NationStates Jolt Archive

My fellow countrymen, following the detonation of a supposed Japanese superweapon over Australian soil earlier this year, shortly before the attempt at the right and honourable end of the war, the Australian people have had to deal with an event almost as cataclysmic as the apocalypse itself. With all contact cut with the motherland, and indeed all the other nations of our world, and thus lacking the necessary trade and associated imports to sustain our way of life, we have to realize that this is not the earth we formerly knew, and to garner support and desperately needed trade contracts to survive, the meat and bones of it all. How that is to be done remains up to you. In fact, It is my duty to show the nations of this unexplored world that we are a competent and dependable people, through what diplomatic methods available to us.

Ben Chifley, your honest and upright mate.

~~~~~
Some short few months later, Official Government broadcast from Canberra to all nations capable of receiving television and radio signals.

Adjusting his tie, Benedict gulps slightly. This was to be their official first contact with the countries and people of this earth, and he was most certainly nervous. Though he -was- the elected representative of the Australian people, and he took some pride from that. The cameramen swivel the large and bulky object of their service to face Benedict and flip the switch, causing the red 'On Air' light to glow.

People of this world! I am Australian prime minister The Right Honourable Joseph Benedict Chifley, and I and my nation wish to establish proper trade and diplomatic relations with those of you willing and capable of doing such things. To that effect, I invite your diplomatic representatives to the conference centre in Canberra, for (obviously) what I hope will be a series of meetings that will produce productive relations between us.

This grainy black and white broadcast was repeated every two hours, both through television and on radio(though the radio portion would obviously be better recieved), in English, Japanese and various european languages.

OOC: FT, MT, etc tech levels are all welcome. I'm not going to be picky here, despite this nation being ripped from a late world war two time period.

"Wow, another Australia just fell the hell out of nowhere." Prime Minister John Down noted with interest at the emergency meeting called for this occasion.

"Yeah, straight from a hundred years ago n' all. Apparently the Jap's detonated some superweapon over them" General May replied.

"That's very cool. How come we can't do that?" The Prime Minister inquired.

"We don't have enough funding, see..." May tried to persuade the Prime Minister, for the nth time this week.

"I know where this is going- now shutup and tell me what we're going to do. I wasn't placed here so I could tell the Military what to do, you all know it's the otherway round." The Prime Minister spoke quickly. After a brief silence, he added "There's no media here, right?"


To: The Australian Government
From: The most concerned government of the United Kingdom of Hogsweat
Re: 'Sup
We recognise with most enthusiasm that Australia has joined us, from a time long long ago. It is with sincerety that we propose a joint trade deal with Australia and a proposition of a meeting between our two nations for anything more. Attached to this document you will find (in English, no less!) a charter of all that our Empire exports and imports.
Good day mate,
Prime Minister John Down

"By the Prophet (Peace Be Upon Him) this job makes my head hurt," grumbles Lieutenant Commander al-Sistawi, current Officer of the Watch for Voyeur ISR Operations at Earth Theatre Headquarters aboard Valhalla Station. "How many Australias does that put us up to?"

"Too goddamned many, sir," replies Chief Master Sergeant Cobb, hands folded lightly behind his back. "That's not counting the UNCOOLs, of course." Unidentified Nonhistoric Continent-Overlapping Objective Landmasses are the bane of Voyeur scopedope operations given that they are both by definition some of the worst offenders in terms of fractal breakage of reality and by reputation the ones needing the most watching. Tardelanore, Lodoss, Arda, Haven, The Vast... all more or less UNCOOLs.

"And this one's from... what... 1940?"

"According to their radio broadcast, sir, probably from around 1945. We should probably ask them. Puts it four hundred years pre-Break..."

"And past that, no one has any clue." al-Sistawi sighs. "Well, I'll send it up to the old man. I'm sure he'll have something to say about it."

* - * - *

Via the usual radio communications:

Right Honourable Joseph Benedict Chifley:

This is Sky Marshal Rico of the Triumvirate of Yut. Couldn't help but notice your open invitation, sir--just calling to inform you that I've forwarded it to Triumvirate nations just in case they decide to take you up on it. Common courtesy and all. I'm sure it comes as no surprise when I say that things have changed a bit from what you're probably used to.

We will be dispatching a Diplomatic Officer attached to Valhalla to meet you. Where would be the most convenient place for us to send her, and what would be the most convenient way for us to do it in?

Respectfully,

Sky Marshal Juan Rico
Commanding Officer, Earth Theatre
Valhalla Station

The message is passed through the normal channels, and Benedict himself scripts a reply for a fairly low ranking Communications Officer to work with. (Which he unofficially expands on, casual like.)

