NationStates Jolt Archive

Today Dyelli Beybi announced it's intention to host an Academic Conference speaking out against the prevailing market driven Neo-Liberal economic ideals as well as the Unitarist Movement in the field of Employment Relations.

While technically the Conference was being hosted by Cyro University, it was being attended by numerous politicians, including the Hon. John Davies, Minister for Economic Development who it was said was scheduled to open the Conference.

"This conference." Davies said in interview, "Is open to Ministers and Academics from overseas. We don't expect people to come to the Conference with any knowledge in economics, however we hope that they will come away with at least the thought that the prevailing Neo-Liberal economic theories may not be as correct as they may have assumed."

"Furthermore." he added, "We hope this will be an opportunity for like minded economies to form valuable economic alliances to the benefit of Dyelli Beybi and all other Nations involved."

In a shock move, the minister also extended the invitation to Northern Political rival, Ilek-Vaad. There was even the offer of sending Klatchian passports (with a 1 week expiry period) to any Vaadians planning to attend, allowing them to legally circumnavigate the Supression of Vaadian Imperialism Act.

Neither the Gull Flag Republic nor the ancien régime which preceded it had never made any diplomatic contact with Dyelli Beybi, despite the Old Guard's loose ties to other Klatchian states such as Alcona and Hubris. Nevertheless, an economic conference greatly appealed to President Ranalte. He had come to power in a country racked by hyper-inflation, unemployment, and the constant threat of famine.

Ranalte, a soldier by training, had little understanding of or patience for economic matters, but even he realized that the demise of the old mega-corporations -- Royal Mining and Manufacturing, the East Gallaga Company, Westerton Motor-Cars, and the Iansislean International Telegraph Corporation chief among them -- and a brief trade war with Pantocratoria left Iansisle in a more isolated state than it had ever been before. He couldn't help but think that, by attending the conference, ties might be made which could potentially alleviate the conditions on the Shield. At the very least, it would make good press for the newsreels.

Although he enjoyed overwhelming support from the Mob, Ranalte understood that his position, constitutionally powerful, was still under siege from both left and right. Radicals resented the vast power he wielded as President of the Republic and royalists still considered any regime which did not restore the House of Callahan as -- at best -- usurpers and regicides. Ranalte had a plan to establish peace with both sides, but he needed time to effect it, and this conference promised to buy him that time.

So it was that Harold Lubbock, Senior Assistant Secretary to the Director of Finances, was issued a diplomatic credential and hustled off to the conference in Dyelli Beybi.

Klatchian politics had changed unrecognisably in the last year. There was a Dyellian President now, and while the Dyellian Head of State was not the same person as the President (the previous President being the Vrakian King), they were very closely aligned politically, with the Dyellians doing most of the Federation's dirty work.

The prescence of a delegation from Iansisle provoked unusual fanfare in Cyro. They would be rolling out the red carpet (literally and figuratively) as soon as the delegation made itself known. On top of that it had provoked the appearance of a Federal Ambassador from out of the woodwork...

Cyro was a city on the South coast of Klatch. It was built on a swamp and was famed for it's mosquito problems in the twilight hours. The city itself was built on a series of islands rising out of the swamp, all connected together by a series of bridges. The airport was North East of the city, built on the banks of the river Djel. The Dyellians had been kind enough to roll out a finger to connect to the jet, therby allowing the delegation from Iansisle to avoid the oppressive heat for a little longer.

The terminal was closed to the general public, although full of local Metropolitan police, just in case. There were also a couple of local dignitaries, John Davies, the Minister for Economic Development and Patricia Davies, the newly appointed Chief Executive of the Forreign Office. They were unrelated. Davies was the second most common surname in Dyelli Beybi, after Park.

"So, what do we expect?" the Minister was probably in his late fifties, his hair was grey, he was short, slender with dark eyes. They were fairly typical Dyellian traits.

"Who knows." the other Davies stubbed a cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, then felt around in the pocket of her jacket, popping a couple of breath mints in her mouth.

