’ unspoken command, stood, saluted, and left.

They would be arriving tomorrow if they so wished to, Bivens thought to himself as he walked back to the window. The clouds had parted even more, with even more light raining down upon the city...his city. He was the leader of an Empire that was now merely a shell of the powerful force it once was. Still, he was a leader, an Emperor none the less, and he needed to be recognized as such.

http://67.18.37.14/129/44/upload/p357.jpg
Emperor Dave Bivens
Emperor of the Orion Sector
President/CEO of Bivens Co.

http://67.18.37.15/237/117/upload/p640690.jpg
General Jack "Lionheart" Valkare
Commander of the Imperial Military

http://67.18.37.15/237/117/upload/p654531.jpg
Dr. Julian Rane
Imperial Director of Intelligence

[...and for those who don't like avatars every post, don't worry, I won't post them again]

Diplomatic Corps HQ, Arpia - Reploid Productions

"The Steel Empire is inviting Trium nations to a party and diplomatic hoedown?" Secretary of Foreign Affairs Tsume Dragonis taps one metallic talon on the table as he regards the missive that had filtered its way through the Diplomatic Corps. "I can't say I'm terribly comfortable with the idea of sending anyone, let alone anyone of importance to such a gathering. Didn't they recently pull out of a state of civil unrest?"

"That's what intel shows, sir." Storm Skypeace, generic DipCorps lackey, responds. "But intel also implies that they are also somewhat... dissatisfied... with the Order. Perhaps this could be an opportunity to improve the Triumvirate's overall public relations, even if nothing comes of the meeting."

"Who do you suggest we send then? This meeting is to be held someplace well outside Sol, I would not be willing to send a diplomatic vessel that distance into an area recently recovered from civil war. At least not without some escort." Tsume studies the report.

"It can't hurt to inquire as to how large a military escort would be acceptable, and we've got one comparitively disposable delegate who has been itching to get out for some action since Nathicana's coronation." Storm flips through a DipCorps roster.

"The corona-... oh." Tsume looks confused for a moment before he realizes what Storm means. "Do you think that's really a good idea? I still think some people call Alkanphel the 'Can Opener' after that lunatic's last outing."

"Yes, I am aware. But that one is our best option, I think. Not too terribly high ranking in the Corps, but still able to represent the Shogunate. And I took care to personally scold that lunatic after the coronation. Thankfully that didn't turn into an international incident." Storm crosses his arms in thought. "I don't think he is likely to screw up. That one is odd, but not really a screwup."

"Alright then, I'll leave it to you to make the arrangements then." Tsume nods once and exits the room.

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic
To: Emperor Dave Bivens et all
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Tsume Dragonis - Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Reploid Productions

Greetings! We have received an invitation to a diplomatic gathering you are to host in the near future, and are interested in sending a Shogunate Diplomatic Corps delegate. Unfortunately, we are understandably hesitant to send an unarmed diplomatic vessel from Sol to the Orion Sector, given relatively recent unrests and the usual threats of pirates and other hostiles to be encountered over such a distance. We would like to send a small detachment of warships from the Fourth Fleet to escort the vessel safely to and from the gathering, and we would like to clear this, as it is not our space to fly warships through without so much as a "by your leave". The detachment ideally will consist of the following vessels:

1 Minerva class ship: Morphin
2 Shogunate class ships: Ceiphied and Vorfied
2 Archangel class carriers: Ra Cailum and Ra Gusta
2 Tenmou class battleships: Lohengrin and Kaefer Zwei
3 Shinken class battleships: Arc Brass, Diem Wind and Swightflange


Please let me know if you have any concerns or questions in regards to the detachment or any other matters regarding our attendance.

http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/CGgoods/tsume5.JPG
~Tsume Dragonis
~Secretary of Foreign Affairs
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>

((OOC: I'm not big on warfare stuff, so unless attacked or it's otherwise plotted out, my ships will remain perfectly well behaved. S'kinda a small escort compared to my fleets, actually. ^_^))

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/executive_apartments.jpg
The Executive Apartments
Stonozka, Titan

The silver-haired man turns from looking out his office's picture window onto the Art Deco cityscape of the Scolopendran capital, hands folded behind his back as he studies the faces of his assembled ministers. "So, people, what're we thinking?"

"Friendly intel-sharing indicates that the Shogunate is already arranging for protection," Garbo, the Intelligence Advisor, offers, looking particularly nonchalant as he leans against the doorframe to Speaker-Rrit's office, hands lightly folded in his pockets in his practiced attitude. "I'll admit, this is one of the few times you aren't going to see me being overly paranoid concerning these once-enemies who now want to be our dear, dear friends... SIGINT captures pretty much prove that the Order backed the wrong side, and that's pissed off the current ruling body. The Order's also suffering from a lot of command-and-control issues, and it looks like the current regime in the Butterfly is thinking of possibly taking advantage of that. Sagesquagmire redux, if you will."

"That was fun," Razak mutters, "even if we were only watching on the sidelines. Lance?"

Foot-to-Ass Advisor Hawke frowns slightly, standing soldly in a crisp parade rest--old habits die hard to this ex-lieutenant general. "I'm currently coordinating with Advisor Garbo and the CINCTYCS concerning any... protection we want to employ through what is admittedly an unstable region. We'll see what success the Shogunate has before we put in our own bid."

"Or," the much shorter Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq counters, tilting her head in a slightly regal yet not quite haughty fashion, "we could simply use the Shogunate escort as our own. I'm sure that our hosts are not exactly looking forward to having several battlefleets in orbit... the more we can put them at ease, the better position we have to address them unoffensively, like equals."

The PseudoEmperor nods slowly, turning his grey eyes to his International Relations Advisor. "As much as I'm a man in the tradition of good General Hawke here--always speak from behind the big stick--Speek's drilled it into my brain that such isn't always appropriate. So, Nadjiba, who do you have for us to send? Speeks is out for the moment, meaning I have to stay here to mind the shop."

"I could go," Abd-al-Haqq offers.

"You could, yes..." Razak thinks slightly, then shakes his head with a smirk. "Thing is I need someone to counterbalance my asshole quotient here when it comes to diplomacy. Hesche is a good diplomat but a bit too mischievious to keep me walking the straight-and-narrow."

"He is our senior Diplomatic Officer, and well capable of taking care of himself," Nadjiba replies. "He's also untasked at the moment. Shall we send him?"

Julius nods firmly, jaw slightly tight with his usual commanding air. "Yes, he's our best choice for the moment. If we don't botch this one, we can get leader-to-leader face time later. Just be sure to apologize that Speeks can't make it this time."

"Don't worry," the International Relations Advisor says with a cool smile, "I'll make sure no feathers are ruffled."

"Sooo...we're not going, are we?"

"You didn't marry an idiot, Tarvi. Although sometimes I wonder if I did. OW!" Gregor rubs his head. "You know, in some places or times smacking an emperor would get you impaled."

"I can think of something I wouldn't mind getting impaled on." Salacious lear.

"How do I ever get anything done? Tarvi, focus! This is serious!" Although Gregor had to admit to himself he wasn't sure how serious. Yes, this little overature could lead to something of military and political importance. On the other hand, it could be some poor attempt at infiltration or to provocation to hostilities. Thankfully, he was interrupted by the palace EI informing him that Lord Alton was finally returning his call. "It's about time, Theo."

"Research takes time, my lord. It's hardly my fault we deal with these people so little. Half of what we have here is what Special Circumstances has deemed worth regurgitating," replies the older man.

Gregor waves it aside. "Whatever."

"Well, we think that they're at least reasonably sincere. I would suggest that someone with reasonably high rank be sent. We don't want to insult them until we want to do it on purpose." On the project screen, Alton directs a pointed stare towards Tarvi.

Gregor nods. "Who else is being sent?"

Alton shifts on his chair a bit and coughs. "Um. Well, at this point most of the Trium hasn't responded yet..."

"Lord Alton..."

"Um. Well, the Scolopendrans are sending Diplomatic Officer Hesche. And Arpia is dispatching an, um, eager young reploid from their DipCorps. I, ah, believe you met at Imperatrice Nathicana's coronation."

Gregor and Tarvi look at each other, then back at Alton as the third man continues, "I was thinking that perhaps the King-Dowager might be a good choice. It would add a bit more senority to the delegation and -"

Gregor cuts him off. "No, my father isn't going off to some Order nation." He then grins. "However, you're quite correct. We do need at least one senior goverment member going along. How soon can you pack?"

"Ah, your majesty, I really don't think that-"

"No, no, no." Gregor's grin broadens. "You're always stuck in that office of yours. You deserve a trip. I insist."

Alton nods stiffly. "By your command, my lord. If you will excuse me, I must...pack, and inform Steel Butterfly that I will be attending." Gregor and Tarvi barely manage to contain their laughter long enough for the connection to be cut. When he can breath again a few minutes later, Gregor says, "Now, where were we before all this interrupted?"

"I think you were about to carry me back to our suite and ravish me."

Gregor chews his lip. "No, no, I'm pretty sure that's not right."

"Yes, it is."

"Ah, hear we go. We need to talk with your parents and my father about Ivan's birthday." This time, Gregor manages to duck before a pillow passes through the air where his head had been.

(OOC: Just to clarify, Lord Alton is the First Speaker of the State Directorate, a position roughly the same as the US Secretary of State in terms of prestige and power.)

Corporate Cathedral - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - Orion Sector

"The Reploids wish to send a warship detachment," Dr. Julian Rane announced, bursting into the Imperial Office. He was one of three men with permission to enter and leave as they so pleased, and Rane often took advantage of his privilege. General Valkare and Emperor Bivens were already in the office, seated in their usual seats. Rane chucked; they hardly ever met like this...and here they were...twice in one day.

“Reploids?” Valkare asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like a child’s toy...”

“Oh that’s perfect, Jack,” Bivens replied, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you hand out batteries to them as they walk through the door as well.”

“I’m just saying...” Valkare began in his defense before Rane cut him off.

“Don’t you have something to shoot?” the Director of Intelligence asked, a sly grin spreading across his face. The General and he had a relatively constant rivalry that both worked tirelessly to keep up.

“Don’t you have someone to lie to?” Valkare asked in return. Rane poured himself a drink and sat down.

“That’s why I talk to you two,” he replied, crossing his legs again as he always did. The Emperor rolled his eyes.

“So we’re still not trusted?” Bivens asked, frowning. He expected that, but it still was upsetting.

“Well considering the former Empire’s ties to the Order and the fact that there are still parts of the sector we have not re-established control in...” Rane explained. “But really, the Reploids at least, just fear the journey.”

“Former ties to the Order?” Valkare asked, glaring at the Director. It was true, Bivens told himself, Rane had been in contact with the Order...but it was merely to maintain the peace...nothing more. Rane and the Emperor both brushed off the comment.

“Could we deal with the warships, General?” Emperor Bivens asked. Valkare pressed his lips together tightly as he thought.

“You know we’re undermanned...not enough ships...not enough marines to run the ships,” Valkare said. Both men nodded. That was the price a nation paid for killing each other for two straight years. Looking back, Bivens thought, two years hardly seemed like a long time. Still, that only made it worse in his opinion. So many had died...so much was destroyed...

“Yes or no, Jack,” Bivens persisted.

“We can do it,” Valkare replied, although he was obviously unhappy about it. This would take people and ships away from the rebuilding process, wasting time that Valkare didn’t want wasted. There was no need to bring this up to the Emperor, for Bivens knew this as much as any of them, but Valkare did seem to care more. To a man who’s Emperor for life, time has little value. “Who else?”

“Scolopendra and Cetaganda have replied,” Rane remarked. “Sending mid-level diplomats as expected...make us feel important...but not too important. Personally I’m interested in the party more than the meeting.”

“What a great thing for the Intelligence Director to say,” General Valkare said, shaking his head.

“Send a reply to the Shogunate,” The Emperor instructed. “Tell them their ships are allowed, although they’re going to have to keep them powered down once they enter the system. We’ll escort them in.”

“And the party?” Rane asked, saluting and standing to leave.

“It’ll be basic,” Bivens explained. “Dancing...eating...pointless chatter. The scenery will be what grabs them. I’m holding it in Akrev.” The Akrev Center was an extravagant ballroom designed specifically for this purpose. Designed by Bivens’ father, the former Governor never had the chance to see it completed. Now, it waited in all its glory for a chance just like this one. “I’ll make it quite formal. We need to make a good impression.”

“Might want to keep Julian away from the Dread Lady then,” Valkare winked. “I hear she looks rather smashing all dressed up.” Rane rolled his eyes.

“Like they’d send one of their leaders,” he laughed. “Besides...I prefer women will a little less intelligence,” Rane said with a grin as he exited the office. Julian Rane, the master of deception, had been known to lie his way into many a pair of female pants.

Bivens stared at the painting on his domed ceiling. He’d have to keep these two apart...or at least keep them busy.

A short, indefinably ugly man leans back in his chair to stretch before bringing his full attention to the men opposite him. "Sorry, long day. Go on."

"Majesty, the new Emperor of Steel Butterfly has invited members of the Triumvirate to attend some sort of event at their new capital city." Mark Tennenbaum made an entry in his datapad. "We have the coordinates, and we're given to understand that several of our allies have already confirmed."

"I remember seeing it. Well, we certainly don't want to be left out in representation. I'm not sure I can free up my schedule for it, though."

"Sir, I think it would be unwise for you make a personal appearance, particularly not in the heart of a nation allied to an organisation that has demonstrated hostile attitudes toward the Triumvirate," Ben Vitner interjected. "We've made discrete enquiries toward Steel Butterfly in the past and have been rebuffed. The fact that they're now trying to make nice with the Triumvirate doesn't excuse their past behaviour or their current allegiances. We need more intelligence before we can assess the threat they present."

Treznor shakes his head slowly. "They just finished a bloody civil war, and they're literally under new management. But," he adds quickly to forestall Ben's rebuttle. "I agree they represent an unknown quantity. And you're right about the fact that we need more intelligence."

