NationStates Jolt Archive

Liberty-City

“Our nation is afflicted with many problems,' - Kazansky dictated - “problems that range from waves of illegal immigrants descending on our borders, to continuous wars in a variety of god-forsaken ends of the multiverse – Aelosia, Antanjyl, Yazmarea, Yurka are testaments to this truth. We throw sixteen year olds into battle because we don't have a proper airborne division – and yet we purchase tanks that weigh three thousand tons. “

He paused for a second, and walked up behind Angelica, and started calmly massaging her shoulders as she typed.

“However one of the most pressing problems the United States of Allanea currently expreiences is an ongoing public relations and foreign affairs crisis. While it is not as urgent a problem as it was at the time I left office – Allanea now have a variety of trade and non-aggression, as well as mutual-defense pacts, with a diverse amount of nations, many of whom would not even considered speaking to us a few decades ago. Clearly things have changed for the better, however a lot of things still have to be repaired. Still too many people think, in the words of some of my foreign contacts, that 'Allaneans are a lifeform somewhere between Khristians and tapeworms.'

Angelica Kazansky raised her head. “Alex! They couldn't have really said that!”

He smiled sadly. “They have. Now... where was I? Yes. Yes. Tapeworms.”

“It is clear,” - he continued - “that something must be done about this. I request that the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs consider voting for SB 5356...'

In the meanwhile, Kazansky had already taken other measures...

From: Cassanda Newton March, United States Ambassador to the Eternal Necrontyr Empire
To: Relevant Eternal Empire Authorities

Dear Sir!

As you know, Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky has resumed his post as President for Life of the United States of Allanea. As such, perhaps it would be useful if he visited Duat, the capital of the Eternal Empire, for the following purposes:

a. Discussing ongoing and future Administration policy, especially in the matters of foreign affairs and defence. If this is acceptable, President Kazansky will address the Senate of the Eternal Empire on these issues and answer questions of the Senators.

b. Discussing (with the authorized representatives of the Empire) possible steps to improve the relationship of the United States and the Eternal Empire. Among suggestions will be the establishment of a permament gatelink between key Allanean and Imperial settlements, the creation of student exchange programs (in the humanitarian sciences, such as history), and possible purchase by the United States of Imperial medical technologies.

c. The transfer, to your Senators, gifts by the Allanean people.

I will await your decision with respect,
Your Sincerely,

Cassandra Newton March,
United States Representative to the Eternal Necrontyr Empire.

Hîrbalch was one of the C’tani examples of that species of bureaucrat that is flattered by being called ‘petty.’ Reading the Allanean ambassador’s letter, he hummed quietly to himself, leaning back in his high backed chair. “Well,” he said, skimming the text, “I’ m sure that addressing the senate wouldn’t be that hard. Though you should probably know that the senate doesn’t have all that much power. It’s either the Elenaran or the Committee of Legislation and Management, when speed is required, or the people as a whole, who make decisions most of the time. But I’m sure some of the senators would enjoy the spectacle,” he frowned, “Steps to improve relations are… likely to be difficult. Some of those won’t be difficult, but the education thing, forget it. Anyway… He can certainly come any time he likes, just so long as he abides by the usual rules of conduct for unclassified foreigners. No weapons more sophisticated than a bow and he'll have to get a monitoring tag…”

White House, Liberty City

Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky was no longer in pain. The hooks were in his body for already several dozen minutes, and the biting, burning sensation that occurs when you are first suspended over your table had already ceased, and a feeling of strange calm entered his body and soul.

It was in this state that he perused the letter from the C'tan representative.

“Bah. Barbarians, one and all, these necrontyr. Anyway... Angie, darling, would you please be a sweetie and tell Victoria I'll be gone to Duat for a day or two?”

“Sure.” - Alexander's wife sometimes still behaved as if she was sixteen – or maybe it was the powerful anti-aging biochemistry that kept her this way. Right now, she was standing in front of his desk, holding his head in her arms. Suspended in the air with hooks under his skin, the most powerful man in Allanea wrapped her in his warm embrace and smiled. “I guess you've been wanting to find out why precisely they call it erotic suspension...”