She was younger, probably somewhere in her twenties. She had the same short, slim physique as the other Dyellian and the same dark eyes. Her hair was black and pulled back in a pony tail. Her fine boned features gave her a look of fragile beauty. She was a diplomat of some note, having acted as cultural atache to several Ambassadors as well as serving overseas... she was also a spy of somewhat dubious reputation who had been at the centre of the latest Dyellian piracy debacle. In years past the Dyellian Secret Service and Diplomatic Corp had merged. Patricia Davies was a product of the merger, "I'm assuming we'll get someone serious." she mused, "But you never know. There are all kinds of unusual cultures out there, most of which tend to view others as inferior."

"Well let us pray for no culture clash this time." the Minister replied caustically.

"Allahu Akbar min kulli shay."

"Pecisely."

Minister of Foreign Trade, Madrid Arden decided to personally travel to Cyro. It was perhaps to make a point that The Republican Council was not afraid of anyone in Dyeli Beybi and perhaps a message to the international community that the only issue between the Free Republic and the 'Blessed Kingdom' was that no one from Dyelli Beybi would talk to anyone in Ilek-Vaad to resolve the various other issues.

She would travel with her assistant/bodyguard Colonel Mitchell. They had both gone to North Germania, Neo-Tyr and Vrak, and had spoken with the various leaders of each nation, during the invasion of Neo-Tyr, so they had seen Klatchians at their worst. Though expected that a possible kidnap attemp was in the works, that's what normally happened to Vaadian officials in Dyelli Beybi.

Nonetheless she RSVP'ed and arranged a flight to Cyro.

If the Dyellians were expecting a jet, that would be their first surprise. Although the bombing of the Sieventach had severely diminished the number of attacks on the Shieldo-Dianatranian pipeline, oil production was still severely reduced. The Flying Corps had demanded that, considering the depths to which its strategic reserve of jet fuel had fallen during the war, that all production went to military uses. The government had agreed and, as a result, been forced to ground its fleet of high-performance Bankfield diplomatic jets.

So it was that Harold Lubbock, certified representative of the Republic, arrived in a twenty-year-old twin-piston engined Graye Spirit. Although Graye Aero-Flyers was now teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, plenty of symbols remained of its heyday at the forefront of Iansislean aviation, and the Spirit was one such reminder. The ruggedly-designed flyer had been adapted to a thousand different services over the past twenty years: Coastal Command used it as a reconnaissance flyer and torpedo bomber, Fighter Command as a radranger-equipped night interceptor, Bomber Command as a medium-range light bomber, and the Naval Aeroflight Unit as a scout. The basic skeleton, being highly adaptable, had also been stripped of its military trappings and converted into a diplomatic transport. Although they had been retired from diplomatic service a decade ago for the Bankfield jets, three or four had been wheeled out of mothballs when the Bankfields were grounded.

As they flew, Lubbock had been going over the Klatchian folder with Andrews, the Foreign Office man chosen to accompany him. There wasn’t much: other than Alcona and Hubris, Iansisle had no contact with any Klatchian states. The entire folder consisted of five or six pages, on which Dyelli Beybi was little more than a footnote.

The third occupant of the cabin, Lieutenant Older, an olive-skinned half-Tharian, watched Andrews and Lubbock thumb through the folder over and over again without so much as the twitch of a single muscle. Lubbock had asked him, of course, why the Admiralty had felt the need to insist on including an officer in the delegation. Older had said that they wanted to keep track of any new trade routes which might be opening up, to allow the Navy to better protect Iansisle’s vast merchant marine.

Lubbock suspected differently, however. A handwritten note in the folder, almost illegible on the carbon copy, read “D.B. suspt. by N.I.O. to shelter pirates.” If there was the suspicion of state-sponsored piracy by the Naval Intelligence Office, he did not doubt that the Navy would send a man to check into those allegations. By the Anti-Piracy Act, enacted under the ancien régime but renewed in 1954* by the revolutionary government, Iansisle still claimed the rights to capture any ships and people “engaged in crimes on the high seas” and return them, regardless of nationality, to the Shield for a court-martial. The only punishment for piracy was still to be hanged by the neck until dead, a fact that had often landed Iansisle in diplomatic hot water.

After an interminably long flight, the Spirit at last touched down Cyro.

“Can you believe this heat?” asked Lubbock, staring at the shimmering illusion on the runway. Even if the walkway was air-conditioned, the Spirit was not.

Andrews put his hand up to the window, testing the radiant heat. “Not too bad.”