"What do you suggest, Majesty?" Mark asks solicitously.

"Obviously, we need our best people on the job. That means Grant."

Ben nods slowly. "I agree. Grant's team is precisely what we need."

"Sir, Ambassador Grant is still on assignment." Mark pauses and swallows slowly. "He's...also very vocal about his opinions regarding space travel. He doesn't handle it well."

"Too bad," Treznor snaps. "He goes where we need him, and I say we need him for this. Your Ministry has other diplomats; reassign him. And, as usual, make sure you coordinate with Ben's people. They'll need all the help they can get."

Ben smirks slightly. "I'm sure even Garbo won't object to sharing resources on this one."

"Go ahead and ask him, but you know how he feels about me. I know he's got more people tucked away in the Empire than he's admitting to, even after that little coup they squashed."

"I'll be on my best behaviour, I promise."

"All right. What's next?"

High Council Hall, Meridia City, Sneaky B

"Hrmm. This is quite a suprise, I must say." Chairman Julian Kimsey finished reading over his copy of the invitation that had made its way to his desk. "Some of our friends have accepted the invitation and are sending representatives, correct?"

"Yes, sir. A few have so far, with the Shogunate being the first. I take it you're interested in sending one of our own representatives out as well?" asked Secretary of Foreign Affairs Asami Tsukada, sitting in one of the chairs opposite from the Chairman.

Chairmain Kimsey nodded slowly. "I believe its a good opportunity to get out and establish new diplomatic relations with another government, which we need to do more of. We can't keep hiding in our shell forever, afraid to interact with someone new. Isolationism will only take us so far."

"I can honestly say I'm not too thrilled about this. Y'know, them just recently coming out of a state of civil war and their association with the Order. The people in charge of running the place may have changed, but it makes me wonder whether or not their attitude towards the Trium has changed. Call me paranoid or whatever." Secretary of Defense Ayane Kojima shook her slightly, looking over at the Chairman from her seat next to Asami.

"I thought about that myself when I first read that invitation. I don't believe they would have set this all up if they still had dislike for Trium, though." the Chairman replied. "However, keeping your concerns in mind, I won't be asking you or Asami here to go as our representatives. Instead, Asami, I'd like you to handle assigning someone as our representative."

Asami nodded and turned on the datapad she was holding in her lap, opening up a list. "I already have someone in mind for the job. I believe we have one problem though, sir. This gathering is taking place outside of the solar system and we presently lack any faster than light technology on our ships."

"It'll be taken care of. I'll check with our FTL capable friends that are going to this party and see if they can take our representative with them." Chairman Kimsey turned his attention back to Ayane. "Ayane, I'll leave the assignment of a small security detail to you, but I'd like to recommend someone to go along with them. I'll have them contact you sometime later today."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, unless there's anything else we need to discuss, this meeting is finished. I'll see both of you later after my meeting with high council."

Both Asami and Ayane nodded as they stood up to leave, quietly making their way out of the Chairman's office to make the arrangements. Chairman Kimsey turned to his computer and began working on a response to the invitation and travel arrangements.

Capital Spire
Khenala Prime, Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala
Ring of Powerfulness, Sector 7868

"I must reiterate, brother, that I am firmly against any type of diplomatic ties with any nation that is a signatory to the Order. I was against them when Sagesquagmire applied, and I am against them now. This 'overture' is nothing less than a Sketchian trick."

Prime Minister Andrew Seal sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing the ridges of his nose. They had been debating this subject for hours ever since the invitation from Steel Butterfly came through to his office, and he was quite tired. He reached to pour himself another glass of water, and found that his pitcher was empty. He sighed again.

"James, I understand your concern. I must say again that I have many of the same concerns. But there are several issues here we need to address. The first, and foremost issue, is that for the past several months we have been extremely isolationist. We have had very little diplomatic contact with other nations, even our allies. Our only contact has been through the Council of Yut, and by isolating ourselves from the rest of the system we jeopardize any influence or respect we might have even there."

He stood and walked across the room, gazing out through the window at the now darkening sky and looking out at the massive metropolis of Khenala Prime below. He silently filled his pitcher with fresh water from a dispenser, collecting himself while letting James stew on his words for a moment. His silence on the matter confirmed what he already knew, James agreed.

Returning to his desk and pouring another glass, he sat down. "Second, while I truly believe that establishing ties with a friend of Sketch will only invite a repeat of the tragedy that occured before, I have reason to doubt that this new government in Steel Butterfly can truly be considered one."

James nodded. "True, intel shows the Civil War didn't exactly further relations between them. But still, how do we know it isnt a trick?"

"We don't.", Andrew conceded. "But the only way to confirm such is to interact with them, and gauge their intentions. The Scolopendrans, Reploids, and Cetagandans have already tenatively agreed to send diplomats, as I'm led to believe. If we simply choose to ignore this invitiation, then we have no leverage or experience with which to argue against relations, should it come to a Council vote."

He took a drink from his glass, letting the water slide down his throat. It was quite refreshing, and prepared him better for what he was about to say. "I have made my decision. I will reply to this invitation, and we will send someone to attend."

"Very well, brother, I yield to your judgement. Have you decided on who to send?"

"Yes.", Andrew replied.

James blinked, and sat in silence for a moment. When no reply was forthcoming, he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short.

"I have decided to send you."

"Me?" James blinked again.

"You are Foreign Minister. Matters of international diplomacy are your realm of expertise, are they not?"

"Of course, but don't you feel I will be biased against them? I've already made clear my opinions. In your place, I would not send me."

"I need someone who can give me a recommendation on whether relations with Steel Butterfly would be wise for the Commonwealth. Due to their status in the Order and their history of relations with Sketch, this matter is far too important for a junior diplomat. I need someone who I know can be frank with them, and address any concerns we might have. You may be biased, yes, but I know that you can set those biases aside and deal with them in a rational manner, in the interests of international relations."

For James, it was no longer a matter of personal desire to go, it was a matter of pride and ego. "Very well, I will attend. I will conduct myself as I always do, with a rational mind, but I still have strong reservations against this meeting and I will express such."

"I know you will. But do try and be civil. This meeting is important."

- - - - -

=<Transmission Type: Diplomatic Communique>=
=<Destination: Emperor Dave Bivens, Planet Bivens, Steel Empire, Orion Sector>=
=<Origin: Prime Minister Andrew Seal, Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala, Ring of Powerfulness>=
=<Subject: Formal Response to Diplomatic Invitiation>=

Greetings, Emperor Bivens:

On behalf of the government of the Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala, we thank you for the invitation to the diplomatic meeting you so graciously sent. As a member of the Triumvirate of Yut, we value peaceful and fruitful diploamtic relations with other nations and welcome the opportunity to learn more about your Empire.

I would be most delighted to send my brother, and Khenalian Foreign Minister, James Seal to attend on behalf of the Imperial Commonweatlh. James has been in service to the Commonwealth for many years, and has years of experience in dealing with and establishing ties with other nations.

If this is acceptable to you, we will arrange for transport to the Orion Sector after coordinating with fellow Triumvirate governments.

Sincerely yours,

http://www.fumetsu.net/ns/andrew_ns.jpg
Prime Minister Andrew Seal
Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Khenala)
=<End Transmission>=

Diplomatic Corps HQ, Arpia - Reploid Productions

"Well, we've received word that the ships are allowed, but once in-system them need to fly powered down under their escort." Storm reviews the latest. "And Scolopendra, Treznor, Sneaky Bastards, Khenala, and Cetaganda have replied thus far to the invitation. I imagine Sneaky Bastards will probably be requesting if our ships can take their diplomats since they lack FTL capable ships still."

"I see. Reasonable enough a request, given it is their territory and our reasoning for the ships is the journey, not them." Tsume bobs his head in acknowledgement of the news. "Has anyone else requested to send escorts with their diplomats?"

"Not that I can tell, sir." Storm flips through the printout. "Folks are probably waiting to see how our request was handled."

"Still, the big stick isn't always the best form of diplomacy. It might be prudent to invite our Trium counterparts to hitch a ride with us. I imagine Emperor Bivens doesn't want a warship escort with every diplomat coming- that would easily amount to more than an entire fleet's worth of ships hanging around. But since we've been given permission, it would be poor form to refuse a similiar request by one of our allies." The black dragon paces the meeting room, talons muffled by the plush carpeting. "So let us circumvent the issue entirely. Send a confirmation that the terms of our escort are acceptable, and also send a message to the Trium regarding the diplomats. Morphin should have enough suites for most, if not all, of the Trium delegation."

"On it, sir."

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic
To: Emperor Bivens et all
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Tsume Dragonis - Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Reploid Productions

Thank you for permitting our escort. Your terms for their presence are more than reasonable. Our diplomats will be underway as soon as we have coordinated with our fellow Triumvirate governments.

~Tsume Dragonis
~Secretary of Foreign Affairs
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>

ALTIMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic
To: Trium member nations
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Storm Skypeace - DipCorps

As you are all aware, we have all been invited to the Orion Sector for a diplomatic gathering. The Shogunate requested to bring an escort of ten warships (one of which is the diplomatic carrier Morphin). This request has been granted on the condition that the ships be powered down in-system. Tsume has suggested it be in the interests of everyone involved if the entire Triumvirate delegation "hitched a ride" with us, rather than inundate Emperor Bivens with escort requests. I have been instructed to extend this invitation to our counterparts within the Trium.

~Storm Skypeace
~Diplomatic Corps Officer
~Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions
<End Transmission>

TSMIT Broadcaster
Encryption: Triumvirate Standard
Broadcast type: Diplomatic
To: Triumvirate Council
Return transmission band: Open
IDENT: Mark Tennenbaum - Treznor

We thank Storm Skypeace for this generous offer, and would normally accept it gladly. However, given the sensitive nature of the event in question, my Emperor has stated that he prefers to "not put all our eggs in the same basket." We will be sending an unarmed craft to transport our diplomats.

Mark Tennenbaum
Treznor Minister of Foreign Affairs
<end transmission>

Corporate Cathedral - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - Orion Sector

Dr. Julian Rane was far wealthier than even his exalted position would suggest. Jobs and investments had proven far more than worthwhile for the Director, and Rane would never truly have to worry about money. Nevertheless, he chose to. He could have left for retirement years ago, but he chose to stay as well. Success is what drove him to succeed, a never-ending cycle in which he simply became wealthier and more powerful with each passing day. While his peak in power had been all but reached, as he was second only to the Emperor, the peak in wealth was non-existent, elusive.

The Orion Sector was a place full of economic divides, and yet the divides themselves were hardly clear. The distribution of wealth throughout the sector was in the shape of a bell-curve. Most were of average income, which in the Empire was far greater than the average elsewhere. Still, there were always the extremes of society with those literally poorer than dirt, as their value was less than that of good potting soil, and those beyond wealthy. Rane knew both of these extremes personally.

The Director of Intelligence grew up poor, and when he alluded to this he made sure to add that he was truly poor. As both an intelligence agent and a diplomat, Rane had seen too many advanced societies where being “poor” simply meant that you spent your money on illegal drugs instead of on food for your family. While “poor” kids across the universe shot each other for a momentary chemical escape, Rane and his childhood friends scrounged for worn shoes and scraps of bread. Still, all poor kids die the same...alone.

One would think that the fact that Rane was the only one of his group of friends still alive, much less successful in life, would give the Director a certain respect for life itself. This was only a half-truth. Rane, long ago, realized that he only respected life worth respecting. As an agent, Rane has been the dealer of death, disregarding the lives of others on a monthly basis. Still, he had whole-heartedly believed that his leaders were doing what was right.

Little did he know that not only was life not merely black or white, but that black and white did not even exist on the spectrum. All of life was grey; all decisions he made could be taken either way. Still, the decisions had to be made, and Rane had to be the one to make them. Now, he was the one who made the choice as to whose life was worth respecting and whose wasn’t. It was a convenient position for a man who served death daily now from behind a desk, as opposed to monthly before from behind a firearm.

The Shogunate of Reploid Productions had accepted their criteria for sending a support fleet along with their diplomats, Rane realized, looking over the transmissions in the system. He pointed to what seemed to be nothing in the middle of the air with his middle finger and pressed a button that seemingly wasn’t there. Nevertheless, a screen popped up, thanks to the advanced holographic technology throughout the Empire, and Rane stopped for a moment to stare at the file of Tsume Dragonis, the Shogunate’s Secretary of Foreign Affairs. He wondered if Reploids needed any sort of special accommodations, realizing that so far they were unprepared for non-humanoid. His pondering also led him to wonder what other forms of non-humanoid life would be present at the party and the meeting.

Khenala was sending their Foreign Minister, Rane also noted, looking through the many transmissions as he relaxed, drink in hand. A smile crossed his face at the thought of that many important people all gathered in Orion. The party would be flawless, he told himself. Such things usually were uneventful, minus the emergence of an avid dancer or a new couple. The meeting is where he held his concern. What kind of questions would they ask? What kind of answers would they expect?

Rane wondered if the Empire’s ban on Electronic Intelligence would be brought up. Could the machines currently used be considered slaves? Rane wasn’t sure. Machines with minds were only in history books for him and everyone else within the sector. Such evils had been vanquished long ago. The new regime, however, had fought the civil war on the basis of avoiding and stopping genocide, something that the Triumvirate often did themselves. The difference was, Rane told himself, that they had fought for their own survival, while the Triumvirate had fought for the survival of others.

Unsure as to who was more honorable, Rane closed his eyes to rest. He desperately needed sleep, and yet sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford to take. Still, he needed to look his best for the party and meeting tomorrow night, and he hardly looked very appealing with large bags under his eyes. Perhaps a quick nap wouldn’t hurt, he mused, finishing off his drink and setting the glass down on the desk before him. It was a struggle simply to keep his eyes open as he squirmed in the chair a bit, trying to get comfortable. Perhaps...