* * *

Two days later

He was, as they asked unarmed – aside for two immense knives and a sword. None too 'sophisticated', but yet stating the same point that the twin submachineguns that would be stating in Liberty-City or Port-Allanea. For Kazansky, weapons were symbols only, anyway.

He was wearing his usual faceplate and voice modifier, except on this trip, they weren't part of a suit of powered armour – merely a simple enough black suit (that it happened to include a built in microconditioning system, automated injector set and personal onboard computer did not in any form make it a weapon).

He accepted the tracking device without any complaint, and smiled happily at the spaceport personnel – though they couldn't see it, or hear a change in the metallic, unemotional voice the voice modifier created. The heavy breathing it added was the Allanean President's idea of a joke.

Now, is anyone supposed to meet me here?

“Why’s he wearing that helmet?” asked Muran Selde of his companion.

“I think it’s a modernised paper-bag, there to obscure his features, which I suppose, is probably reason enough for him to wear it,” she replied.

“A fair point,” he said with a subdued laugh, “Barbarian President!” he called. There was after all, no point in remembering the fellow’s name, he wouldn’t be here long, “If you’d like to come this way,” he neglected any term of respect for Kazansky, for he had none, “we can take you to the Elenaran,” he said, and gestured to a wide colonnaded dais that could comfortably stand about ten people.

Very well. – said the Allanean President, and moved gracefully to where he was guided. It remained to only be hoped that the C'tan would be impressed – is it possible to impress one?

The environment around the Allanean president changed with a slightly uncomfortable alteration of air pressure, like being in a rapidly ascending lift. Perhaps Kazansky’s helmet would partially insulate him from the effects of the transition perhaps not. Though it would do nothing to alter the effect of the next sight.

They’d emerged into the open air, and in all directions, buildings could be seen, some relatively low, several vast sky-piercers that ascended up until their peaks were invisible from the ground, fading to a vanishing point of insignificance where they couldn’t be discerned with the naked eye.

To the left of Kazansky, a vast pyramid of gold, shining in the late morning sunlight that struck it from the west, slightly, though Mictlan was overhead, near as it was to the middle of the day. People were all around. Walking on the long glassy marble-concrete boulevard that served as the entrance to the temple-like palace. “This way,” said Muran, and led the barbarian down the steps. The glassy marblecrete underfoot bore various patterns created where the marblecrete was carved, and then lacquered atop with a transparent glassy material, to produce a transparent layer, over which was another rougher layer to make it a suitable surface for walking upon. The patterns underfoot showed relief sculptures of historical scenes, here and there, scenes of conflict were interspersed with scenes of social progress. None were particularly easy to place, and almost all of them featured what could be elves or necrontyr.

There were thousands of people around, many, it seemed to be the current fashion, even flying on compact blade-like wings of metal ornamented with enamelling and ormolu. In some cases, these wings were even more elaborate, seeming rather angelic, with coloured feathers that seemed as though they’d stepped straight out of a pre-Raphelite painting.

“The Elenaran,” Muran declared as they walked across the marble-crete floor, and up the steps onto the gardens and lawns on the far side of the boulevard, “is currently wounded, and is so recuperating, spending most of his time with his friends, as it were. As such, he only has time to converse with you for around a minute.” Despite this, there was quite a throng of people up ahead, some wearing shining gold armoured uniforms hung with damasked burgundy and heliotrope cloaks. They carried war scythes that crackled with red flame as polearms over the shoulders. Two such guards turned to regard the intruder wearing the helmet, and crossed their weapons before him. Their red-eyed helmets were reminiscent of nothing so much as eagle owls, and their chest plates bore the symbol of the necrontyr and flowing script in several languages upon them.