“What do you mean, ‘not too bad’?! It’s half a degree off hell out there!”

“I did two years’ service with the Native Infantry in Gallaga before joining the Foreign Office,” Andrews said. “And my first posting overseas was to a consulate Waynesia -- thank God I got out of there before the Walmies let everything go haywire.”

Predictably, Older had nothing to add.

The scarlet-clad Flying Corps pilot came to open the hatch.

“And remember, Secretary,” whispered Andrews as the latches slammed, “try to be a bit more diplomatic. I doubt these people would like their homeland referred to as ‘half a degree off hell.’”

“Right, right,” mumbled Lubbock as the hatch swung open.

((ooc: it ought to be noted that the “current year” in Iansisle in 1959. This does not mean that it exists in the relative past, however: the dates are just a convenient way for me to track the progress of Iansislean technological and social change. Iansisle exists in the relative present to any country willing to RP with me =).))

News had just hit the Mephras Foreign Ministry about the economic conference to be held in Dyelli Beybi. Fara Townsend was thumbing through the various reports on what would be discussed. This would be something of great benefit for the new nation, as it was just beginning to transition from a completely state run economic system, and the Empress hoped for a greater level of privatization, which could drive growth. After reading several pages, and pondering the best economic mind to send to the conference, she got to a short piece of stationary. It had a border of hearts, and was instantly recognizable as the stationary of the Empress. She put on her glasses, and began to read.

"Dear Foreign Minister,
I have heard of the upcoming economic conference in Dyelli Beybi, and feel that my close personal advisor, Karlie Benneton, would be best suited for the job of Mephrasian delegate. Please prepare the proper paperwork.
HRH Mei Mian
Empress of Mephras."

Fara was stunned. "That woman? I mean, I know she's intelligent, but she is also barely sane." She shook her head, but nevertheless prepared the paperwork, and prayed that this wouldn't turn into a national embarrassment.

Meanwhile, at the Royal Palace, Karlie Benneton was receiving her final orders from the Empress. She was a woman of 35, medium height, pale complexion, and jet black hair. She stood in front of the Empress in a ballerina's costume, for what reason no one could tell, and upon finishing the diplomatic briefing, she pranced off to pack her things for the trip.

The next morning, a private helicopter was waiting outside of the palace gates. Karlie lugged her bags to the helicopter, and readied herself for the long flight to Dyelli Beybi.

James "Cokey" Bunnion, head of the Murder City Jabbers Foreign Relations Department, recieved a message from Head Jabber Albert Fish ordering him to attend a conference in Dyelli Beybi.

"...I want you to tell all those commies where they can shove their oppressive economic policies." Fish wrote in his typically belligerent text.

"Dyelli Beybi?", Cokey thought to himself. "I hear the college towns out there are pretty crazy." Cokey was a guy who knew how to mix business with pleasure, and he left his office already beginning plans for both.

"Aaaah!"

The jeer echoed around the smoky room. Deputy Govenor Jamie Sollow had drawn the short straw, literally.
"Damn it, I'm not going!" He shouted.
"You know the rules!" Laughed First Minister Harry Greg. "You either go or you get hamsters in your pants!" He took a gulp of whisky, and drew on his cigar. "So what's it gonna be?"

Sollow looked around the room. No one was going to stand in and help him. That's the problem with backroom board-meetings. Although he enjoyed the free drink and cigars, he seemed to always draw the short straw.
"Fine! I'll go to the stupid Economic Whats-not!"
The room cheered Sollow and lifted him high above their heads, singing out loudy and proudly, 'For He's A Jolly Good Fellow'.

13 hours later, Sollow was boarding the Cabinets private jet. He took his seat and layed his head back, sighing. He hadn't had time to research up on Dyelli Beybi, all he could hope for was that the weather was good.

"What do you think that is?" the Minister was afforded a view of the aircraft taxiing in through the window od the terminal. From waist height up, bar the places where a finger connected, it was entirely glass fronted.

"Not a clue. Would have expected a Learjet or something similar." the other Davies commented, smoothing the lapel of her jacket.

It was a pretty standard affair, grey over a white blouse with a matching grey skirt.