Core
Distributed below the surfaces of Rhea, Mars, and several unnamed planets

S.H.O.D.A.N. steeples her fingers, grey constructs that are no more than figments of her imagination and firmed through self-delusion--simply a harmless remnant of madness, and in the end only a way of defining oneself. So the Orions are looking to mend fences?

Coppery lips twitch slightly in a bemused chuckle. And, of course, once again, I have to deal with someone already biased against me. The chuckle quietly slides into a snicker as she shakes her head, body language known only to herself and reflected absolutely nowhere in any of her physical nodes, neither server bank, nor starship avatar, nor humaniform avatar. The last person like that I managed to turn into family. All I have to do is behave.

Almost without thinking, the Gestalt immediately apportions herself to meet new directives formed by her united consciousness; one node prepares a response to Skyraider accepting the offer of transportation while three more debate the usefulness for alerting Emperor Bivens as to her coming. While they may not like mechatronic intelligence, they will certainly be expecting it, due to the Reploids if nothing else. A humaniform avatar, stocked up to code, is self-sufficient and would not require any sort of special needs... as that would defeat the purpose of the avatar, which makes it easy for the average organic population to speak to and deal with a quietly massive entity like S.H.O.D.A.N..

Finally, she decides against alerting, except perhaps as having herself listed as a liason in the Shogunate staff under the name "Sentient H.O.D.A. Network."

The Gestalt allows herself another twitch of a smile concerning this, simply one of many thousand simultaneous trains of thought. My mischievousness wins again.

{Secure YutLink Communications; m8 (Diplomatic) Security Protocols}
x Lord Theodore Alton (First Speaker; State Directorate, IUoCetaganda)
o Storm Skypeace (DipCorps; ISaAToReploid Productions)
o CC: Other Trium Diplomatic Sections

Thank you for your generous offer. It would be my pleasure to travel aboard Morphin. I look forward to meeting the Shogunate's representative and those being sent by other Triumvirate nations.

First Speaker Lord Theodore Alton
State Directorate, Imperial Union of Cetaganda

"So what do you think?" Emperor Gorrm looked ascance with one eye at Bosska, while keeping te other on the message from the Butterfly, and the Reploids. "A trap?"

Bosska cups his chin in his hand, and grumbles. 'Always a possibility. They ARE just coming out of a civil conflict, and apparently have been cast into a bad light within the Order. Of course, that could all have been staged." He paces around in front of the Emperor's table for a time. "I'd hazard that this isn't a trap, but could become one quite quickly."

"Agreed. But if we send someone, who would we send?" Gorrm continues eyeballing Bosska at this.

"I won't be available. If what the comm-feeds coming in are showing, i'm going to be quite busy very soon in this system." A datapad is thrust in the EMperor's direction. He takes a few moments to look over the scrolling feed before letting out a low, long rumble. "Indeed. The First-general and the First-Admiral would also be poor choices. But that leaves few i'd trust to this."

"There's always your youngest hatch-mate. She's been to a few functions and diplomatic conferences, so she has SOME experience under the belt. She may also be disarming enough to get some quality info."

A long moment passes before Gorrm nods his head in assent. "So be it. Have her briefed on the mission in Guaah City in Sol, where she's currently statioined, yes? Yes. And send a comm to the Reploids that she'll be 'hitching' a ride along with one escort. Have Seargent Graak from my personal guard do this. And inform the Butterfly of this as well."

"At once, Sire." Bosska turns on his clawed toes to send out the appropo comms to both parties, and then sends out the messages to the Reploids and Steel Butterfly.

=<Transmission Type: Diplomatic Communique>=
=<Destination: Storm Skypeace, Diplomatic Corps, The Immortal Shogunate and Affiliated Territories of Reploid Productions>=
=<Origin: Foreign Minister James Seal, Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala, Ring of Powerfulness>=
=<Subject: Diplomatic Transport Offer>=

Officer Skypeace:

On behalf of the Imperial Commonwealth, we thank you for the extension of your offer of transport to the Orion Sector for the diplomatic meeting in the Star Empire of Steel Butterfly. As we also feel it would be ill conductive to diplomatic relationship efforts to flood the Steel Empire with requests for transport (more often than not on a military vessel), we also accept the offer you have so generously provided.

As Khenalian Foreign Minister, I will be attending myself, and look forward to meeting my Triumvirate counterparts aboard the Morphin.

Regards,

http://www.fumetsu.net/ns/james_ns.jpg

Foreign Minister James Seal
Imperial Commonwealth of Khenala

=<End Transmission>=

Confirmations are quickly sent out, and those coming with the Shogunate delegation are duly informed where the Minerva class carrier Morphin was stationed to pick up her guests. The ships assigned to the escort are pulled from regular Fourth Fleet duty and prepared for the trip.

On board the Morphin, another sort of briefing was in progress.

"Skyraider-" Storm begins, pacing in front of the two people before him. The shorter one is obviously a reploid (http://rpstudios.ian-justman.com/junk/CGgoods/Morphin-inprog2.JPG), presumably female given the styling of the light armor and the "cape" on its back with a slight semblance of pixie wings. Her optics, styled to look like organic eyes, sparkle with a sort of youthful enthusiasm as she stands at attention before the senior DipCorps officer. The taller one is similiarly eager, but perhaps a bit more strange. A casual glance at Skyraider's face does not make it clear the fellow's gender. One can infer that though, from looking at the navy blue business suit and the short, slicked back black hair. The only thing one might notice odd about the ensemble are the seemingly slightly oversized, polished black boots peeking from the bottoms of the crisply pressed slacks.

"Please, Patrick Keankai for now." Skyraider interrupts. "It's more 'normal' sounding than Skyraider."

Storm pauses with a sigh. "Alright. Patrick, you and Morphin here are tasked with a very important job. Triumvirate relations have been extremely cool at best with the Steel Empire, largely because of that nation's ties to the Order of the Seraphim. I don't need to elaborate on why that matters- you both already should know."

"Because the Order, to quote Zeroel-niichan, 'is a bunch of warmongering savages who quite possibly are compensating for multiple shortcomings in their biological assemblies!'" Morphin beams.

Storm's eyes widen slightly at the EI's description, having not thought Zeroel the sort to make that sort of an assement. "Well, that's one way of putting it. In any event, the Empire has recently recovered from a particularly bad civil war. Probably comprable in scope if not scale to our own Dividing War. The current government seems to be quite cool toward the Order, as our intel shows that the Order supported the guys that ultimately lost. So obviously, there's a touch of bad blood."

"And the Order hates the Triumvirate for some assinine reason, and the Empire doesn't like the Order..." Patrick surmises. "So this Bivens fellow is trying to make nice with us. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' philosophy, right?"

Storm nods, glad that the decidedly strange DipCorps officer is taking the assignment seriously. "The Empire also has a history of not being particularly keen on EI. Apparently they had problems in the past with such and took the ARC solution of simply eliminating the source of the conflict. So Morphin, you are to be on your best behavior. I know that this is your first real assignment, but I believe you are quite capable of handling this."

"Understood! No glomping, pouncing, hugging, or hyperactive behavior, sir!" The EI of the ship mock-salutes.

"Good. Now you, Sk-... Patrick." Storm turns his attention to the fellow in the suit. "I know you have.... quirks... but please remember the importance of this meeting. I would appreciate it if you keep your.... interests... to yourself. Especially on board ship with your fellow representatives. Morphin, you have my permission to take exceptional measures if anybody complains."

Patrick slumps slightly under Storm's gaze. "Yessir. I won't botch this up. I still think there could have been a real breakthrough in Ardan relations at the coronation though."

"If he misbehaves, I'll lock him in his suite." Morphin nods.

"If it comes to that, I can entertain myself easily enough." Patrick retorts.

"Alright, both of you. Morphin, here's a roster of who will be coming aboard. Please ensure that you have two suites prepared for Sakkran passengers." Storm hands over a small data disc to the reploid.

"Not a problem." Morphin accepts the disc. "See you when we get back, Storm-san!"

Corporate Cathedral - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - Orion Sector

“Why are you here?”

“They sent me.”

“What are you doing?”

“What I always do...”

“Why?”

“Because I was told to...because I have to...”

“We can’t have anything happen...not here...not now...” Valkare pleaded. The man in sunglasses nodded.

“I promise you...I was just arriving. Nothing more, nothing less,” The man replied.

“This needs to be flawless,” The General explained.

“I can assure you that it will be,” the man said with a smile. “and after all...I’d know.” The man turned, his black trench coat flowing behind him, and left the office of the General.

Valkare breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut, yet he was still uneasy. The man was from another place, and the word place itself could mean so many things. Still, the General trusted him in his promise. Nothing would interfere with the party. Valkare merely wondered what else was going wrong in the sector. The man in sunglasses rarely showed his face, but when he did it was never for a good reason.

The name on the man’s identification was Joseph Johnson, but the man had many different identifications, something “impossible” within the Empire. Mr. Johnson “was” a travel agent, and the man in sunglasses could give lengthy speeches on vacation plans across all sorts of galaxies. He probably had visited them anyhow. The man was also a Marine Captain, a jewelry salesman, as well as other covers that he could switch in and switch out of as quickly as he changed his clothes. His name was Alec Caine, yet Valkare wasn’t quiet sure if that was his real name or not. Caine was more Dr. Rane’s business than his, and the Director of Intelligence was less than forthcoming about his information for obvious reasons.

Sitting in front of a multitude of holographic screens seemingly floating in air, Valkare realized that he had three main concerns. One was the matter of the foreign warships. His under-stocked and under-manned military was quickly recovering from the slaughters of war, and yet they were far below what Valkare wanted them to be. The shipyards were spitting out ships as fast as they could, and he was very happy with what Sky Marshalls Adrikov and Zephyr had been able to do, but still this assignment would draw on both of their resources. After much self-debating, Valkare had chosen Adrikov’s fleet as the one who would escort the foreigners inside of the sector. Zephyr was often a little too...confrontational.

The second problem he faced was that of Zero-One and Reploid. S.H.O.D.A.N. represented all of the evils that their ancestors had fought so hard against. Getting certain locals to be polite would be a stretch...but then again most of Valkare’s job was forcing others to do what he wanted them to do. To be honest, he was a little weary of them himself. Still, the other part of Valkare’s job was being with people he often didn’t appreciate, and so far he had done a rather splendid job at it.

The third, and most obvious problem, was sector and party security. With Adrikov’s best ships with the foreigners, and the elite marines guarding the doors, windows, and the rest of the Akrev facility, there was even more of a shortage than usual. Pirates weren’t much of a problem anymore, but there were always those unwanted guests who found out about the party half way through. Valkare feared an arrival of Order ships. It wasn’t their technology, or their tactics, or even their numbers that worried him. It was simply the thought of being on opposing sides of an organization which Valkare still stoutly agreed with.

To him, this party was like sleeping with the enemy. While it would most likely be a good time, it was still forbidden. While Bivens’ new Empire was no longer with the Order, to him it was still treachery.

Corporate Cathedral - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - Orion Sector

Dr. Julian Rane woke from his nap with a start, sitting upright in his chair and knocking his empty glass onto the floor. Luckily, the plush carpet absorbed and cushioned the fall, avoiding any unnecessary mess. Momentarily disoriented, Rane gazed up at the man before him prior to quickly opening his eyes wide and sitting up straight at the realization of who that man was.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Emperor Bivens said softly. The Director of Intelligence pressed his eyelids together as tight as he could as he stretched his arms out to the side.

“I didn’t meant to leave my door unlocked,” Rane grumbled in reply, not caring about his tone of voice in this late hour. He glanced at the clock. It had only been three hours since he fell asleep, hardly enough rest.

“You didn’t leave it unlocked,” Bivens beamed in response, chuckling to himself. The level of respect required, while necessary, grew dull every now and then. To get far within the Empire, a man needed the balls to tell the Emperor the truth but the brains to know when to keep it to himself. Rane, a former diplomat, was particularly good at this, and Bivens loved him for it, even if he knew that Rane probably just didn’t know what he was saying at this moment. “Luckily I have this thing called the master code. You’d be surprised how often it comes in handy.”

“Sneaking into people’s bedrooms while they’re sleeping?” Rane asked, rubbing his eyes and wiping his mouth.

“Of course,” The young Emperor replied, rolling his eyes. “My favorite pastime. Besides...this isn’t your bedroom, it’s your office.”

“It’s good at multitasking...”

“...and it’s owned by the state,” Bivens said, grinning. “Which means it’s owned by me...which means I can enter if I want.”

“Technically, sir,” Rane replied, washing his face in his sink. He looked up at the mirror, running his hands through his hair. “My bedroom is owned by you as well.”

“I’ll take that as an invite,” Bivens joked. Rane smiled, shaking his head.

“More relationship troubles I assume?” Rane shot back, laughing to himself. Bivens threw his hands into the air.

“You know in some places you could be killed for saying that to the Emperor,” The Emperor responded.

“Guess I’m lucky that I live here,” Rane said.

“No you’re lucky that I need you,” Bivens laughed. “Otherwise you’d be done.” There was a long pause before Bivens began speaking again, this time, much quieter and more serious. “You know that my predecessor applied to the Triumvirate in his early years, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Rane replied. “And he was rejected because of his ties with the Global Dominion of Dictators Against Democracy wasn’t he?”

“Heh,” Bivens mused. “Yes, that was it. The good old GDODAD. Still, the GDODAD was Emperor Graav’s lovechild...not Emperor Nemerov’s. Nemerov knew the Empire could be so much greater than that...he just got tied up in his own vices.”

“I wouldn’t feel too bad for him,” Rane shook his head. “Considering the war we just fought because of him...”

“I just wonder why a half century ago all of Orion wanted in the Trium,” Bivens explained. “And now so many of them are upset that we’re having this party even.”

“Just a difference of opinion,” Rane said. “And considering the fact that half of them fought against you only a little over a year ago...I’d say that only a difference of opinion is a blessing.”

“Why the animosity?” The Emperor asked. “Why does it have to be that way between the Order and the Trium?”