That would be Sydney International, Marshal. Assuming you still use aircraft that can land there, really. And, heh, yes it has been quite an extreme experience for all involved. Still getting used to the fact that you all use -spaceships-, of all things. And dont get me started on the social changes. Mind you, I do fancy those shiny colour 'televisions' you lot have. Oh, and I'm supposed to mention your Diplo Officer getting a proper and formal reception. Tis the least we can do.
Signing off, C.O Greg Fisher.

The three men sat just inside the room cut into the face of the mountain ...

~ ~ ~ Some National Back-Ground ~ ~ ~

Komokom ... It was an old nation, which could trace the history of itself almost back to the very start of time. Well, recorded time. But it was quite a long time, trust that. Not that much of this time who be connected to any other nation, really.

The reason for this was simple enough. Geography. However, the geography itself wasn't all that simple. While Komokom covered a large swath of land, almost all of it was encrusted with mountains and the consequent valleys between which, not to mention being land locked. It was in fact, ringed by mountains. Very tall mountains. Very hard mountains, in so far as being able to cross them, history could testify to that, or rather a lack of it when it came into contact with other states. Most of the few mountain passes were in fact plugged with snow most of the year, a few others very, very carefully protected.

( Komokom didn't like to be disturbed. )

Where there wasn't a snow-capped mountain, there was usually rain-forest in a valley, and where there wasn't still rain forest in a valley, there was usually a city carved into the side of a mountain or ringed around a basin floor lake or wet-land or multi-kilometer by multi-kilometer rice paddy painted field.

In the side of the mountains one would find mines, for gold, silver, all metals, really, not to mention precious and semi-precious stones. Cities, towns also sat perched on slopes, safe from the odd avalanche by carefully positioning over time, and the odd ... fatal lesson to a local populance in the past.

Woven around the bases of the ever-present mountains there were rivers, swamps, and even the odd dark forest.

But, as for the history of Komokom ...

It had originally been a series of tribes, oon united under a good an just king.

Your usual, fairy-tale crap ... For a while ...

How-ever, the problem with a Monarchy is that the next Monarch may be no-where near as good as the last. This happened just once too often for the people ... so of course, the Monarchy was ... removed ... From Monarchy, to a Military Dictatorship over a few weeks, then even to a real Democracy ( After a slightly less bloody revolution ) pushed by the former Aristocracy, no less. Then the return of the Monarchy from exile. Then, the removal of the Monarchy again much to the annoyance of which, heh. Communism, or something like it, this time. Then after only a decade of consequent social anarchy as evey-one worked out just how equal they were, a Junta of sorts took power ( By only minmal force this time round ) and gave the nation back to itself, as best as they could.

With-out it going right back into the shitter again, though.

The end result was an extremely intro-spective country with an abundance of resources, some fairly innovative thinking across the board of society and technology, and a nature which was wary of change, for all the blood it had spilled from them in the past.

Though they were at last getting over that, luckily. Despite the odd Communist Socialist militant rebel cell ( Rare ) taking a pot shot at a Junta official, or a Monarchist Loyalist cell ( Not so rare, and possibly with the secret support of a full quarter of the National Parliment, which as part of a mostly working peace-deal with the Aristocracy, secured their future as long as they rubber-stamped the Presidential decrees ) setting off a car bomb, while trying to hurt as few people as possible.

Oh, and a Presidente for Life acting with the aide of a loyal enough armed forces ( They could be trusted to do their job without storming the palace ) and a decent enough internal security agency ( The Presidente wasn't dead yet and the armed forces hadn't stormed the palace yet, read into that as you will ... ) ...

~ ~ ~ Back to The Present ~ ~ ~

Joshua Marc Kom, the 30-something Presidente for Life and former biologist and part time accountant,

OOC : ( Behold, as I pull directly from my ass ! :rolleyes: )

- of the " Grande Republique de Komokom ", sat with his two " advisors " around a carved table of dark wood, just inside an open balcony of the Presidential Palace, cut into the living rock of the Mount de Kom, the very cradle of their civilisation. His two " advisors " were the Chief of the Armed Services, and the Administrator of the Ministry of Minding Other Peoples Business.

And all of them were enjoying ( Sort of ) a nice cup of rich black coffee, as national tradition required, with at least 3 spoons of sugar dropped in to dissolve, un-stirred. All three of them were also discussing a weak transmission that was filtering across the mountain tops, a sort they didn't all that often pick up, and for once were seriously thinking about acting on.