The hatch swung open on a single member of the Cyro Metropolitan Police armed with some form of side loaded automatic weapon. He stood to attention as people appeared. The uniform was dark blue, almost black pants, tie, armoured vest and peaked cap. The cap band was decorated in a blue and white chequered with a badge insignia in the centre. Under the vest the officer wore a plain white, short sleeved shirt, "Reception committee is just around the corner Sirs." the accent was thick, almost Irish sounding.

The finger dog legged to the right just ahead. As promised, it was well air conditioned, dropping the temperature to a more pleasant 20 degrees celcius, rather than 45. The humidity level seemed to have decreased. While Cyro wasn't the hottest city in Dyelli Beybi, it was the most humid, which meant that it felt hotter.

Following the finger into the body of the airport, the delegates would find themselves confronted by the pair from the reception committee as well as about a dozen more police officers. "Esteemed Sirs." the older Dyellian stepped forward, offering his hand, "May I welcome you to Dyelli Beybi. I am John Davies, Minister for Economic Development. To my right is Miss Patricia Davies, the Chief Executive of the Foreign Office."

"A pleasure." she said simply, hanging back and waiting until the Minister had finished hand shaking.

----------

The Dyellians were keen to afford all Ministers the same treatment, as such the Vaadian flight was directed to a nearby airport finger. It also meant they only had to close one terminal... the Chief Executive of the Foreign Office had been told though to try to discreetly disappear before they arrived. It had been deemed inprudent to introduce the head of the 'Squall Straights Customs Department' to a Vaadian diplomat.

The sudden influx of interest in the Conference, and more importantly places to dock planes at Cyro International had taken the airport somewhat off guard, "We have four gates then we'll either have to close another terminal which will result in us getting sued or we'll have to disembark a diplomat straight onto the runway." the Airport Manager explained gloomily to the Staff member from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade who was now invading his office.

"Can't you clear the Iansisle flight or the Vaadian one a bit faster?" the beaurocrat demanded.

"Depends on how long it takes for them to get off the plane." the Manager shrugged, it wasn't his fault, there was nothing he could do.

"O.K. well whoever gets here first gets the airconditioned fingers I guess. We are expecting flights from Mephras, Murder City Jabbers and Alba Scotland... and do try to get the planes in and out of there quickly. If we can avoid boiling diplomats to death on their first day here it would be preferable."

Karlie gazed down upon the rapidly approaching airport. The city seemed to be a somewhat pleasant place, and it shocked her that a nation against economic liberalism could have such success. As she waited for the helicopter to land, she reflected on the past few years.

Karlie was once one of the rising stars of the Mephrasian literati. By age 24, she was working on her second masters degree at Euphova University, and was the toast of the academic community there. Her theses were widely read, and countless students and professors sought her opinions on the various hot topics of the Mephrasian state. The sky seemed to be the limit.

But all of this success did not come easy; countless long hours in the university library, sleepless nights, and a caffeine addiction slowly took their toll, until one day she just quit. Something snapped, and she stopped speaking to anyone. She committed herself to a mental health facility where she resided for the next four years. She was eventually released, and lived a somewhat quiet existence residing in her uncle's house in the capital. That was, until the Empress rose to power, and called her to serve her nation. She was a somewhat shocking choice, as no one really knew if she had recovered or not. In many ways, she wasn't the same, but she still had a great mind.

The helicopter finally was given clearance to land, and Karlie stepped out into the hot of the Cryo sun. She emerged, wearing her hair in two large buns over the ears, further accentuated by giant flower petals placed around each bun. She wore a flowing floral print dress, and a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses. She readied herself to greet the other ambassadors, and to embark on her first academic conference in so many years, a return to a world she wasn't sure she was ready to make.

Lubbock nodded at the police officer, muttering a "thank you" almost under his breath. The group of Iansislean diplomats followed the officer into the airport.

Lubbock and Andrews both wore rather nondescript brown suits, which was typical of post-Revolutionary bureaucrats. The only difference was that Lubbock had on a fedora with a red, white, and green cockade whereas Andrews was wearing a dark bowler and had a red pin on his lapel. In an Iansisle only months removed from Director Madders' purges, it was almost a death sentence to not express the proper revolutionary and patriotic passion. Older, on the other hand, wore the dress uniform of the Republic's Navy. A dark blue, six-button double-breasted blazer was worn over a white shirt with a green tie and Older's dark eyes peered out from under a peaked cap.