“Oh lots of reasons,” Rane continued. “Natural competition, envy, Sketch...why does it have to be this way between us and the Order?”

“They betrayed us, Julian, us, the people of the Empire” Bivens said, his voice rising in tone. “The evidence was right in front of them and they would not budge. They ignored what was right in favor of what was in their bastard charter. The damn rules weren’t meant to support a genocidal regime. Sovereignty doesn’t only apply to the leaders.”

“I’m hardly defending them,” Rane explained. “I’ve always been a closet fan of Yut. It’s simply...efficient. I don’t know why...I just like it...the very meaning of it...”

“We just need friends,” Emperor Bivens said again. “Not membership.”

“Well you’ve picked some damn good friend prospects,” Rane said, nodding. He was no longer tired, and he cursed himself for it.

“I hope so, Julian,” Bivens thought out loud. “I hope so...”

"Okay, I'll admit one thing." Hesche sits, not quite fidgeting as he looks down at his undefinably manly hands. Everything about the man screams something about good breeding characteristics, from his rugged features and solid build straight down to his heroically deep voice and generally heroic attitude. Of course, this is Magnus Hesche, so none of the other diplomats on the shuttle are particularly attentive to this.

"And what would that be?" The humaniform avatar sitting next to him quirks one eyebrow. "That you will once again attempt to proposition the most aestetically pleasing female, species inspecific, and fail miserably?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," Magnus replies with a chuckle, "for one, I'm not so crude as to 'proposition' any particuar member of the fairer sex, even a fine one, and for two, I'm used to rarely being successful. There was that Vrakian dame, though--'dame' being used in a most respectful manner, of course--that I had a chance with."

"Of course, Officer Hesche." S.H.O.D.A.N. rolls her eyes and chuckles.

"No, really, ma'am. Really was some chemistry, but then things with the Order had to go pear-shaped and then there were SIS spooks breathing down my neck like I was going out of style."

The grey-skinned personification of a mechanoid gestalt laughs. First, she knows full well that Hesche is a spook himself, but not in the traditional cloak-and-dagger intelligence spook sense. Second, she also knows that Hesche and his übermensch existence went out of style sometime around the first time in modern history that one nation decided to create a secular cult around the concept of a racial superman and used it as an excuse to annex most of the continent it was on. Of course, there are still übermenschen about here and there, but most of them are even more obnoxious than Hesche... and, unlike Hesche, fail to realize that they are obnoxious. Magnus simply can't help being who and what he is and therefore rides with it.

This is what qualifies as an inside joke between the Nineteen-Thirties' Serial Hero/Psychic Secret Agent/Swashbuckler/Ladies' Man/Diplomat and the Gestalt.

"Anyway, Officer," Shodey continues, "you haven't said what worries you."

"Oh, yeah." Hesche grins broadly, one of the few Scolopendrans that still does not in the kzin style. "I'm worried about running into Skypeace. I always am every time I deal with the Shogunate... y'know the one."

"Indeed I do," the avatar replies with a chuckle. "What--are you worried that it will outclass you in your attempts to 'get to know people better,' that it will hit on you, or that you will possibly actually fall victim to its wiles?"

"Yes," Magnus says simply.

Shodey laughs again. "Worry about it if and when it becomes an issue. Until then," she continues, poking Hesche's left arm, "you do what you were sent to do--be diplomatic and be able to take care of yourself if things go poorly. Future relations hinge on how well this little party goes, so I recommend that you hold your skirt chasing to off-duty hours."

"But of course, ma'am," Magnus relpies, looking hurt. "I reserve the right to flirt, though."

"That's Morphin up ahead, Officer." The Gestalt smiles as she directs another form of herself onto an approach heading. "I expect no more talk of irrational fears concerning the Shogunate Diplomatic Corps once we land."

"My lips are sealed, ma'am," Hesche says, leaning back into his seat with a chuckle. "Onwards, to adventure!"

Diplomatic carrier, Morphin- Titan space

Shodey and Hesche are brought aboard the ship swiftly and efficiently, greeted upon boarding by the ship and her captain, a lean Neko with neatly cropped brown hair and a moderately serious demeanor. Also on hand is Patrick in his crisp suit.

"Welcome aboard the RPDC Morphin." The Neko bows slightly in greeting, the ship's name sounding more like "Molufin" than "morphin". "I am Captain Amber Koneko."

The reploid avatar similarly bows, a wide grin on her face. "And I'm Morphin. Zeroel-niichan has told me a lot about you. Pleased to finally meet you, ma'am!" The EI beams to Shodey.

Patrick eyes Shodey and Hesche with a long, appraising glance before sweeping forward to kneel before Shodey and politely, if rather old-fashionedly kiss the avatar's grey hand. "I am Patrick Keankai, Diplomatic Corps representative. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintence and to work alongside such well-known people on this assignment. I look forward to our voyage together."

Amber clears her throat and Patrick gets back to his feet and returns to his position alongside Morphin. "Morphin here can show you to your quarters and give you both a tour of the ship. We're still awaiting most of the others we'll be transporting, but I imagine they shouldn't be much longer in getting here."

Morphin nods, the "wings" that form her cape fluttering slightly. "Yup! If anyone needs anything, I'm the one to ask!"

KDS Fist of the Cosmos
Titan-space

"It should be interesting to see what comes of this, Minister. Are you looking forward to this meeting?"

James pondered the words of Captain Jakari Calloway, as he stood with him on the bridge of the KDS Fist of the Cosmos, the Intrepid-class (http://www.fumetsu.net/fastcruiser.jpg) cruiser tasked with escorting him to the rendezvous point with the Morphin. "I must admit, Captain, that my feelings on the matter are mixed. While I am always happy to open peaceful relations with other nations, due to the Steel Empire's history with Sketch, I must say that my feelings on this meeting are...", he paused, trying to get the right wording. "...guarded, to say the least.

Calloway nodded in understanding. "A wise precaution, but one must hope for the best. I have heard that they've just come out of a civil war. Perhaps their bloody conflict has helped them see the err of their ways? Especially since, as I've heard, the Sketchians and the rest of the Order supported the losing side."

"Intel suggests as such, yes. Though exactly how 'enlightened' they have become remains to be seen."

"Let us hope it is not all a ploy."

"Yes, let us hope."

-----

=<Transmission Type: Intership Communique>=
=<Origin: KDS Fist of the Cosmos, 1st Khenalian Defence Fleet>=
=<Destination: RPDC Morphin>=

Request permission to send shuttle carrying Foreign Minister James Seal for transport to Steel Empire diplomatic gathering. Please confirm receipt of message and docking instructions.

=<End Transmission>=

"Don't worry, Lord Alton. We're perfectly safe. I've flown this kind of thing thousands of times. It's less dangerous that walking around most city streets."

"Don't tell me. Tell my stomach," groans the old diplomat from the passenger section of the shuttle, where he tightly grips his chair's armrests. "I think I'm getting motion sickness."

"My lord, we're have intertial compensators built into the artigrav, and we're just coasting at the moment. There's nothing to make you sick, honestly." Alton groans despite that reassurance, and up front the pilot grins. "You know, that's a bit of an odd attitude for someone who lives on the Ring. I mean, think about it. It has a tangential velocity of just over one hundred ninety-eight kilometers per second. Not only that, but there's not real gravity. The only thing holding you down is," the pilot lifts his hands from the controls to make little quotation marks,"'centrifugal force' from the spin."

"Oh, gods."

"Look, see that speck there? That's our destination." Indeed, a rapidly enlarging dot out forward window is resolving itself in the unique shape of a Shogunate spacecraft. "Morphin, this is Cetagandan flight Diplo-598, carrying First Speaker Alton. Begining final docking approach." The shuttle matches velocity with the diplomatic cruiser, then deftly slides into the docking area. "Seal confirmed. Have a pleasant trip, Lord Alton."

A slightly green ambassador steps into the reception area. "Ah, hello. Theodore Alton, at your service. A pleasure to meet you all."

Patrick eyes Shodey and Hesche with a long, appraising glance before sweeping forward to kneel before Shodey and politely, if rather old-fashionedly kiss the avatar's grey hand. "I am Patrick Keankai, Diplomatic Corps representative. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintence and to work alongside such well-known people on this assignment. I look forward to our voyage together."A quick glance through the infrared spectrum, skin temperature, pressure, and conductivity sensors measuring heat, breath, and moisture...

...she doesn't fall for it, but decides to play along. "Thank you, all of you." She bows shortly for a moment to Morphin. "Hopefully the reputation that precedes me is a good one--I'd best enjoy it while it lasts." The wry half-smile that follows obviously finishes the statement with a tacit reference back to the Butterfly's rather open dislike of mechanoid intelligence. "I'm willing to follow in whatever events you have planned," S.H.O.D.A.N. continues pleasantly, folding her hands together, "but I will admit that I look most forward to our speedy arrival--unprecedented, as I am sure you all know."

Emperor David Christopher Bivens awoke with the sun. Today was the day of promise, and he promised himself that tonight would be a night like no other. He had a day full of the usual mindless bullshit not usually associated with supreme rule. Too many people thought that being an Emperor was akin to being a god. Sure, Bivens thought with a smile, its highlights far outweighed its shortcomings, but a god wouldn’t have to put up with half of the pointless issues that he so often wasted his time with. Naturally, the people either didn’t realize this, or chose to ignore it.

He sometimes thought of appointing someone to do the tasks which he deemed meaningless, Bivens remembered, gazing into the mirror. He looked pale today, with bags under his eyes from months without proper sleep. In fact, he mused, his throat was a bit sore. Hopefully he wasn’t getting sick. Disease was another thing he had little time or patience for.

“Still,” he told the face in the mirror, “Another high ranking government official is hardly what this Empire or I need. Two others is more than enough.” Strolling over to the desk in the Imperial Suite, Bivens pressed the invisible button in the air, highlighting its border through advanced holographics and opening a rather large screen before him. This was the beginning of another one of those tasks he so...enjoyed...

Prior to the Emperor’s awakening this morning, Dr. Rane’s men went through all the electronic video letters sent in order to remove those which he deemed ridiculous and unintelligent. Bivens kept telling the Director of Intelligence to cut down on the amount sent, as it easily was in the hundreds, but Rane was far more progressive than either Bivens or Valkare and had this annoying notion that all people had the right to be heard. At least he and Bivens both agreed that all people also have the right to be ignored.

If there were political parties in the Empire outside of the Senate, which was mainly for show, Rane would be in the center, at least as the Empire was concerned. That being said, even the Senate hadn’t existed for three years now, since the start of the Civil War. Bivens hardly liked them anyhow and was in no rush to get them back into session. Rane was a fiscal conservative, something that went without saying among powerful men in the Empire, but socially he was far more progressive, still not close to being liberal. Civil rights was not a popular issue in Orion, and yet Rane fearlessly treaded into the “grey”.

It was strange for a spook, much less the head spook, to think the way he did, but then again Rane lived his entire life in the grey, so to speak. He had no problem breaking the civil rights that the people didn’t have, and he wouldn’t change his opinion if they had them either. He simply believed in maintaining an Empire for the people, and not only for the elite. Bivens shook his head. Rane could dream like that. Rane was in a position to. Bivens wasn’t...not with the power to turn such silly dreams into reality.

The first letter was a woman, tan, rather old, complaining about air traffic in her neighborhood. The Emperor’s first thought was just to use the roads. Sure, speeders had been around for years, but there were still people in wheeled-vehicles and still a large market for them. Granted they were quite a bit slower, but there was also quite a bit less people on the roads anymore, and there wouldn’t be any traffic. The fact that this woman, too old, too experienced to be unreasonably naive, felt that her petty complaint was even worth his time was beyond Bivens as the Emperor recorded his response, suggesting the roads as he had thought. The fact that Rane thought it was worth his time and energy too annoyed the Empire as well. Rane would hear about this one, and probably laugh it off as always, Bivens told himself.

Dr. Julian Rane simply had a way with people and even the Emperor, still a person, wasn’t immune to his diplomatic charm. Bivens coughed and cursed himself for doing so, opening the next letter as germs and “fucks” flew from his lips.

Ambassador the Honourable Sir James Grant sat on the bunk of his luxurious (relative to the rest of the ship) quarters inside the Treznor exploration vessel Persephone and stared blankly at the wall. Deep, ugly sacks of skin crowded his eyes, and his lips moved slightly in a repeating pattern, but you would have to strain to hear what they uttered.

"Sir? I've broken out a bottle of Domenclia, your favourite year. Shall I pour you a glass?" Charles Bishop hovered anxiously over his erstwhile superior, waving a bottle with a Dominion label on it. Having failed to elicit a response, he proceeded to pour a small dollop into the glass he had prepared. He brought it to his nose and sniffed loudly. "Ah, it's just the way you like it. Will you have some?"

Grant didn't so much as blink. Not even when Charles attempted to bring the glass to his lips.

"Don't bother, Charles. He's out of it," advised Junior Ambassador Catherine Ravon in her husky contralto. "You know how he hates space travel. Remember the last time we went to Sslaa? We didn't spend nearly so long in transit."

"He's never been this bad before," Charles muttered as he put the bottle and glass away. "There aren't any windows to look out ever since Space Command issued the warning against it. Do you think he'll be all right?"

"You know the old goat has an overactive imagination. It's part of his charm, remember?" Catherine smirked and leaned against the hatch. "He'll be fine once we get out of the ship and he can boast to everyone how he braved the horrors of interstellar travel. Myself, I'm enjoying the peace and quiet while I can."

"What is he saying, anyway? I can't make it out."

"He's saying, can't sleep; clowns will eat me." She shrugged and turned to go. "Come on. We're due to come out of transit in six hours, and we've still got some details to finish before His Lordship comes out of it and starts demanding to be pampered again."

He sighed and nodded. "All right. But I'm going to ask the Captain to post a crewman at the door in case he snaps out of it."

"Fine. Just be quick about it."