" Superweapons ... and what if their enemy, these ... Japanese they spoke of, come back ? Do YOU want us tossed into ... what, a black hole too ? Across the fabric of time and space ? Or one or the other ? I for one do not like it one bit. "

That was, of course, the Chief of the Armed Services, General Franks.

" Look, " replied " Jon Smith ", the Administrator of the M.M.O.P.B. " - that was clearly in the past, and for the first time in our entire national history we live in a position of economic strength, physical power, and, well, the signs are good, so says my magic eight-ball, at least ... "

" That is my point, we ( This was " the military ", he spoke for, whose opinion he decided, heh. ) do not want to risk what we have built now on some vague gesture of " Let Us All Be Holding Hands and Happy, While the Sun Smiles On Us, and Cute Little Bunnies Hop Across Green F - "

" - uck up. I'm thinking, you know ... Nor does your skill with sarcasm do you any good in debate. I suggest you return to shooting your problems first, though, only when I tell you, as we agreed. "

The Administrator of the M.M.O.P.B. smiled widly, while a facial gesture of exactly opposite polarity graced the features of the Services Chief. The Administrator knew he'd chosen wisely with Joshua, he was smart yes, and controllable, though admittedly he was well aware of this " control ", but it was a mutually beneficial partner-ship for all three at the end of the day, the two " advisors " got to do what they enjoyed, who, when he wasn't fixing slides and directing national research agencies, got to run a country in his spare time. So they did actually get along, despite harsh words and the odd ... gesture of spite.

He ( Joshua ) sipped at the hot beverage and scowled. It'd been spooned with white sugar, when traditionally it should've been brown sugar. Not that it mattered that much, but really ...

Yech ...

He picked up the transcript and some of the stills of the images transmitted.

" When I read it over, and remembering our ... position as we have made for our selves here, I think ... "

Both the Administrator and the Chief lent forward slightly, this was the only kind of democracy in government to be found in this country now, as informal thought it was.

" Why not, we shall do it. It is time to poke our noses out from behind the curtain. "

" Ha ! Two against one, my General. I think you owe me 50 New K's ! "

Joshua smiled, so that was why the General had been barracking so strongly.

Cheap old fool he is but a benign enough one ... As well as my fool ...

The General dug out his patent leather wallet, and spent as long as he could counting out 50 New K notes, the denomination of which raised even Joshua's eyes, if not that all surprised.

" You only have 123 of them in there, General, so I hope you won't take too long ... "

Both Joshua and the General gave the Administrator an brief and un-comfortable glance. They hated it when he did that. Then again, they all liked to pull this crap on each other, it was fun and a facet of the friend-ship, after-all.

A few hours later, an all-together stronger series of signals in roughly the same formats made their way back over the immortal mountains to where they'd ( The original signals ) came from :

Dear Prime Minister, Joseph Benedict Chifley,

The Grande Republique de Komokom, has heard your call into the dark-ness of the world around you, and we respond whole hearted in the same sentiment to you. While we do not know your circumstances, we emerge from some of which we had placed upon ourselves for much of our time in existance. They were dark times, but now we step out from behind the curtain of our own making and into the light, eager to shake hands and look upon new faces. We would be most glad to make both your aquiantance, and that of your people, with ours.

Under-signed,

The Grande Republique de Komokom, Ruling Junta.

Presidente for Life, Joshua Marc Kom.

Advisor, General Franks of the Armed Services.

Advisor, Jon Smith, Administrator of the Internal Security Service, M.M.O.P.B.

Heh, the leadup to this diplo piss-up of ours is getting quite a reaction. Let's up we can deliver when it counts. (And we get a lot of trade bullshit out of this.) Now to write this all formal like.

----To the ruling junta of The Grande Republic De Komokom, of which Presidente for Life, Joshua Marc Kom is the noble and just leader.

We, the Australian people, will be honoured to recieve a diplomat from the Grande Republique, as we hope we have much to offer you, and you us. May both our futures shine in all our endevours. Of course, you shall recieve a proper and just reception when you arrive at Sydney International. Just so you know.

~The Right Honourable Joseph Benedict Chifley, prime minister of Australia.----


God in heaven, that almost made me puke. I need to stop taking diplo lessons. Now to get onto the more important part, my afternoon tea...

Isasrach Central Control Room, Tareldanorë, 0:32 AM

The sensors console was usually home to only one person, but today, two were present, a Menelmacari elf and a Necrontyr. The latter, sitting on the right, seemed to find something a cause of consternation. Six screens of various types worked overtime displaying lists of numbers, waveform graphs, and a large holographic display correlated real-time telemetry. “Would you look at that,” he said, “I have no idea,” he punched a button to increase the data gathering resolution, “what’s going on over there. Some kind of disturbance running right to the bedrock.”