They reached out and quickly and effectively disarmed Kazansky, informing him in no uncertain terms that he would not be allowed to proceed further so armed. This particular insult is something he would not have been subjected to if their enhanced eyesight had perceived him to be one of the citizens of the C’tan, obviously, as various guests in the group, many of them armed. There was even a fourteen year old girl and a similarly aged elf, there both armed with elaborate elven sabres scaled to their respective heights, and the latter with some sort of pistol.

Past this insulting hurdle, he was into a group of people ranging from necrontyr, disproportionately represented because of the number of necron-avatars present, humans, elves, eldar, and even a few stranger creatures, ranging from cat-girls to lobster men, probably being the avatars of machine intelligences. A large raven whistled the opening bars to ‘hail to the chief’ and hop-skipped, then took off, cawing out, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

At this, a black woman in a rather conservative suit blinked, “I’ve been here for hours you dumb bird…”

“Ack!” it cried, perching on her shoulder, “Right, the other United States, the discount one…”

“Allanea?” Aracelis asked.

“That’s it,” the bird said.

This curious exchange over, most of those present turned to look at Kazansky expectantly. The group he was lead past included of all things, a barbeque, thought this exceeded by far the scale of any such apparatus that might be found in most people’s gardens. Instead, this one was attended by various elves and men, as well as a pair of women who seemed mostly leaning over it, one amber eyed, one better known, though doubtless not to Kazansky, as Asaid Virenus, both seemed to have a manner of reminiscence about them.

There were various other servants around, going this way and that on some errand or other, as well as guests of every stripe. In the centre of this gathering, there was something of a circle in the grass, with various people there, and this was what Kazansky was ‘guided’ into.

Ranisath himself leaned back in a chair no different from those of everyone else, a fluted thing of white material that seemed to be something between ivory and wood, inset with black cushioning sections and with smooth armrests that tilted inwards somewhat. On one side of him stood a lithe drow woman in an extraordinarily brief and skimpy green dress, a strange looking collection of snakes languidly coiled around a leg on the other, a tall Noldorin servant, and an eldar dressed rather similarly to the drow, but in blue. To his right was an empty chair, with a very familiar elf, six foot seven, long blonde hair and radiant crimson eyes.

Others were there too, of those, by far the largest was the reclining figure of Asirnoth, today in the form of a large wyrm or a Chinese dragon, which snaked around the circle and was idly playing with a pearl the size of a football in one of its claws. A dark haired elf lounged on the dragon’s side, and seemed to be regarding Kazansky as something that had crawled up from the sewers. Beside her, a man dressed in a frock coat and crevat. Lounging beside him in another chair a tall necrontyr woman. There were others, the Elenaran’s spymaster, the leaders of the Senate, the famed necrontyr general Arnran and his lover, and more besides.

But of most interest, no doubt, to Kazansky, was Sharan, in the flesh. Tall, white haired, silver eyed, and of course, armed, unlike him. On the necrontyr’s lap, an elf reclined, slim, dark haired, and green eyed. She wore no glasses, but she was definitely Miriel nos Fëanor.

And they were all looking at Kazansky, expectantly.

It was the first time a president of the United States of Allanea had deigned to rest his foot on the soil of the necrontyr empire. While he knew, intellectually, that the nation he was visiting was capable of incredible technological achievement, he had to give them credit – they did not flaunt it as much as he expected them to. He looked at the skypiercers – and noted to himself that at least one Allanean company was about to get itself a much more impressive set of headquarters. He looked down at the marblecrete underfoot, and the sculptures around him and simply shrugged to himself – they were far from the artistic styles that were being popular in Allanean – and in Alexander's opinion, far from artistry at all. De gustibus non est disputandum would be the proper sentence to use, though he preferred to smirk contemptously under his helmet.