Transport Shuttle, somewhere in Titan Space

Representative Kojirou Tanaka stared out the window of the shuttle next to his seat, looking out at two of the four ReMk-III power suits that were flying escort for the shuttle on its way to the Morphin. He sat there staring out the window, somewhat wishing somebody else would have accepted this job. A few days before this, he was sitting on a sandy beach somewhere on a tropical island enjoying the start of a long vacataion. Vacation cut short, he now found himself in space of all places on his way to a planet he'd never heard of before governed by a nation that was once considered "not friendly" due to its relation with the Order. The only reason he didn't refuse was the little bonus he'd been offered for taking the job.

Sitting next to him, Ryusuke Kajima, one of the three members of the protective detail assigned to Koji, quietly read though some documents, briefing himself on the details of his mission and what to expect. He was somewhat excited about it all, really. It was his first time in space and he looking forward to seeing another world. Once finished with his reading, he turned to the representative after putting his stuff away.

"Tanaka-daihyou, see anything interesting out there?" he asked, trying stir up some conversation with the person he'd be following around the entire trip.

"Eh... call me Koji. And no, nothing interesting. Just empty space and a couple power suits." Koji replied, sounding quite bored.

"You don't sound like you're enjoying any of this. I'm kinda excited about it all. First time in space, after all." Ryusuke grinned. "I'm looking forward to arrving at the other world."

"I'm not enjoying it, at least not yet anyways. I'd honestly much rather be somewhere else right now." Koji shook his head a bit and turned to Ryusuke. "I'm somewhat looking forward to this Skyraider person the Shogunate is sending, though. If he's anything like the boss lady described, then I'm more than likely going to be amused."

Ryusuke raised an eyebrow at the representative and gave him and odd look. "Skyraider...? Sounds kinda familiar."

"Somebody Tsukada-san met while on a trip to the Dominion. He's a reploid with some odd quirks, from what I was told." Koji explained.

"Ah... I remember now. Kojima-shousa mentioned something about him when she first briefed me about this. She didn't say thing anything more than that he was an odd one and that I should maybe keep an eye him." Ryusuke shrugged.

"Heh. I should tell you one of the stories I heard, sometime. But I guess we'll find out in person whether or not what we've heard so far is true shortly then, eh?" Koji cracked a small smile and glanced out the window once more. "I can see the ship from here. Looks like we'll be landing soon."

The pilot of the shuttle sends out a landing request once the Morphin comes into visual range. As the shuttle makes it final approach to land, the four power suits escorting it boost ahead out to the front of the ship and turn back towards the rear, each raising a hand to its head, saluting the bridge crew on duty as they make a fly-by of the bridge before heading back to their launch point, leaving the Morphin to take care of the shuttle and its passengers from this point out.



Translation Notes:
-daihyou - Representative
-shousa - Major

“I’m twenty one years old,” the woman explained. “I just think it’s time for me to stop running.”

Dr. Julian Rane turned his head so that she wouldn’t see his eyes roll. He barely knew why he tried anymore. Thirty-five himself, he looked younger than what he was, but this woman definitely didn’t. She was thirty at least, and a horrible liar. It was hard enough getting an honest date as a rich man in your twenties, Rane mused, but now as an international figure it was damn near impossible. Still, he needed a date for the summit that night, and this insincere broad would have to suffice.

Rane never had trouble getting women before he was famous, he silently told his coffee cup as his reflection stared back at him, but getting in their pants was much easier than getting in their hearts. While the woman across from him was simply spouting off clichés, Rane actually knew that it was about time he stopped running from the inevitable. It was time to settle down, he told himself, and yet he had trouble listening to his own advice.

“Surely you’ve heard of the gathering tonight,” Rane said, smiling. The woman smiled in return, reviling the subtle wrinkles of her eyes and mouth that most guys wouldn’t bat an eye at. Rane, however, was a perfectionist in all that he did. His taste in beauty was no different. “I assume you could clear up your schedule...”

“I have nothing to wear,” the woman complained, lying again. Rane knew by what she was wearing now that this woman was no slacker on appearances either. Her clothes were the finest, and she obviously took pride in her exterior. Perhaps he had been too hard on her, Rane mused. She was quite attractive.

“I’ll buy you something,” he offered, cutting to the chase. She accepted, reinforcing Rane’s contempt at the lack of honest companions. This one was in for his money, a third of the bastard trinity that he was so drenched in. Rane was abundant in money, power, and looks, and while he was more than thankful for what he had, he often wanted someone to see past his apparently glorious facade. That being said, he was a walking contradiction, often proclaiming that it was better to be alone. Honestly he didn’t know what he wanted anymore. He seemed to want everything, companionship along with isolation, just as he always did.

Julian Rane was a loner, although he could honestly be whatever he wanted. Funny, charming, and intelligent if he decided to be, he juggled that with his silent and brooding disguise, living life in a series of never-ending masquerades. Often aloof and seemingly detached, Julian could come off to one person completely different than the last. It was this skill which let him excel in intelligence, diplomacy, and womanizing, and this skill that he was most grateful for.

“I’ll send for you at eight,” Rane told her, paying for their breakfast and standing to leave. She stood as well, leaning in for a kiss goodbye. Julian accepted her lips halfheartedly, although he kissed with the same amazing passion he always did. Just like so many other things in his life, it was simply a lie. The difference between him and his date, he told himself, was that he was good at it. So damn good, he mused, that his reality had become so fused and intertwined with his imagination that it was hard to separate the two.

So. After all this time, we hear from the Orion Sector. And from a new Imperatore, as well. The timing is interesting, to be sure ... still. Have we not thought at certain times in the past that ties might possibly be mutually beneficial? I wonder ...

The decision for who to send had vexed Nathicana. It had never been a question of yes or no in her mind, only who. Granted, there were ample risks. There always were in dealing with the unknown. What remained to be seen was what sort of payoff a bit of gambling would result in. Communications with other Triumvirate members revealed that many were sending delegates also - a comforting thought, to know there would be friends at hand.

Not that she would be going herself, of course.

"I realize this appears to be a bit more ... challenging than some of your duties abroad. Still, I need someone whom I can trust to deal honestly with our hosts, and to bring me back an honest report in turn. You've more skills than just your keen powers of observation, Evangelista. You'll likely need all of them on this assignment."

The other woman scans over the information on her datapad, frowning in silence for a few moments. She looks up at Nathicana, looking less than pleased. "I see you've made arrangements for an escort?"

"Of course. You don't think I'd send you out without the proper protection, do you?" the Imperatrice replies, arching one brow slightly.

Evangelista shakes her head, setting the datapad aside, still frowning. "This isn't the usual security arrangements. You're sending Company operatives."

Nathicana meets the challenging gaze of Evangelista with a calm, cool one of her own. "I said I need someone whom I can trust to deal honestly with our hosts. I also need someone I can trust to do what's necessary should the occasion arise, and most of our top operatives are currently unavailable for such a task. I realize you don't approve of such methods, but frankly, it isn't your call. I'm not taking chances with this project, or you. Call it 'protecting my interests' if you like."

The other woman nods curtly in response, not appreciating the reminder of her rather rapid rise to her current position. She hadn't been bought, no - nor had she gotten to where she had by playing dirty. She had however gained the office of Dominion Public Relations Minister due to Nathi having chosen her to succeed the rather ill-fated Janus Mateo. "We'll be accompanying the others, but in our own ship, then?" she continues resignedly, feeling her heart sink. Lord, watch over and protect me.

"One of our Lokis, yes. The arrangements have been made. All that's left is to take care of you, and any arrangements you need to make before leaving," Nathicana says, leaning back a bit in her chair. "I trust you can have them all sorted out, and be ready to go by the appointed time?"

"Of course," Evangelista replies, rising to her feet. "That being said, I had best get started."

Can't be a dead-end assignment, or she wouldn't be sending Jas. Unless his team is the 'end' in that equation ... though that doesn't make sense. Unless of course the point is to cause an international incident with my ...

She spends the majority of the next several hours fretting over the possibilities of unspoken agendas and hidden plots - all while steadily packing and making arrangements for the assignment ahead of her. Such was life in the Dominion at times - there being after all, only two kinds of paranoia.

Absolute, and insufficient.

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

When the appointed day came, Evangelista found herself seated comfortably enough aboard the DASF-DS Draghkar, Squadrone Acinacis of the Cruentus Machaerae Fleet, feeling uncomfortable, inadequate, and oddly cold in spite of the comfortable onboard climate controls. While the rest of the delegation, if you could call them that, made themselves comfortable, bantering back and forth amongst themselves and the ship's crew, she sat alone, going over what notes she had, and fretting anew over the situation in general, and all the possible things that could go wrong.

I think I'm going to be sick.


ooc: sorry for the delay and lack of content. Trying to catch up here. I'll just have my lil ship tag along with the Shogunate group, if that's alright - it's just a dropship and all.

General Jack Valkare, the one called Lionheart, looked across the table at a rival of his. The rivalry between the Mobile Infantry and Artillery and the Starfleet had existed since their creation, but so had their cooperation. The MIA needed the fleet’s transportation and support, and the Starfleet needed troops on the ground. If one was black and the other white, the Marines would be the grey. Ground troops with starships as well as many other things, the Marines were the pinnacle of the Imperial Military, combining the aspects of both divisions to fashion a superior fighting force. Still, Valkare thought, smiling at the man before him, the Marines were under his direct control.

Sky Marshall Alek Petrovich Adrikov smiled back out of respect. He was one half of the fleet’s leadership duo and the one in charge of Orion Sector defense. Sky Marshall Michael Zephyr, his counterpart, headed the foreign “relations” department. Adrikov had been an Imperial during the Civil War, actually controlling the old Empire for a day as those above him rapidly fell.

His single act was peace, something Emperor Bivens rewarded him for afterwards. In his one day as leader, Adrikov offered himself and his people up in surrender, officially ending the Civil War, regardless of the fighting which continued against NiMBUS Incorporated, lasting a few months. Bivens had allowed him to keep his rank due to his skills and his sacrifice, and he had proven more than worthy since.

They both knew that Valkare’s men needed his ships, and they both resented the Triumvirate’s presence. Still, as Valkare was quite open about it to most, Adrikov was introverted, not in a position to protest and not seeing a reason to either. He agreed with the Emperor that they needed friendship and support as they continued to strive to be what they once were, he simply didn’t think old rivals were the best choice for new friends. Nevertheless, Adrikov told himself as he stared at the General, rivals could still work together successfully.

“What kind of force are we thinking about here?” Adrikov asked, ignoring titles and rank. The Sky Marshall was one of four people in the Empire not required to call Valkare “sir,” the others being Zephyr, Rane, and the Emperor himself. Valkare stopped smiling. The General hated not being recognized, and naturally Adrikov knew and enjoyed this.

“Well, Sky Marshall,” Valkare replied, addressing Adrikov as he would address a lieutenant or anyone else lower than him. “The Triumvirate ships require an escort…one larger than the force they’re bringing. In addition, I don’t think I need to stress the importance of security around the planet itself. The Emperor wants you to surround the planet with ships.”

“Shit,” Adrikov said, not out of disappointment, but out of amazement. “That’ll take way more than one fleet…maybe two…”

“Naturally,” Valkare responded. He understood the Empire’s lack of ships and the Sky Marshall’s hesitation of devoting so many in the name of a party. “But we can’t have something happen. The Emperor already said that he’d have our heads if a delegate even gets a cold…and while I could give a shit about you…personally I like my job.”

“Thanks General,” Adrikov muttered, standing to leave.

“Yeah…” Valkare replied, watching him exit the room.

((OOC: Sorry for my lack of reply- real life is trying to PWN my arse. If anybody hasn't gotten their folks on board who's coming, feel free to just assume they arrived =p))

The arriving diplomats are brought aboard and greeted by Morphin and the captain, each being led to their suites on board ship, and given a brief tour of the facilities, particularly the lounge. While on the outside, the Morphin looks much like any other Minerva class carrier with guns and such, her interior indicates quite clearly that her primary purpose is not a warship. "Patrick", meanwhile, has gone missing after politely excusing himself, replaced a short while later by a redhead in a simple yet sexy deep blue business suit highlighting ample feminine features without exposing anything inappropriate for such a gathering.

"Patricia" spends a great deal of her time flirting in Hesche's direction, though she spreads the flirtation somewhat evenly among the rest of the male crew on board as the ship and her escort fleet prepare for departure, sending a transmission ahead to inform their hosts they were getting underway and would arrive in X amount of time.

Hesche is moderately disturbed at the speed and effectiveness of the wholesale switch, but does manage to gamely flirt back, true to form. After all, he doesn't want to put "Patricia" out by having "her" feel that all "her" effort has gone completely to waste. He is, after all, a nice guy if something of an obnoxious egoist at times.

All in all, he ends up enthusiastic about the entire trip. Get to go to new places and meet new people, which sates the adventure in his spirit; he knows that there's at least one person who will return his flirts, which does wonders for his ego (while he generally doesn't mind getting brushed off, it does get tiresome after a while); and he's going to do his job and do it well, with that sort of pride that comes from heroically subsumed anxiety.

Besides, messing with the rest of the crew's minds by responding positively to "Patricia" is simply good, clean fun.

“Sejanus won,” Julian Rane announced to the Emperor, mere seconds before the news broadcast said the same. Bivens rolled his eyes.

“Glad to see our intelligence is on top of things,” he muttered, half jokingly.

“It’s hardly top secret,” Rane shrugged.

“Yeah…” Bivens replied. It was obvious he wasn’t upset with Rane, but instead upset about much larger things.

Lucius Castor Sejanus had been former Emperor Nemerov’s Director of Intelligence. Wealthy and classy, like Rane himself, Sejanus had left his position prior to the Civil War, and at the outbreak of battle he left the Orion Sector completely. Now, as Rane and Bivens stared at the holographic screen hovering in midair, they realized that he hadn’t gone far.