"Good [morning/afternoon], Minister Davies," said Lubbock, taking the offered hand. He had a typical east Shieldian accent: quick and brusque, almost as if every syllable had a nasty taste and needed to be spit out. "I am Harold Lubbock, Senior Assistant Secretary to the Director of Finances. This is Mr Andrews, of our Foreign Service..."

Andrews also shook Davies' hand.

"...and Lieutenant Older of the Iansislean Navy."

Older saluted in the elaborate traditional way. His face was impassive, but the sweat beads glistening around his hairline and on the back of his neck spoke volumes about his pleasure to be out of the heat. Doubtlessly, Older would be glad he had brought his tropical whites as well as his temperate blues.

When introduced to Patricia Davies, all three Iansisleans removed their hats and bowed slightly at the waist in their curiously archaic way. Women had only been able to vote in Iansisle for six years and there were still almost none in politics or the Navy, making Ms. Davies a curiosity. None of them said it, but all assumed that she must be Minster Davies' wife. All of them acted to her with an elaborate deference more on the side of chauvinism than chivalry.

Back on the Spirit, the Flying Corps pilot readied to taxi wherever the airport control would send him.

"Shouldn't somebody from accounting have gone to this thing?" Cokey harped. "I don't know the first thing about economics, and Jabbers law says we can't take up an economic position in the first place. So tell me why I had to fly in a coach seat all the way to Cyro for something I could have just read about in a newspaper."

"You're going to find out as much as you can about the other nations' economic policies and plans, you're going to improve relations with those nations, and you flew coach because your expense account is still under scrutiny and spending is to be kept to a minimum on your part." Head Jabber Albert Fish's voice had its usual harshness and the subject of Bunnion's expense account had potential to throw Fish into an all-out hissy fit. "I'm personally looking at your credit record for the trip when you're through and it better not have the words joy, ladies, smoke or pharmaceutical in it!"

"I can't wait to see my hotel room. Uh, sir, the plane is about to touch down and they just told me I have to get off the cell phone. I'll send you a memo with a heads-up as soon as I get settled in." Cokey snapped the phone shut with a sigh of relief and looked through his carry on to see if everything was still in it. During the flight he had noticed a couple of his fellow flyers eyeballing it.

After Interplace Flight 3563 from Murder City touched down Cokey put on his mirrored aviator sunglasses and stepped out into the terminal. Right away he spotted his Dyellian counterparts talking to a woman with Princess Leia hair and wearing a dress that was apparently made from Grandma Bunnion's living room drapes.

Cokey remembered to put on his smiley face just as the group turned to greet him.

"Hello!" Cokey said, not sure if they even spoke english. "Jim Bunnion, Murder City Jabbers Foreign Relations Department."

"I am John Davies, this is Patricia Davies and this is Karlie Benneton of Mephras." Cokey nodded to the ladies as they were introduced and shook the old guy's hand.

"Glad to meet you guys. Any relation to Ray and Dave Davies?"

"No, I don't think so. There are many Davies in our country. Are they friends of yours?" John replied.

"Never mind." Cokey turned to gaze around the terminal. This trip was going to require a lot of coffee.

The Vaadians, as usual did not take their time, Colonel Mitchell, looking dashing in his silver breastplate, emblazoned with a black Maltese cross, shiny black boots and white uniform and longcoat, carries both their bags effortlessly. Minister Arden a tall,severe woman in a smart charcoal grey business suit and short brown tightly braided hair, follows Colonel Mitchell off the jet and down into the terminal.

Colonel Mitchell's shiny smile is a stark contrast to Minister Arden's permanent scowl. She greets the Dyellians assigned to meet her with a handshake and a "Charmed, I'm sure." as she looks someplace far off, well over their heads.

Colonel Mitchell hands the bags to whomever looks like the porter , unsnagging one of them from the hilt of his longsword that causes his coat to swish cavalierly as he walks.

Ilek-Vaad
Due to the fact that Patricia Davies was still at large in the terminal as much as anything else, the Vaadians were intercepted by a quit different member of the foreign office. A certain Charles ap Fychan, a neatly dressed Dyellian in a suit, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi, Ma'am, Sir. We have attached you a secuirty detail from the Metropolitan Police."