The crowd surrounding the Elenaran, thought Kazansky, was far more worthy of admiration – for the varied patterns of clothing, the weapons that they carried, and their varied clothing – though it seemed some of it was kind of out of fashion. As per the idea of removing his weapons... Kazansky was not even outraged.. So they are going to disarm me. I could do just as well without the swords if I was that mad, and aren't there like... a thousand people with guns here? I don't tihnk I would have bigger chances if I had a Hellbore... but well. Apparently they just made it to make a point. This point seems to be... we're petty control-freaks who thing they're better then anybody else? Doesn't sound like the Empire to me.”

But be it as it may, Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky had a job to do, and he was not going to be prevented from doing it just because some person named Muran decided to leave his brain at home in the morning. Come to think of it, that name was off by two letters.

He was also not going to be prevented from it by the fact that among the people present at the 'reception' was Miriel nos Feanor. The love of his life. And next to her... he remembered him well – first from his visions, then from the extensive – almost obsessive – research – he made.

Miriel nods. "I think I've seen you too," she says. "Governor of some planet or another, right?" she asks with a little smile.

It was very, very good that Kazansky was wearing his helmet at this moment.

He spoke. While his words sounded almost emotionless in the delivery, the rhetoric made up for at least some of it.

Greetings, Elenaran. I would like to, before I begin my address, wish you swift recovery from your injuries.

I am pleased to be here among you here, both as an individual and the President of the United States of Allanea.

Allanea is a young nation in comparison to the Eternal Empire. We have learned a lot during our journey on the path of history – and yet we have even more to learn. We have made enemies, and we have made friends – not enough friends, and too many enemies. I stand here before you to ask for the friendship of your great nation – so that we may learn from you, and so that we can, with your advice, make more friends and reconcile more enemies.

What makes a great nation truly great is not technology or it's resources, but the values and culture of it's people. What makes a nation fall is not enemies or lack of resources, but the values and culture of it's people. And it is this why we would like to have better relations with your nation – to learn from you the things that make you great.

Allaneans have made many mistakes that have prevented us from success– and done many things right. We ask merely that you befriend us and direct us – so we can suceed even more. Allanea needs to change – I know it, and you know it, and it would perhaps be best if you helped us accomplish the changes that need to be accomplished.

But all great nations have their faults – not just Allanea, but the Eternal Empire as well – fault me not this observation. As we have much to learn from you, so do you have some things to learn from us.

The path forward – to progress, to greater prosperity, to preservation of liberty for all sapients – is a path that is always easier when two nations take it together. We ask that you take it with us.

Thank you all for your attention.

May God bless you all.

And may God continue to bless Allanea

The eldar woman beside the Elenaran finally bit the bullet and interrupted the infectious laugher that had broken out when the Allanean president had said that the necrontyr had much to learn from Allanea. She brushed long blonde hair out of her eyes, leaned forwards to steady herself with her elbows on her knees, and looked up through slightly spread fingers. She said something, though she didn’t deign to communicate in a language that Kazansky understood. It was something of a throaty language, with many 'ch' sounds.

Ranisath grinned, “The ambassador from Tor-Yvresse wonders what precisely Allanea has to teach the necrontyr. So do the rest of us, for that matter,” he added with a sinister little smile.

“Oh, unlke some people, I don't believe in such collectivist definitions. For every necrontyr that wishes to learn from Allanea, there's some different knowledge in store. We are generous with our culture and knowledge – anybody who wishes to learn from us is welcome to do so – we are not as proud as to deny someone some knowledge just because he happens to be a necrontyr.” - Kazansky said with a chuckle. Even with the sound filters, the humor of this would not be lost. Then again, he was only half-joking.

“So,” Ranisath translated as his pet craftworlder said something else, “You don’t actually have anything in mind, you were just saying something that sounded persuasive without any actual underlying foundation? Are we to take it that the rest of your speech was as spurious as this?” She drew herself up straight and pursed her lips in a manner that spoke of arrogance, and… more arrogance. Even more than anyone else there, she looked at Kazansky as though he were beneath the lowliest dirt mite. While there were other craftworlders there, they were mostly more demure and liberal seeming than the ambassador.

Kazansky laughed. He took a considerable effort to control himself, and continued.