“Okay, this is getting rather more impressive,” the elf said, “Take a look at the Elenpalantir feed.”

He turned from his screens to the other hologram. A sphere of shimmering light was expanding, akin to a wormhole-teleport-terminus. Beyond it, where there had been ocean, a continent was appearing.


Shortly later, Senator Aiyana (http://www.necrontyr.plus.com/images/aiyana.jpg), the highest ranking C’tan government representative in the city found herself leaned over the communications console, watching an old style of television transmission from the new continent. Sitting down, she adjusted her hair, and began composing a response, sent in the same black-and-white style.

“I am Senator Aiyana Tirecean of the C’tan. I would like to welcome you to this world, and convey my government’s eager wish to send diplomats to to take up your invitation to this conference.”

Soon afterwards, preparations were underway in a nearby landing pad.

Dear GOD the responses are coming in like flies on a dead roo!...and this one seems even more out there than the last few. Eh, I take them as they come. They're all useful to some degree, and we have much to offer. As for this reply, there's no way in hell I'm going to appear to be so...brownnosing. And cur-tain? Is their leader some type of wallpaper and or actual curtain? Not to mention that these constant broadcasts will bloody well blow up the equipment at this rate.

What follows is a personalized response from a somewhat obviously tired Joseph, desperate to make a good impression...for the cameras.

"Well then." Rico smiles broadly, folding his arms as he struts across the front of Olympus Mons' command room. "I finally pulled off a decent first contact. So, what do we have that can land at this 'Sydney International' thing? Sensors?"

"It's where history says it should be, sir," the sensors officer replies, "and Voyeur overflight shows it to be three runways, at least one being gravel. The other two look paved... I think a Scarab should be able to VTOL just fine around it."

"Bah," the Sky Marshal replies with slight shake of his head, "I don't want to be dropping out of the sky on people if they're not accustomed to it."

"They obviously know we use spaceships, sir," rebuts the sensors officer with a slight hint of the Submissive Tense seeping into his English. Surprisingly (or not) the interplay between human and kzinti cultures in the Federated Segments had lead to each species picking up cultural traits from the other. While now all Scolopendran kzin speak Arabic and English in addition to their native kzints'utng; humans have adopted kzinti terms as slang and common idiom and even the various complex tonal 'tenses' of the Hero's Tongue, each dependent on circumstance and intent. The young sensors officer is obviously a Scolopendran with a few ratcat friends. "They said so themselves."

"Still--if they know they're talking to spacemen, that's trouble enough. No need to stress them further by looking the part." Barest hint of Factual Tense. "I mean, it's not like we're about to send a 'zin or a Sakkran down there, right?" More than a slight hint of Superior-Inferior (Imperative/Mocking) Tense. Obviously the middle-aged Sky Marshal has had his exposure as well. "How about the Dominion, then? They still have jetliners, right?"

"Key word being jet, sir." Olympus Mons, the mind retrofitted into a supercarrier of the same name, has no background requiring or suggesting that it speak one form of an alien organic language (which would be any of them) over another. Its avatar--a large but mostly low-density plasticine stone golem wearing a tunic that replicates the basics of a Combined Services uniform--does, however, affect a perfect yet mild Greek accent.

"Jets were around back then," Rico says with a frown. "I know my history at least that well."

"Military jets, yes. They are apparently two years short of even an experimental civilian jetliner. Their runways reflect this, being too short--historical records show that it was extended in... sometime between 1960 and 1972. Netdiving any further for an exact number would be counterproductive."

Rico sighs. "All this is academic. I know jets can't land on gravel. Do you think the Dominion has any propeller-driven aircraft on hand?" He thinks for a moment, watching Mons do its usual preparation to react, a politeness offered to slower-thinking organics so they are not replied to nearly instantaneously. "No, never mind. Too slow, too loud, so on and so forth. Falling out of the sky it is." Grumbling good-naturedly to himself, the Sky Marshal stalks back to his seat and sits down heavily. "Comms, prepare to transmit a reply, same frequency..."

* - * - *

Sydney International it is. Just give us a time and we'll be there. Our representative doesn't know it yet because he hasn't been told, but he looks forward to meeting you and all that. Heh heh.

Please inform comm officer Fisher that we'll even bring along some color TVs since he showed an interest in them. Also tell him that if he hasn't figured it out yet, formality is completely optional. He'll know what it means. And if this is you, Fisher, receiving this, hello again and don't bother forwarding it to yourself.

Sky Marshal Rico out.

Excellent. The missus is going to be surprised when I bring home a /colour TV/. And now back to the reply before Ben himself has to tell me so.