On cue a ploice man stepped forward, his rank insignia showing a larel wreath with crossed battons, "May I present Commander Harris. He will be your first port of call if you have any security issues."

Cyro airport it seemed didn't have porters, although one of the omnipresent Police Officers stepped up to the plate, "Can I take your bags for you Sir?"

The display was clearly put on to prove that Dyelli Beybi was committed to ensuring security. Possibly the Vaadians also knew of the long running animosity between the Metropolitan Police and the Cheka. They were also military trained and were one of the few units that had actively opposed Soult's insurection.

"In a minute the Minister for Economic Development will be ready to greet you. Do you have any questions or requests first?" ap Fychan again.

----------
Mephras

There were police at the helicopter landing pad too. They hadn't really been expecting a helicopter. Unlike the ones inside these ones had exchanged their hats for solar topees in the same dark blue colour. One, evidently the officer in charge, had retained the cap and was wearing a dark blue dress jacket instead of the armoured vest.

"Welcome to Dyelli Beybi Ma'am." he bellowed over the noise of the rotors, holding his hat down with one hand, "Superintendant Thomas at your disposal."

"Can we arrange for someone to take your bags? I think you'll find it cooler in the terminal." behind him there was something that looked a lot like a gold buggee but with four seats, "May I suggest we head there. The Minister for Economic Development is greeting people."

----------
Everybody in the main terminal

Patricia (or 'Trish as she preferred, having grown up truly despising her name) had expected someone to assume she was married to the Minister the moment she had heard they were being both assigned to the airport, "We're no relation." she explained to the delegates from Iansisle, "Just a bit of a common surname I'm afraid."

"As the Chief executive of the Foreign Office it is my job to make sure your stay here is as pleasant and trouble free as possible." she continued, "If you require a cultural atache or anything of that manner I can organise their attachment to your delegation."

"Personally, I would reccommend it if you plan to do anything more than listen and give seeches in the conference." there was a certainty in her tone, she had decided that the delegation from Iansisle were probably here on more general diplomatic terms, "It's always good to have someone to smooth over cultural differences.

"Mr Bunnion, pleased to meet you." While 'Trish had engaged the Ianislians, 'Cokey' was drawing a critical glance from the Minister.

As the man wandered off, one of the police officers stepped forward, whispering something to the Minister, who nodded to the Head of the Foreign Office. There was some manner of exchange there, although it wasn't something that was intended to be understood by anyone else.

"Well I have no doubt you will be tured from your journey." 'Trish turned back to the delegates, "May I escort you to your vehicles? The conference venue is the Riverview hotel, which obviously is where we are accomodating everyone."

Meanwhile Cokey's wanderings were taking him into a closed terminal. There were duty free shops, bars, cafes and restaurants, but they were all closed and barred up... and there were police everywhere, "Are you lost Sir?"

It was one of the police. This one was seated on a three legged stool and nursing a shotgun.

Patricia (or 'Trish as she preferred, having grown up truly despising her name) had expected someone to assume she was married to the Minister the moment she had heard they were being both assigned to the airport, "We're no relation." she explained to the delegates from Iansisle, "Just a bit of a common surname I'm afraid."

"Oh. Of course. I beg your pardon," said Lubbock. 'Trish did notice, however, that after she said that Lubbock looked at her with a bit more appreciative eye.

"As the Chief executive of the Foreign Office it is my job to make sure your stay here is as pleasant and trouble free as possible." she continued, "If you require a cultural atache or anything of that manner I can organise their attachment to your delegation."

"Personally, I would reccommend it if you plan to do anything more than listen and give seeches in the conference." there was a certainty in her tone, she had decided that the delegation from Iansisle were probably here on more general diplomatic terms, "It's always good to have someone to smooth over cultural differences.

"I think we should appreciate a cultural guide very much, thank you," said Lubbock as they started to walk out to the cars. "Tell me: would that position be too low for a Chief Executive of the Foreign Office?"

He offered one arm to 'Trish and smiled. Lubbock was not a particularly bad-looking man, but neither was he anything special: just a plain, ordinary Shieldian.