“See, this is what I was trying to avoid. I simply did not wish to elaborate on the many ways in which Allanea could teach the Eternal Empire useful things – in our art, our literature, our tolerant social culture and our superior legal system. But as it happens with such things, once you start comparing nations... everybody starts claiming his is bigger. If I restrain myself to pointing out every nation, except possibly some places like Kraven, has something to be proud of, I'd probably be right, and say the same thing, and stir no controversy.”

Ranisath this time responded, “Superior legal system?” he asked, “and… more tolerant culture?” he asked, taking this opportunity to wrap his arm around the Yvressi ambassador, a representative of a people who’d been sworn enemies of the C’tan since their inception over sixty million years ago, and kiss her on the cheek, eliciting much giggling, “Do go on… We’re all very interested!” he said without a hint of sarcasm. They were all interested, in a morbid way.

"To do so would be incredibly selfish on my behalf - exploiting your momentary curiosity to take up your precious time for too long - and you have wounds to recover from. Besides, I promised to sing for you. Would you like me to do that?"

"Certainly not," he said, "You are proving more entertaining than I had imagined, and we all wish to hear it. I couldn't possibly think of insulting my guests by denying them the answers they want from you. Please, I implore you, tell all and take as long as you like!"

“I am sorry, your majesty.” Kazansky spoke - “As to the questions... we have indeed a legal system based on principles of jury nullification and reinforced habeas corpus. We have incorporated into our ranks as equal citizens the Khristians and the Edolians, the Hashi, Mgweni, and Dohwar, the Valaquine and Yazmareans, and even some Antanjyli refugees.”

As the President spoke, he cast off his cape and helmet, and they could all see his face – the face of a good-looking boy, maybe eighteen years old, maybe slightly less, slightly thinner then is ordinary accepted, his skin white and smooth, with none of the suntan you'd expect from an inhabitant of a pleasant tropical island – and yet still beautiful and smiling proudly. Even though what he said was perhaps sounding insane to the locals, his eyes were lit with the fire of a keen intelligence.

“We have respected members of the community who are furry, gay, and suspensionist – there's a wargamer in my cabinet – and we welcome refugees from all over the world. Members of sects bannned almost everywhere on the planet, practitioners of sexual and social deviances flock into the United States – where they can be respected, prosperious, and free.”

His clothes changed somehow – nobody noticed how - and he was now clad in the latest C'tan fashion. He no longer wore gloves, and all now could see his long delicate fingers – like the palm of a surgeon or a pianist. Speaking of which, the cape and helmet rippled and shifted, as if they were made of water, and a strange instrument appeared – something like a piano, complete with stool and all.

Now, Kazansky would be seen as a person, not as an anonymous figure in cape – tall – though slightly too slim for his height, he seemed graceful rather then 'lanky' or 'unfed'. He was standing there smiling happily and proudly to the audience, ungrateful though it was. He took off his glasses, cleaned them with a lightning motion, and put then back on

“It is this freedom that makes Allanea a great nation.” - Kazansky gave the audience another pearly smile.

Kazansky removed his helmet, and suddenly, off to his left, there was a shrill pantomime-scream, apparently with the intent of being cute and amusing. “Oh it’s hideous!” Miriel cried playfully, and turned to bury her face in her lover’s white hair, even affecting a fearful trembling.

Sharan grinned while everbody else present laughed, and patted her on the back gently, “There, there,” he said, “It’s merely an Allanean.”

The Elenaran frowned as the interloper turned his hat into a piano, while several of the onlookers rolled their eyes at this vulgar display of magic. “Someone’s clearly not read up on etiquette,” one of the crowd said, and several others ‘tutted’ disapprovingly.

“Try not to ruin my lawn with that,” the Elenaran said, at last, seeming less facetious than the others.

Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky, President for Life of the United States of Allanea, didn't react to the remark- only his cheek moved slightly, as if he was surprised to the suddent penetrating scream. He sat down on the newly-created chair, and rested his fingers on the keyboard. As the first sounds of music hung in the air, he threw a short, dreamy glance at Miriel, and returned to the keyboard.

The President of the United States had done many performance before, starting before the founding of Allanea. He had sung before crowds of cheering fans and small private parties. And now, it was the full, blinding blaze of his genius for music that was making itself evident.
He was not thinking of his people at that moment – not of his duty to them. There was nothing out there - only him, and the keyboard. Sharan did not exist, and neither did Ranisath – only the keyboard, and the sounds of song and instrument rising above the lawn.

And I'll be there til the final act
I would do anything for love,
And I'll take a vow and seal a pact

Somewhere in Yazmarea, insurgents screamed in pain and horror as Allanean aircraft hosed them with fire and steel. On Zarahemla, huge steel compartments were moved into place to build the new Allanean gravitic freighters – the pride of the merchant navy. In Liberty City, the stock quote for the Mulligan Dollar was up by half a percent against the menelmacari credit, and those who invested in the Mulligan cheered on the floor – and none of that even existed. There was only the keyboard, and a pair of slender, agile hands moving on it

Maybe I'm lonely
And that's all I'm qualified to be
There's just one and only,
The one and only promise I can keep..

And there was Miriel. His eyes were closed – he didn't need them to play this song, and he didn't miss a single key – but he still knew she was there, and her face seemed to be engraved on the inside of his eyelids – and perhaps that was why he was smiling sadly as he played the song. Or perhaps not. It was not like anybody in the audience was ever going to know.

But I'll never stop dreaming of you
Every night of my life, no way...

And then, it seemed Kazansky's voice moved -shifted – an octave or three – and became somewhat like the voice of a woman.

No.

It was a feminine voice, though the Gods only knew how it managed to come out of what was for all purposes a teenage boy's throat. And he sang on, his musical genius now unfolding itself in full bloom.

Will you cater to every fantasy I got?
Will ya hose me down with holy water, if I get too hot?
Will you take me places I've never known?

And the song went on, and the audience looked on the spectacle of a young, stunningly beautiful boy playing equally (or more) beautiful music – until the last notes hung in the air, and a single tear fell onto the keyboard.

...I would do anything for love, but I won't do that,
No I won't do that

And Kazansky opened his eyes and smiled to the audience.

The gathering seemed to be irritated as Kazansky sang, not because they necessarily disliked the song, nor because they found his performance of it sub-par, but because they’d been expecting something else. They knew the song, almost all of them did anyway, and had rather been expecting the Allanean to come up with something original.

As he finished, there was a soft noise of metal on metal from behind Kazansky. The Elenaran’s gaze shifted behind him, and he nodded almost imperceptibly for what was about to happen was hardly likely to be seriously dangerous to Kazansky, and exerted a tiny portion of his power to mask the impending act from some of the younger guests with an illusion of something else entirely. Behind him, one of the courtiers snapped her muscles forwards, and buried a sword to the hilt in Kazansky’s back, sharp, semi-crystalline material cleaving through robes and straight through the keys of the piano, the tapering, curved Yvressi sword punched into them and dislodged several, cutting others to fragments. Fortunately, or perhaps not, like all foreigners, the Outcast doing the stabbing had been obliged to have the weapon deactivated upon coming to the C’tan. She let go when the guard was pressed up against Kazansky’s back, skewering him and pinning him to the instrument.

She turned and began walking away as though nothing had happened.

With a swift motion, Kazansky ripped the sword out of the piano – and then, with a sickening slurping sound, out of his body. Blood flowed onto the floor, and the young man fell with a cry of pain – just as you would expect a man to act when he's pierced when a sword. But within a few seconds, a strange new thing began to happen.

Alexander struggled to his feet. Through the tears in his clothing, one could see the wound beginning to close, and heal visibly. Within maybe fifteen seconds, it was gone. He snapped his fingers, and the blood stain disappeared from his clothing (not from the floor though). Then, Kazansky snapped his fingers again and broke the sword in half.