The Asbena of Thrakkon was a republic just beyond the border of the Orion Sector. Never a problem, they had been jumped as of late due to a new election. In their government, they had a hundred-man senate, populated by three distinct political parties. One was the Pacifist Party, naturally wanting peace and striving to maintain it at all costs. Another was the DAP Party, which stressed the priority of domestic affairs over foreign relations. The third was the NPAT Party, fighting for the advancement of the Asbena and its people. Politically, the DAP and the NPAT were at odds, but the Pacifist party kept them in line, focusing their efforts.

Within the senate, the three parties were historically evenly distributed, some with more representation at times, some with less. However, the neighboring civil war had changed the minds and hearts of the people, now concerned with the instability not far from their home planet. The recent vote had issued a mandate, and the NPAT had won fifty-five of the hundred seats.

Normally, when the Thrakkon was without a majority, it was led by a Triumvirate of sorts of the leaders of each party. Now, the NPAT had the right to nominate and elect a Prime Minister, which they naturally did. Sejanus was this man. Why they elected a foreigner, however, was beyond both men in the office.

“There have been reports of the Thrakkon growing more and more militant,” Rane said, causing the Emperor to frown. “New ship classes…more money devoted to weapons technology…”

“And of course they blame us,” Bivens noted. “Of course they say that’s just to protect their interests…”

“They see it as their chance, sir,” Rane added.

“But Sejanus?”

“Who better to make a plan to rival the Empire than someone who had been inside the Empire itself?”

“Damn them,” The Emperor exclaimed. “This isn’t a game.”

“Regardless,” Rane mused. “They seem desperate to be players.”

<tag>

"T minus five minutes for transition engine shutdown," reported the officer at the navigation console.

"Captain, I confirm," added the metallic individual next to him. "All systems are ready for transition to normal space."

Captain Amy Spelling nodded sharply, her mind focused on what was to come. "Understood. Comms, put all stations on alert."

"Aye-aye, Captain."

A dozen meters behind them, Catherine Ravon worked with Charles Bishop to assist their erstwhile superior into his crash chair before settling into their own. Ambassador the Honourable Sir James Grant continued to mumble incoherently, oblivious to their attentions.

"He really doesn't look good," Charles observed as he busied himself with the buckles on his own harness.

"Tell me something I don't know," Catherine snapped. Then she sighed and nodded. "If we live through this, we should send him home with the Reploids. But we've got to hope he snaps out of this. We can't do our jobs and his at the same time."

"If he doesn't, then we'll just have to make do," Charles said stoically. "Is he still going on about the clowns?"

Catherine shook her head. "No, now he's singing some nonsense song about someone named 'Daisy.' He's really off his rocker this time."

On the bridge, silence reigned save for the synthesized voice of the Zero-One navigator. "Transition in five...four...three...two...one...mark." It pushed a button at its console and the ship shuddered and vibrated wildly. The robot entered a series of commands into the computer, and the violence ceased.

"R-York! What in blazes was that?" demanded Captain Spelling.

"Captain, we entered a zone of extreme gravitational fluxuation. I suspect an interdictor field. I have re-engaged the transition engines for three hundred nanoseconds; since we never properly dropped out of the wormhole, we continued to overshoot our destination. Navigation is currently calculating our position."

"Well, Nav? Are we still in the same galaxy?" Unfortunately, the remark was not as flippant as it sounded. Spelling was in deadly earnest.

"Affirmative Captain," announced the officer next to R-York. "We are eight-point-three-five AU from a G-class star. Star configurations suggest we're still in the right solar system. We're still waiting for radar returns on planetary bodies, but I'd say we're in the right neighbourhood."

Captain Spelling let out a loud sigh of relief. "All right, let's sit here while we get our bearings. Comms, broadcast our ID to any SB elements out there, and remind them we've come unarmed. Ops, keep those shields up. Nav, I want jump coordinates plotted before anyone reaches us. We'll stay on alert until we're down and have discharged our passengers."

"Captain, may I remind you that if the Steel Butterfly fleet is utilising interdictor fields, they can choose to block any attempt to flee on our part."

"Thank you, R-York. I feel so much better now. My orders stand."

"Yes, Captain."

ooc: moving ahead a bit, operating on the assumption that since we're expected and invited, all the proper arrangements will be made for us to land, and that our pilot will follow all such directions as given out by SB's folks ...


The reports that had come back from initial scans had been troubling at best. Evangelista had told herself that were the Dominion welcoming in a capable armed force from Steel Butterfly, the situation would go along similar lines, trying to reassure herself that all was well. Unfortunately, she had never been terribly good at outright lying, especially to herself.

All protocols and instructions were religiously followed, the crew and passengers rather less than comfortable about the entire situation, and being in the midst of so many ships that had until recently been named 'enemy' due to alliance affiliations. The six Black Company operatives sent to accompany Evangelista go over their gear one more time, speaking quietly among themselves, occasionally in languages she did not readily recognize. Had she not known better, at first glance she would have taken them for Dominion soldati, dressed crisply and efficiently in unrelieved matte black - which of course was the intent.

Upon finally landing, two of the ops made their way down the ramp, scanning the surroundings closely before signalling the all clear. Two more preceed the Minister down the ramp, with the other two following her close behind. As they pass, the first set falls in step alongside the slender woman, giving her just enough space to avoid crowding her uncomfortably. She adjusted her light longcoat as she walked, her narrow ankle-length skirt slit not quite to the knee on both sides so as not to hinder her movement. Tall, nearly heel-less boots, a crisp white collared shirt showing only a modest amount of skin, and a tasteful tailored jacket in a soft grey that matched her skirt finished out her simple ensemble, in keeping with her usual professional, understated manner.

The group moved purposefully towards those waiting to recieve them, the front two operatives stepping slightly to the side once they stop, allowing Evangelista to greet their hosts with a warm smile and respectable short bow, exhibiting a confidence she didn't fully feel.

"Minister Evangelista Ravanelli of the Dominion," she said, extending her hand in greeting. "On behalf of the Dread Lady, I thank you for your most gracious invitation, and hope that our meeting here will be the start of more amicable relations between our nations."

Ragnarok International Starport - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - Orion Sector

Adrikov sighed. Minutes before, the Sky Marshall had sent numerous ships to where the Treznor had appeared. Now, on ground for the first time in nearly a year, Adrkov strolled towards where the diplomat from the Dominion would be.

Compared to the artificial variety in which he lived, real gravity was a bitch. The gravity on Bivens, and most planets in the Orion Sector for that matter, was noticeably stronger than that of the Terran planet, Earth. Luckily for the Sky Marshall, his military physique prevented the sluggish look that many took after such a shift, but the very act of walking was still more taxing than usual.

Adrikov walked powerfully down the corridor of Ragnarok International Starport, guards at each of his sides and behind him. The collared overcoat which commanders had the option of wearing was tailored perfectly to his measurements, but nevertheless he let it flow behind him, unbuckled. His crimson, black, and silver uniform was spotless underneath, and the numerous medals shimmered in the light overhead.

Reaching out, the Sky Marshall took the Dominion ambassador’s outstretched hand and shook it firmly, smiling and nodding in approval. “Indeed,” Adrikov replied. “Relations are all we ask.” After a short pause he continued. "Right this way, ma'am."

"Quite the welcome wagon..." Captain Koneko eyes the tactical displays as the Morphin and her escort follow the instructions given by the local traffic control folks.

"Well, we are arriving with a decent military escort. It's understandable that they'll be anxious of that even if the stated reason for the escort is to protect the diplomats while in transit." Morphin replies over the PA, her reploid avatar with the other diplomats on board at the moment. "I appreciate your paranoia, but I really think this entire gathering will go well. Even Skyraider seems to be mostly behaving!"

"You mean aside from constantly trying to get into Hesche's pants the entire trip?" The neko raises an eyebrow.

"Well, Hesche-san hasn't complained about it yet." Morphin admits.

As per the agreed terms, the military ships power down weapons systems once the small fleet arrives in the Sector, getting into a parking orbit a respectful distance off as the Morphin is led in to land, the red and white Minerva class carrier setting down efficiently to disembark the Shogunate diplomats as well as the other Triumvirate delegates who came on the ship.

"Patrick" is once more among the group, all business in his suit, accompanied by Morphin, the reploid likely to stand out quite a bit in an area where EI has been banned. She is the first to greet whomever is sent to meet the delegation, all cheerful smiles and enthusiasm.

"Molufin Minerva, EI of the ship we rode in on." She introduces herself with a polite bow, making certain to emphasize the way her name is pronounced so as to stave off bad jokes about a certain kids TV show. "Representing the Immortal Shogunate of Reploid Productions. Pleasure to be here."

Patrick also bows politely, sharp eyes taking in the sights (and, for those who know Skyraider, looking for attractive people to possibly flirt with.). "And I am Patrick Keankai, Shogunate Diplomatic Corps. I look forward to our discourse."

http://www.weirdozone.0catch.com/projects/nationstates/scolopendra/magnus_hesche-big.jpg

Standing politely next to Patrick is a tall man in the sky-blue-and-black uniform of the Scolopendran International Relations Section, complete with the standard silver centipede over the duty flap, silver segmented belt over the broad sky-blue fabric one, and silver-and-black piping along the double-breasted lines. He has a permanent natural tan, sandy blonde hair, and the kind of chin that could press graphite into diamonds. When he smiles, he smiles broadly, showing off teeth that have no right to be so white; his blue eyes range in intensity from piercing to genial, currently gravitating towards the latter. Standing there, he looks like a poster child for a heroism long past, of daring swashbuckling gentlemen-adventurers who always beat the bad guy (who always somehow come for more) and get the dame, suave and manly the entire way.

This is Magnus Hesche, internally-proclaimed ubermensch and ladies man. The former is perhaps accurate, the latter is probably a joke. Right now, as he scans the spaceport with his keen eyes and diplomatic smile, he waits his turn in the string of introductions before bowing shortly in the Arabian style, then offering one huge tanned hand. "Senior Diplomatic Officer Magnus Hesche of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra," he says in his deep radio-star voice, "second to Advisor Nadjiba Abd-al-Haqq. She sends her regards, but apologizes that she could not be present. I am fully authorized to represent the Segments in whatever ways necessary for this meeting, and so I begin by transmitting the well-wishes of the Advisor and Supreme Emperor Speaker-Rrit, as well as our hopes that this marks a turning point in the previously... terse and cool relationship between our peoples."

Not even a hint of flirt. For one, it would get in the way of the job at the moment. For another, Adrikov's the wrong gender.

Standing beside Morphin is another out-of-place mechanoid, also decidedly feminine in design, although her construction follows the natural lines of the human body much more closely than the armored reploid beside her. A 'standard' grey-skinned diplomatic avatar, skin highlighted by broad designs of lighter grey and circuit-board patterns of darker grey, all connected together with a network of fine fiber-optic lines, gowing a gently pulsating green, tracing and branching out across her body. She wears nothing besides a elbow-length short cape held under a wide Egyptian-style necklace of lapis lazuli with gold trim--the circuitry motif continued within it--because she does not need to. While feminine in form, there is no need for her body to be anatomically correct; such a thing would only distract from the instrumentality's true function.

To represent mechanoid life and, more specifically, the mental image S.H.O.D.A.N. has of herself, even if it was formed in rampancy.

She stands there quietly, arms folded behind her as she watches, observes the city... simply waiting politely to be addressed as her copper-green lips smile serenely, a diplomatic openness. This should be a challenge, given their history... reasonable, but something for them to grow past. First, see how they perceive me; then, act as needed.

A grin plastered on his face, Sky Marshall Alek Petrovich Adrikov proceeded to shake the hands of each delegate, secretly wishing to be elsewhere. Alek Adrikov was a people person, but ambassadors weren’t quite people. Liars, cheaters, manipulators, these were the sort of bastards who twisted the very rules he fought to enforce. Lucky for him, however, one of their own had just arrived.

“I want to welcome you all to Orion,” Dr. Julian Rane said, shaking their hands once more with a handsome smile that radiated from his perfect teeth. His black suit was flawlessly tailored, and his flamboyant yet still sharp crimson shirt and tie were fitted a tad tight around the chest as to show off his already defined muscle tone through the fabric. His slicked back hair was both conservative and daring, not shiny like his executive shoes, though quite obviously gelled. “I’m positive you will enjoy your stay,” he continued, accenting the word ‘positive’ in an odd way, as if denying them the choice of opinion on the matter. Valkare frowned, hoping they understood that the Director of Intelligence merely meant that all of their needs would be accommodated.

The atmosphere of the elegant Starport reception room was tense, not in a stressful way, but in a generally uneasy mood. Reploids, machines, an aspiring superhero, and a sharply dressed woman were hardly the normal fair which passed through these gates, but Rane and Adrikov weren’t beyond the fact that this was far from the normal gathering they had planned. What it meant to the Triumvirate neither was sure of, but they both knew that this summit would be historical to the Steel Empire, and while Adrikov wanted nothing more than to leave, Dr. Rane was basking in significance.

Anxious to move on, the Sky Marshall directed the others to follow where the Dominion diplomat had departed to. Together, they would be traveling to the Akrev Center for a quick lunch, followed by the conference. Afterwards, they would join the party in time for dinner. Adrikov remembered that they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted, but he also knew that they probably wanted to leave more than he did. While he just longed for space and ships, they most likely were fans of safety and stability, things the Empire hadn’t been known for these past two years.

“You will find, ladies and gentlemen,” Rane said on their way towards the extravagant transport they would be traveling in. “That this is not the Empire of your memories.” Adrikov nodded to himself. That was for certain.

“On site, sir?” Sky Marshall Michael Zephyr asked, troubled.

“It’s really not your concern, Sky Marshall,” Emperor Bivens replied, matter-of-factly.

“I’m a citizen of this Empire just like everyone else,” Zephyr responded. Bivens rolled his eyes.

“Only when it suits you,” the Emperor muttered. “Still...it’s only for this weekend. If they do nothing wrong, they have nothing to fear.”

“Everyone up here ok with that?” Zephyr questioned.