~~~~

Ehehe. Yes, He or She will most certainly be glad to see us. I'll set up a little something for them. With four legs and a duckbill, heh. As formality is optional, as you said, We'll try /not to/ have the full diplomatic ceremony and everything. It'd get tiring doing it for all of you. A few abo workers with the little surprise I mentioned should be enough. Not TOO much culture shock.

"So..." Diplomatic Officer Senga Weir scratches the back of her head, careful not to displace her brown hair from the conservative bun into which it has been arranged. Perhaps she could let it down on the ground, but Rico always was a stickler for sharp dress and so there'd be no longhairs on any of his ships... except for the ratcats or the occasional Ravenspiran foxperson, of course, seeing how they could hardly help it. "Is that the pallet of color televisions that I've heard rumors of from the ship's fabber crew?"

The master sergeant loadmaster grunts a "yes, ma'am" in assent without once looking up from his databoard. "Special order from the Old Man. We've been under our fabber budget anyway, so I've heard, and this Scarab has plenty of space for us to bring gifts."

Senga nods quietly to herself, folding her arms as she does some quick mental calculations. "Hmmm... yes, I suppose. Gifts are good for diplomacy. Thank you, Sergeant." She unclips her own databoard from her silver (actually polished aluminum) segmented utility belt and flips through the animated e-sheets that describe everything that the shipminds of Olympus Mons and its supercarrier component could find on Australian culture in the period between 1945 and 1950. It's quite a lot of information, and she doesn't expect to get through any of it in detail during the flight... but at least she can scan it and acclimate herself with everything.

* - * - *

A Scarab-class shuttle resembles something between a large metal beetle and a C-130 cargo hauler, flying about on four stubby swept wings swoops down with a barely audible low hum, slowing with a gentle flair over Sydney's longest runway before taxiing off onto the nearby green. Keen observers may notice that until the coleopteran craft settles off the flight line it never actually touches the ground, always keeping five to ten centimeters between the bottom of its landing feet and the ground. This particular approach is another product of the Sky Marshal's desire not to seem too outlandish from the get-go.