“Your majesty! In the political world, we expect some measure of backstabbing – usually, however, we don't expect it to be literal. That normally doesn't happen even in the countries you call 'barbarian'.”

He was now grinning. “I can only imagine what the people in Allanea will think of this incident. As for me, I would like to know what exactly made the Tor Yvresse ambassador so... distressed. “

He chuckled. “At least we know now one thing that the Allaneans can teach the Yvressi. Stabbing guests in the back with a sword is bad manners in Allanea. At any rate, your Majesty, it seems we have been posed with a riddle. Would you please use your power to answer us... what exactly caused this outburst?”

A woman dressed in an outfit more befitting a cavalier than a modern person was the first to reply to Kazansky’s question, “That’s not the Yvressi ambassador,” she said, before jerking a blue silk gloved thumb at the eldar sitting next to Ranisath, “That’s the ambassador,” she said, “that’s just an outcast. And the correct form of address for the Elenaran is ‘Your Divine and Imperial Majesty’” she added, with a conspiratorial wink.

Ranisath laughed, “As for why she did it,” he said, “I suppose we ought to let her explain. Maybe she didn’t like the song. Or your playing. Or she thought your blatant plagiarism of Meatloaf unacceptable. All perfectly good reasons to stab someone, as far as an eldar outcast is concerned,” he added, and grinned, “see how tolerant we are?”

The dark haired eldar looked up at the Elenaran, She said by way of explanation, and a necron with her translated, “She dislikes pianos,” there was much laughter. The minds of aliens don’t always work in the same ways as humans, after all, in the case of the ‘outcasts’ this alien nature tended to manifest in the subject acting on every whim.

The Elenaran smiled, “And now, have you anything further to say to us?” he asked.

“I would like to point out that from the start of this visit, I have done my best to treat you and your... entourage with dignity and respect. I would like to apologize to those present, but I am not able to further ignore breaches of protocol – and of proper civility – at this occasion, extending currently to me being literally stabbed at the back – which apparently is perfectly fine with everybody here. As such, I am forced to leave the proceedings.”

The boy's face went only slightly red as he said this, and he turned to leave.

“Protocol, hah!” Ranisath exclaimed, rising to his feet. The dragon beside him did likewise, and several of the guards stepped forwards, crackling blades at the ready to bar Kazansky’s path.

“You would have respect without earning it, the most important lesson of childhood has passed you by, Kazansky. You as a representative of the state of Allanea, should treat others as you would be treated. Your nation is without honour and common decency. Warcrimes are your stock in trade, and the idea of articles of war is clearly as abhorrent to you as vacta’tirina are to us. You respect others who differ from you no more than you respect your own environment. Your excuses for protocol are ambassadors who snort cocaine from podiums while speaking in public.

“We will treat you with the respect worthy of the emissary and head of a dignified foreign state when you claw your way out of the cesspit of ethereally transparent morals you call policies. You are a parody of decency and liberty, the dregs of the universe who can pervert any good intent into gross ineptitude and base savagery.

“The temerity of you daring to invoke protocol!” he snapped, “Somebody flush this turd from my sight!”

Asirnoth lunged forwards, and picked Kazansky up, discarding the pearl of wisdom and altering form in an instant to resemble nothing so much as a gigantic European style toilet with arms and a head, the seat of which shot open like a mouth as he plunged the Allanean president into it, face down. There was a gargling ‘flush’ and Kazansky’s feet span a few times as he was swallowed.

Ranisath raised an eyebrow; “I wasn’t expecting anyone to take it that literally,” he said, as the other Yngir resumed his accustomed draconic form. At this, practically everyone present collapsed into fits of laughter.

---

In Tephet-Sheta spaceport, a portal of rippling green appeared suddenly, about six feet above the floor and Kazansky dropped out, onto the floor. A few minutes later, a sword and a pair of knives followed. Then a stool, and finally a grand piano…