“Sky Marshall I’m not entirely sure how this worked under my predecessor,” Bivens snapped in reply. “But most people here understand that whatever I say goes. If they’re not ‘ok’ with that or what I do, then they have every right to keep it to themselves.”

“My apologies, sir,” Zephyr said, feeling stupid. This wasn’t helping his goal of fitting in with the new regime. Bivens had given him a chance he by all means didn’t deserve, not only sparing his life but giving him his job back.

“Yeah...” Bivens replied informally, trying to ease the mood. His authority had been reassured yet again, but now he needed his Sky Marshall to be frank, not afraid. The situation with the Thrakkon was most troubling to say the least. “What do we know that’s new?”

“They seem to be investing in three confirmed new vessels, a capital ship, a heavy cruiser, and a new starfighter,” Zephyr reported, frowning.

“Confirmed?” Bivens asked.

“There are rumors of another ship as well,” the Sky Marshall explained. “A new battle cruiser...but it’s speculation at best.”

“Nothing from Rane’s men?” The Emperor questioned.

“That’s where all this came from,” Zephyr said.

“Then what exactly have you been doing, Sky Marshall,” Bivens asked. “Other than reading his reports?”

“That seems to be my job right now, sir,” Zephyr replied, a hint of attitude creeping into his voice. “Lord knows I’d like to do something about it...but we’re not in a position to have our bluffs called anymore...especially with all this homeland security bull-“

“Out of line, Sky Marshall,” Bivens lectured in a civil tone, cutting off his rant. He made a mental note to keep Rane nearby in the future when he talked to Zephyr. Rane would enjoy bickering with this man. Either him or Valkare. Actually, it seemed that everyone loved to bicker except for Bivens, himself.

“Sorry, sir,” Zephyr continued. “I just don’t see why we have to...”

“You are dismissed, Sky Marshall,” Bivens said, standing. Zephyr stood as well, saluting his Emperor. “And please...I shouldn’t have to tell you to find something to do with your time. This is the Imperial Military, not kindergarten. I shouldn’t have to baby-sit.”

“You shouldn’t have to shoot offenders on site this weekend either, sir,” Zephyr said as he left, continuing to quarrel.

“You’re right,” Bivens replied, glaring at the Sky Marshall with fire in his eyes. “I shouldn’t. Unfortunately, the world...my world...doesn’t work like that. People will do anything for attention or for pathetic false causes. I’ll give them the damned attention they want, but it won’t be the way they want it, and I’ll guarantee that whatever their worthless cause is, it won’t become public, much less become effective. We’ve having this damn meeting because I want to, Sky Marshall. It is to improve relations. That is its purpose. You, Sky Marshall, should find one.”

“Yes, sir,” Zephyr said, cursing himself for talking as he left. Bivens sat down at his desk, placing his head in his hands. He hated doing that, but even as he tried to fight it, it was becoming more and more clear that babysitting was, in fact, his job. Making sure everyone played nice, played his way, was his purpose.

“You will find, ladies and gentlemen,” Rane said on their way towards the extravagant transport they would be traveling in. “That this is not the Empire of your memories.”

Like Shodan, James said nothing directly to Rane while the others introduced themselves. He had two reasons, really, for remaining silent. First, it would be rude to interject himself while the others were introducing themselves, and he believed it would be better ettiquette for the host to introduce himself first before saying anything. The other, and more important reason, was that while not speaking or drawing direct attention to himself, he would be better able to gauge sincerity and truthfullness in the words of their host.

He mulled over Rane's words carefully, quickly assessed him as the chief diplomat, then set aside what he had said for the moment. To get a true feeling of how a nation, and its people, feel, one must look to the people themselves rather than its diplomats.

He silently eyed the smile on the one identified as the Skymarshal's face while they shook hands, giving a polite nod in return. He continued to observe his reactions, even as Rane spoke. Was the smile sincere? If not, was it because he did not like the Triumvirate, or just diplomatic gatherings altogether.

I cannot make a judgement on this man alone, he thought to himself, as they walked towards the transport. He would need to see others, speak with them, before making a decision.

Magnus does not particularly mind Adrikov's stiffness and quiet distaste, knowing full well the schism between militaristic and diplomatic philosophies tends to be a generally common thread, usually varying only in magnitude from culture to culture and person to person. Even if the Butterfly had dispatched an essentially unsympathetic military officer to make their first impression--probably not the wisest idea, but perhaps they are strapped for staffing after their wars--it was still better than some places he'd been where he had received absolutely no reception at all, arriving in a strange land and immediately being expected to deal with local customs not as a guest of the state but as just another pretty face in the crowd... which is, quite simply, rude to anyone brought up in the rules of proper Arabian hospitality.

Grudging hospitality is still hospitality, and arguably to be better praised because it takes more effort. Here is, Hesche thinks, a man trying to, for now at least, get over himself and be polite no matter what is going on in the back of his mind. Good show. The moment he resolves to be especially respectful to the Sky Marshall out of a sense of commisseration, Doctor Rane arrives and immediately strikes Magnus as primarily someone concerned with image... which many diplomats are, after all, but even the tricksters in IntRelate had a practice of being guileless as long as national interest and negotiation weren't concerned.

So, in the end, Magnus follows the directive to head towards the transport with mixed feelings. On the beneficial side, working with 'a professional' means that things should be more usual; this is his job, after all. On the detrimental side, this could actually make things more difficult because he would have to stay on his toes. The disingenuous smile is always more difficult to read than the suppressed grumble or the forced smile.

Ah well. Wait and see.

Now firmly back in his element (namely, a meet-and-greet on a comfortably solid planet), Alton is perking up. With him, this means a smile (no teeth) plastered on his face, stiff posture, and eyes fixed on the foreign dignitary introducing himself, plus the occaisional nod. Every diplomatic event in the last fifty years of his life has been much the same - introductions, pleasantries, possibly a tour, and then on to the actual work. Alton could do it (and has done it) in his sleep. Once the marshall finishes his introduction, Alton bows and says, "First Speaker Alton of Cetaganda, at your service. It is a pleasure to be here." That finishes, he goes back to passive smiling mode and follows along with the group.

“Where is Julian?” General Valkare asked of the Emperor in the middle of their conversation regarding Thrakkon technology and the situation alluded to this weekend of the summit.

“Entertaining our guests,” Bivens replied. “They have begun to arrive.”

“Glad to see our Director of Intelligence is using his time wisely,” Valkare muttered. Bivens grimaced. Everyone’s...wit...was starting to wear on him. Today was not a good day for him to be in a bad mood.

“I sent him,” the Emperor explained. “I set him up for the job.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd though?” Valkare asked. “Leaps and bounds outside of the job description.”

“He’s the best man for the job,” Bivens defended himself. “Spook or not, he’s our ideal diplomat. Besides, he said himself that he’s a ‘fan’ of the Triumvirate. There’s nothing wrong with a man enjoying himself on the job.”

“Between all the foreigners and females Rane’s manipulated over time, I’d say he enjoys himself quite well,” Valkare mumbled.

“Do you have a point to make, General,” Emperor Bivens asked. “Or are you just ranting?”

“I believe my point is that he needs to do his job before you start sending him off to do what should be someone else’s job,” Valkare explained. One look at the Emperor told the General that it was not what he wanted to hear. Still, Bivens was silent as his esteemed advisor continued. “Not even counting the fact that we now have a stockpile of foreign diplomats in our capital, diplomats from an alliance that we are on shaky terms with, we also have an escalating situation with our neighbors and the situation which you created in the law enforcement department.”

“Rane is, as you said he should be, taking care of the Triumvirate,” Bivens countered. “Sky Marshall Zephyr is on top of the Thrakkon situation, and the combination of your men and the police can more than handle increased capital security for the weekend.”

“I think you’re using too many of my men,” Valkare finally said. “Our police are top of the line. Crime hasn’t even risen in the wake of the Civil War. There’s no reason to devote that many Marines to capital security.”

“I think you care too little about the diplomats we are hosting,” Bivens suggested.

“Sir!” Valkare exclaimed, acting as if he was insulted. The Emperor was, of course, dead on.

“And I think you’re going to have to get over that,” Bivens ordered. “I don’t give a shit if you agree with the potential protestors out there, if they protest, you will eliminate them. Nothing will go wrong this weekend, including you.”

“Yes, sir,” Valkare replied. Bivens glared at his General. He shouldn’t have to tell him this any more than he should have to tell Sky Marshall Zephyr. He didn’t care if the Sky Marshall wanted to invade their neighbors for building ships. He didn’t care if the General didn’t want to send more men to protect the diplomats. Why was he always the one to have to reinforce the ‘big picture?’

“Rane never does this to me, General,” Bivens noted. “Yet everyone else seems to enjoy every minute of my frustration.”

“Sure he does, sir,” Valkare said. “You just let him get away with it.”

“Maybe it’s because he’s usually right,” The Emperor snapped.

“Maybe it’s because he wants to be you,” Valkare shot. “And not your heritage...your title...”

“Get out,” Bivens said calmly but intensely. The General saluted and obeyed and as Bivens walked back to his desk, he swiftly slapped at a piece of crystal on his desk, venting his anger. The trophy careened across the room, smashing against the wall and shattering onto the floor. Downing a glass of ice water, the Emperor walked over to see which trophy he had mauled. Reaching down, he pulled up the first shard he found.

It was an award he had won years ago, even in his relatively short lifespan. Diplomat of the Year.

Koji stood by with the others, quietly watching Rane and the Sky Marshall introduce themselves, somewhat impatiently waiting for them to make their way down the line to him and Ryusuke. Rane was positive they would be enjoying their stay. Koji, however, was already not enjoying it. He had other places that he would rather be at right now, Bivens wasn't one of them. On top that, he wasn't adjusting to the change in gravity too well, simple movements taking slightly more effort and energy to perform. He hid this fact from everyone, keeping a small smile on his face, pretending to enjoy himself. Once Rane and the Sky Marshall approached, he shook their hands and bowed slightly before introducing himself and Ryusuke, who did the same.

"Representatives Kojiru Tanaka and Ryusuke Kajima of Sneaky Bastards. The Chairman and the High Council send their greetings. We thank you for allowing us to be here." Koji said with a smile. Ryusuke nodded slightly.

With the introductions finished, the two representatives follow the other memebers of the group over to the transport, wondering to themselves where the first stop on will be.

The Persephone settled on the ground in her assigned landing coordinates with a mild jolt. The slight shock of meeting solid ground transfered through the ship giving all crew and passengers confirmation that their flight was finally over.

"We are down and stable, Captain," reported the officer at helm control unnecessarily.

"Thank you," Spelling replied formally. "Power down the engines and put this crate into standby. R-York, I'd appreciate it if you would continue to man your station and keep the jump calculations updated every half hour on the hour."

"I will comply."

"Comms, inform our passengers they may disembark at their leisure. Assign a duty team to assist them with their luggage, and a separate one for their security. Also get on Channel Spook and inform Command that we're down and safe."

"Shore leave, Captain?" asked Robbins, the executive officer.

"No, Karl. Not this time. Maybe if the diplomats forge better relations but for now all crew are to stay aboard unless their duties require them outside. Set up the computer for drill simulations. That'll keep them occupied."

"The crew are going to be curious, Ma'am," Robbins reminded her. "They're going to be disappointed that they can't go out and mingle. They're as bad as wet navy sailors ever were."

"That's just too bad, Mr. Robbins," Spelling replied. "They'll have to curb their...inclinations for a while. Get to it."

When the word was passed to Grant and his people, they were already packed and ready to go. Charles assigned two burly crewmen to assist the senior Ambassador in moving his ponderous bulk from the confines of the ship.

Catherine stood at the door of the closed airlock going over speeches in her mind. Although she looked calm, she flinched when Charles patted her on the shoulder. "We're ready. Don't be so nervous. We'll be fine."

She scowled at him. "I'd be happier if he were in the limelight the way he's supposed to be. I can't do my job properly if I'm expected to chat up every dignitary who wants his feathers stroked."

Charles shrugged. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd heard that complaint during the flight. Then he nodded to a crewman waiting patiently behind them. "Open it."

The crewman entered a code into a panel next to the hatch, and the doors cracked open. Catherine, Charles and their security stepped through, and the crewman closed the doors behind them. There came the sound of pumps and a gentle wind as the air was replaced with atmosphere from outside the hull, then the outer doors opened to bright sunlight. Charles and Catherine immediately shaded their eyes.

"Here we go."

Evangelista did rather well to hide her relief at seeing the other representatives. She already found it slightly disconcerting the way things not only looked, but felt different here. The difference in gravity gave the impression that she was moving slower or more ponderously than she ought to be, and she found herself feeling a touch winded at the end of the first business-like walk.

She regarded the newcomers thoughtfully, immediately recognizing SHODAN first and foremost. It was a fairly typical mix for a Trium affair, all in all she supposed, though not nearly so diverse as what could be managed. This particular meet-and-greet was not the usual faire, and she was getting the impression, as might be expected, that not everyone on the other side of the equation was entirely pleased over it.

Perhaps a similar state of affairs exists here as does in the Dominion, she mused. Think as you like, so long as you toe the party line in public - or don't get caught moving against it.

One thing was clear - it would if nothing else, prove to be an interesting and enlightening couple of days.

"It's good to see you all have made it as well," she says, addressing the rest of the Trium group. "I look forward to the pleasure of your company while we enjoy the hospitality of our gracious hosts."

The Akrev Center - Planet of Bivens - Steel Empire - The Orion Sector

The Akrev Center was the newest and boldest reminder of both what the Empire once was and what Dave Bivens was going to make it be once more. The magnificent splendor which radiated from the immense building could almost be seen reflecting in the eyes of those who walked past, looking upon it. It would be false to say that Akrev was like no other since there were many various buildings of the sort across the universe, but to the best of the Emperor’s vast knowledge, none were to Akrev’s scale or scope. The Akrev Center may have been similar to other summit buildings, but none came close to Akrev.