The rear cargo doors open and Diplomatic Officer Weir, dressed in her proper blue-and-black Class As, wheels out a moderately sized cargo pallet on a large dolley; the pallet boasts both tall, wide, but thin boxes and several cases of what appears to be beer. "Delivery for Comms Officer Fisher and company." Getting it off the shuttle and onto the grass, she looks over at the dark men holding up a marsupial and blinks. "Hi. I'm Diplomatic Officer Senga Weir." If they knew anything about kzints'utng they'd recognize the barest tonal hints of the Interrogative Tense. "Is that a... platypus?"

Though carefully rested in a high quality(for that timeperiod) nestbox, it most certainly was a platypus. With enough food and water to survive for a long while, assuming the recipient knew how to take care of it. The two men carrying it slowly lowered it to the ground, and turned to stare at the newly arrived Diplo officer.

Yes ma'am, that most certainly is a plateepus. Special order, a present for -you-, in fact.
The two others then proceed to attempt to move the televisions, however they can. Mostly just by lugging them one at a time, unless otherwise instructed by the newcomers. The alleged beer, however drew interested sniffs, and the occasional mumbling of the intent to appropriate a case or two later.

Now, ma'am, if you would kindly follow me to the jeep, we can get'to the centre. Please keep any and all limbs inside the vehicle at all times, as it does get quite dirty and muddy on the way there, and we wouldn't want your officeel uniform to get all mucked up.

OOC:

Movodor...damn it, TV wasn't in use in Australia till 1956!

One of the things that the years left surprisingly untouched was briefcases. The briefcases used by the C’tani diplomats on Isasrach were very similar to those of nineteen forty five, with leather and wood design, flexible handle. Pen holders inside, paper, and so forth.

However, such equipment was perhaps the most mundane of items that the group had with them as they filed into the shuttle storage area. Stored on two teirs, twelve Menelmacari designed Tercáno shuttles filled the room, with irising doors leading both up and out of the tower and down into the chamber beneath, it was a convenient storage room. “Right,” Aiyana, briefing the assembled group of three men and a dark haired elf, a recent immigrant from Bajon, “the situation is that this continent replicates, as far as surveillance has been able to determine, the B timeline area known as Australia in around 1945 on the Christian calendar. As such, we’ve downloaded historic data on the time that we have in our records. Try to keep this in mind. Don’t just casually mention the date people are going to die or anything.”

They looked, to a man, unimpressed at this mollycoddling.

“You’re going to a city called Sydney, which is the largest city, as far as I’m aware. We’re not sure if the place will remain stable, so the pilot won’t be leaving the shuttle, and keep it ticking over should you notice anything that makes you think the place might go back to whence it came.”

“What’s more,” Aiyana added, “I want no stories about chronic inebriation,” she glared, “I’m looking at you, Stelven. And try to remain dignified even in informal settings.” They filed onto the shuttle, their leader, Stelven Refelian red faced with shame over the reminder of the last… incident on Isasrach.

OOC: TV still existed, Marduk. Whether or not the common person had access to it, it was still there. The reason C.O fisher had heard of such things is because he's a /communications/ officer. We will continue this on IRC, however. And C'tan, I'll need to talk to you too.

Upon further examination, the cases of bottles filled with what appears to be beer are, in fact, transporting bottles full of actual beer. Not bad stuff, either, although as with most things mileage depends on one's particular tastes in fermented hops and grain. After accepting the proffered monotreme (not a marsupial!) most graciously, D.O. Weir hands off the box to the master sergeant loadmaster ("I don't know what to do with it," she says sweetly in Arabic, "just make it comfortable for now!") inbetween his called attempts at suggestion on the best way to move the flatscreens. Once all that is out of the way, Senga smiles and follows along quite willingly, accepting any assistance her hosts are willing to provide.

"Thanks for the platypus. I'll have quite the time keeping the scientists from turning the poort thing into a pincushion, though, 'cause they went extinct where I'm from." She doesn't mention that they went extinct before the World Genome Backup Project got to them due to a most unfortunate and wholly unexpected reaction to what was considered a revolutionary new 'green' aerosol propellant. "So, what's the plan, if any?"