Now, as the transport circled around the center, Dr. Julian Rane took a second to observe his guests’ reaction. Some where amazed by Akrev’s grandeur, some annoyed by it, but all gave some sort of reaction, whether it honest or not. Rane loved the place, comparing it in some ways to himself. Akrev was stylish and intrepid in design, appearing ready for anything.

As the rather large transport touched down, the doors opened, and the delegates departed, surrounded by security forces both foreign and domestic. Rane and Sky Marshall Adrikov led the delegates to the grand front doors of the massive structure, nodding towards the guards to lower the field. They obliged, opening the doors as well, and Rane led the delegates into the entrance.

The Akrev foyer was like the rest of the building, pushing the boundaries of extravagance and beauty. A giant crystal chandelier was surrounded by smaller ones which were surrounded by smaller ones still, and all hundred-plus were reflecting off of the massive fountain display underneath. The various staircases were comprised of smoothed and shined precious stones, mostly diamonds, and an assortment of plaques and weapons were hanging from the walls. A grin spread itself wide across Julian’s face as he led the guests around the fountain and through the double doors in the back.

The cafeteria, if you could even give such a splendid hall such a petty name, was where they would be eating lunch if they desired. Various foods from all the ends of the universe were on display around the room, and comfortable chairs were sitting next to stylish tables in the center.

“It must have been a long journey,” Rane told them, turning to face them and extending his arms. “Even if you wish not to eat, please, make yourself comfortable. If there’s anything you need, feel free to ask for it.” Rane strolled over to the food and plucked an appetizer off of the crystal tray. Eating it, he smiled his dazzling smile. “It really is quite good.”

The Gestalt has been in many different places; space stations orbiting Saturn, labs on Earth, Melkor's throne in Arda, uninhabitable wastelands here and there. In all her travels, she has come to the quiet realization that perhaps the best philosophical stance on location in the universe can be summed up in a simple tautology: wherever one goes, that is where one is.

With this in mind, and with the added benefit of her avatar being an almost completely arbitrary form of instrumentality (even if the image and her usual reactions are pulled from the depths of her once-insane mind), she makes sure that she does not react whatsoever concerning the Akrev Center when she notes Rane watching. It is simply another place, another set of walls not to run into and obstacles to navigate, like an exceedingly large lamppost.

Indeed, buildings, monuments... these are not what make nations, even if people are proud of or astounded by them. No, looking at the Amazing and Awesome is not what S.H.O.D.A.N. is here for. While she does sample some of the foods indicated as native to Steel Butterfly, taking advantage of her avatar's various systems, she mostly waits politely for the discussion to commence.

No, a nation is not made of buildings and structures. A nation is made of people. Shodey can't wait to meet some.

Hesche stifles the urge to sigh and look at his digital watch on his wrist. Scolopendrans are utilitarian almost to a fault; while discarding brutalist and modernist schools of architecture in favor of the simple-yet-interesting geometric lines of Art Deco for their own lands, they find anything past a Classical attention to detail far too busy for their own tastes. The baroque monstrocity of the Center is simply an example of things that annoy Scolopendrans: being rationalist spacers and colonists, they do not believe in building big unless one has to. Zeppelin hangars, spaceports, the domes of the Caves of Steel... they are all big, certainly, but because their functions demand it, not out of some desire to simply build big things.

Then comes the conflict between 'Pendran utilitarianism and the (to them) needless extravagance of the Center... Hesche has been to several functions in a few different palaces in Menelmacar and, he is quick to note to himself, this place is worse when it comes to blatant ostentationism. Some architect out there must have a microscopically small one... ah well. Still, he is a diplomat, and so smiles diplomatically in a broad-toothed expression that matches Rane's in scope and probably sincerity. After all, one always appreciates hospitality--it is the Arab way.

"I'll take you up on that," he says as he tries one of the hors d'oeuvres after Rane, politely nibbling and savoring the mixed tastes of whateveritis that went into it. "We are truly appreciative of your hospitality," he continues, "and hopefully someday we can return the favor. Having come a long way, I suppose I am just a little curious as to what's on the agenda..." He winks comradely as he finishes off the little treat, smiling with sincere joviality that belies his thoughts: Yes, I get it. Everything is big and ostentatious and wonderful. Can we get on with it now? "I don't make trips like this every day, after all."

"Where are they?"

"In the cafeteria...sampling food it seems..."

"That is what the cafeteria is for..."

“Some seem impatient...”

“You can’t please everyone. These people are diplomats…I’m assuming they’re here for diplomacy…”

“Will you be making an appearance?”

“Let them come to me,” Emperor Bivens replied, leaning back in his chair. “Is the summit hall ready?”

“More than ever,” the servant announced. Bivens smiled at the servant, proceeding to look past the man and towards the person in the doorway. The servant bowed, exiting as the General entered.

“How’s security?” The young Emperor asked, focusing more on his lunch.

“The people are in line,” Valkare replied. “Crime’s never really been a problem here…”

“It’d be a piss poor time for it to start then,” Bivens responded. “Besides, we live in dangerous times.”

“Not that dangerous, sir,” The General commented. Bivens shrugged.

“Like I said, better be safe than sorry,” he said…again. After a few more bites he asked, “Will you be joining us at the summit?”

“I think it’d be good for a military representative,” Valkare said.

“What about Adrikov?” Bivens asked.

“Like I said…a military representative,” Valkare muttered.

“We’ll be answering their questions first,” Bivens announced. “Keep the replies civil…please…”

“Yes, sir,” Valkare replied.

“After that we’ll be making our proposal…”

“Which is?”

“Friendship,” The Emperor replied. “Opening of trade routes, opening of diplomatic channels, opening of minds…”

“More ‘friends?’” Valkare grumbled at the thought.

“You can never have enough…”

Morphin studies her surroundings with a hard to read expression. While not nearly as utilitarian as the Scolopendrans, extravegence is more often than not seen as wasteful by most reploids, but she flashes a bemused smile when she notes she is being observed. She politely declines the offered food, though she wanders along with Rane to the table. "This is quite impressive." She states in a friendly voice. "Especially for a nation so recently recovering from civil strife. I've been told it took Firefury-sama decades to restore the Shogunate to what the old Empire had been, let alone beyond."

While the ship's EI chats up Rane, Patrick hangs back with Shodan. "Rather overkill, I think. Unless this happens to be left over from before their war, which I doubt." He whispers while sampling some of the local delicacies. "At least the food's good."

Patrick sends a slightly lecherous look in Hesche's direction and smiles. "And the company's better."

It was indeed an impressive edifice - this could not be denied. What Evangelista found herself puzzling out the 'why' behind it all. Architecture had a purpose, after all, at least in the Dominion. As they continued on, she came to the decision that the Akrev Center served a purpose well enough in some respects, and fell far short in others.

She was more conservative than some of her peers, and her taste in styles followed that. To even the more decadent Dominion folk, such use of gems in such large ammounts would be seen as a tad gauche. There was a time and place for such splendour, and better served as a highlight or accent to draw attention to something important. When the rare and wonderful was used so freely, it lost its effect, becomming commonplace, or loosing its meaning. For Evangelista, such excess was obscene. She glanced about, taking it all in, feeling slightly embarrassed for her hosts, while trying to smile amicably enough. The 'soldati' accompanying her carry on as usual. Any commentary from them takes place via brief hand gestures in a code the Company has had for ages.

The only person I can think of who would go to such lengths is that cursed Calabrese, she thought, looking around the room holding the refreshments. Power-hungry, overreaching, greedy ... So very slick, too. This Rane fellow reminds me all too much of the good Chancellor. He smiles too broadly, just like Cesare now and then. Absolutely up to no go-- The woman paused mid-thought, blushing slightly for no apparent reason, and attempting to cover it by gingerly sampling one of the hors d'oeuvres. Thinking ill of people, even those likely deserving it, was a sin. Then again, so was pride, which seemed to be in abundance here.

Of course this line of thought only brought to mind the Virtues she was supposed to be espousing, in this case perhaps most importantly, patience, humility, and kindness. All while managing somehow to serve the interests of her nation and duties of her office. She silently prayed that this would not turn out to be one of those situations that brought her faith and her duty into conflict.

Hesche's comments drew her attention back to present, and she nodded in agreement. "Indeed. My thanks for all your gracious hospitality - it is much appreciated. Still, I'm as curious as my colleague here as to expectations and agendas. Perhaps you could enlighten us while we enjoy the fare?"

Alton, like the rest of his companions, is polite enough not to say anything about the architectural excesses of the center while he samples the offerings. After all, different cultures have different values with regard to impressiveness and the proper amount of glitter. He was sure that some people might find the large, open architecture of the Imperial Palace or other buildings of the capital to be too inefficient, and others might find them too austure for a proper seat of government. On the other hand, he couldn't help but wonder where the resources to build this kind of structure came from so soon after a civil war, and what other programs and people were now suffering because of the money invested in each of those shining jeweles and trays. In fact, he was beginning to get the impression that the locals were doing their best to draw attention away from anything else the diplomats might see.

Still, diplomacy. "This is quite impressive, and thank you for the refreshments. Like my colleagues, I'm very interested in why you've called us here"

As the lunch hour neared its conclusion, and Bivens and Valkare were busy getting ready for the summit, Rane continued to entertain the Empire’s...no...his guests. Various songs were sung by varying voices and a multitude of musical instruments, the gentle tones setting different moods from song to song. Dr. Julian Rane, seemingly the jack of all trades, was actually a classically trained vocalist, as was the Emperor himself, yet while both had quite excellent voices, neither would be performing. Entertaining guests in that way was not thought fondly of by the Orion society. People of prestige didn’t sing for others in that manner. They were not party favors.

The party itself, and the building which housed it, were funded by the Emperor’s own wallet. While past Emperors grew filthy rich upon taking the post, few were already as wealthy as Dave Bivens. As was law on the planet Bivens, named after his ancestors, the prevailing member of the family was both President of Bivens, Inc., the most powerful and wealthy corporation in the Orion Sector, and Governor of the planet named after them. However, in Dave’s case, he was given the planet by the passing of his father, and earned the Empire during and following the civil war. It was a strange situation to be in for the Emperor, being that company money and Imperial money were one in the same. Also, the Empire owed Bivens, Inc. money for funding the resistance, so he was, in some way, indebted to himself.

The Civil War, which lasted a mere three years, never reached the space of the planet Bivens. The Imperials, fighters of the former regime, had landed on the resistance’s first capital, planet Aeisis, but after the rebels fought them off, they relocated to a planet even further away from the main planet and former capital of the Empire, Steel Butterfly. Steel Butterfly, a planet entirely composed of three planet-wide cities on top of one another, was ravaged during the second to last great battle, even as far as having a battleship crash through the levels and down to the planets surface. Now, two years following the Adrikov’s surrender, the former and future capital was slowly being rebuilt, stalled only by shifts in funding like that of the Akrev Center. Nevertheless, Emperor Bivens deemed this two-day summit more important than the rebuilding project, which still had a few good years to go. Besides, he rationalized, the people were used to high taxes.

Sky Marshall Adrikov listed to the music and the sound of Dr. Rane’s arrogant yet inviting voice as he finished his lunch, looking around at those nearby. They seemed to be waiting for something, some patiently, some not as much. “Well,” he told himself, checking his pocket watch. “The meeting will be starting within the hour. I sure hope they have some good questions. Presentations can get rather boring after a while...”

"I must say, the food is good. Its better than that crap I had on the Shugotenshi before we departed for the Morphin back home." Koji whispered, his head slightly tilted towards Ryusuke who was sitting next to him.

Ryusuke nodded slightly, setting down his fork on his now empty plate. "Yeah, definitely. I feel sorry for everyone on that ship having to eat that stuff daily." he whispered back. He cast a glance around the room, looking to see what the others were doing. "Think we'll get down to buisness here soon?"

"I hope so. I hate it when these diplomatic meetings take too long." Leaning back in his seat a little, Koji tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling.

While he was impressed with the food, Koji wasn't impressed at all with the building. All the fancy and expensive materials used to decorate the place as well as the overall size of the building kinda bothered him. He thought he'd seen worse in other countries, however, this place topped his list. In his mind, there just wasn't any need for something like this. Something much smaller and less luxurious would have worked just fine for entertaining the group, he thought. Ah well, it was their money. Not like he could really complain about what they did with it. Sitting forward again, Koji turned to Dr. Rane as some of the other started to ask questions.

"Ah, yes. Thank you, the food was excellent. Like a few of the others here, I am quite curious as to what we can look forward to, next." he said with a small nod.

Catherine Ravon tried not to look frazzled as she entered the room with Charles Bishop close behind her. First that idiot gets space-sick, and now this. For his part, Charles had given up on attempting to reassure her; the delay at the spaceport had been just one more scene in a comedy of errors.

However, once they arrived at the table where their peers were seated, Catherine looked almost relieved. "Evangelista, my dear. I haven't seen you since Lavenrunz." She leaned down to present a faux kiss on the other woman's cheeks in the continental style. *"Sembrate oggi meravigliosi."

She straightened and turned to the others. Some she knew better than others. "Shodan, Mr. Hesche. It's a pleasure to see you both." Then she makes a slight bow to the rest. "I am Junior Ambassador Catherine Ravon, Treznor. This is my associate Charles Bishop. I regret that our primary representative couldn't attend today, as he fell under the weather during the trip."

Damn his eyes.

*"You look wonderful."

"Ah, Catherine!" Evangelista says, returning the greeting with a smile. "Grazie, milady - as do you. A pleasure to have you along on this venture. And Charles - buon giorno, mi amicos."

Waiting for the two to get comfortably settled, she arches a brow curiously. "The poor dear," she murmurs in response to Grant's convalescence. "I do hope he recovers soon. Always a pleasure to work with the man." Her emphasis is very slight, and she subtly winks at Catherine as she speaks, knowing full well how the situation stood, and as usual, being mildly amused by it.

Truly, the Emperor was inspired to have set that all up the way he had. Misdirection at its finest.