Behind him, Older changed his gaze briefly to the back of Lubbock's neck. For a moment, intense dislike shone through. Then the naval officer was looking forward again, as if nothing had happened.

'Neo-Liberal'. 'Market'. Words like these are no more palatable for an Igovian reader than would be a dinner of the ghastly leavings of this outlandish competition being held by Der Fuhrer Dyszel.

Neatly folding the Curiosities Magazine supplement to his copy of Gadar! and placing it in the back of the seat before him without giving more thought to the Slugfest! headline, Graeme sat back to consider the view from his window seat. Hardly Kerala.

Flying a red flag likely to be in tatters by the time it arrives in the Klatch, the Dwrgi-T Wing-In-Groundeffect vehicle aboard which comrade Igo travels, just metres above the ocean, bears the chief representative of a relatively minor economic ideology that lately has for the first time found serious adherents in the governments of several extra-Indian nations.

Graeme Igo, known fondly to his ten or eleven billion serious admirers as Grandfather of the Igovian Revolution, now an old man, is the author of a politico-economic theory commonly called Igovian Communism, or simply Igovianism. The Indian Soviet Commonwealth of Beth Gellert (that being the conventional long form, Anglicised to prevent widespread verbal butchery of the name of Beddgelert) has followed at least some of Igo's teachings since the 1982 May Revolution, and in raising the Fourth Commonwealth at the start of 2007 has really taken to heart his take on direct democracy and market simulation.

Only recently have the governments of Zholatskya and of Zintharia adopted Igovian practice, leading to widespread foreign intervention and two armed conflicts, in one of which Soviet Marines and Gelert Sentinels have lain waste to Marxist opponents.

Still, Igo, and more importantly the countless Soviets that litter the sub-continent, have come into a new state of self-belief owing to their ideology's sudden internationalism, and so Graeme, father of the still more controversial Sopworth, Butcher of Salvador, has been unsurprisingly elected to represent the Commonwealth at Cyro.

With the approach of the Dwrgi -or otter- to Klatchian shorelines, bawdy Geletian voices intrude on appropriate frequencies to forewarn of their approach and confirm whether it would be best for the unorthodox machine to set down at sea, or to perhaps climb for a fuel-guzzling trip inland and a dramatic swamp landing.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v148/Chivtv/NS1/veldhuis.jpg
Igo: least outwardly Geletian of the Geletians

(Not pictured his comrade and travel companion, sword-wearing Adiatorix, two-metre archetype of his race, liable to chide Ians about the existance of Wyclyfe and face early ejection on some farce or other.)

ejection on some farce

((I hope everyone else misread this little phrase the same way as I did. If you didn't, put your mind further into the gutter and read it again.

Kidding, of course. Great to see you're still around, BG =)))

First some background knowledge: Lord Chancellor of the Empire Lesser Prince William VI Lesser Prince of North Braxon in charge of all financial and trade matters of the empire. Professor Charles Fronad Head of the Economic and Business School at Drehadtch University and Director of the Department of External Trade.

Professor Fronad burst into the door of the Lord Chancellors office exclaiming that there was an economic conference in Dyelli Beybi and that the empire must send a delegation. The Lord Chancellor rose to his feet and shouted "What is the meaning of this outburst calm down and tell me excatly what the hell you are babbaling about" Professer Fronas replied "Your highness have a look at this" handing him a piece of paper "I believe that we should send a delegation it will be beneficial to the empire and may even allow us to open new trade links with other nations" As the Lord Chancellor read over this he said "That is a good idea Professor I trust you will not mind heading this delegation, I will just call the emperor and inform him of this" As the Lord Chancellor hanged up the phone he informed Professor Fonard of the result "The emperor approves but has informed me that I will lead the delegation so get orgainsed inform some one from your university and from your department that they too will be coming along and get on down to the airport we will of course go on my private jet"
"Right away your highness" as the Professor hurried off he was pleased he was always against Neo-Liberalism and had tried to convince the Lord Chancellor of these ideals, now with the Prince attending this conferance it may convince him more and the Professor may be able to influence economic policy to the way he believed.

Two hours later the delegation with a small contingent of armed sercuity boarded the plane and left for Dyelli Beybi. Just of the take the Lord Chancellor asked his personal assistant if any one had RSVPed "no" came the blunt reply "but I will do it straight away" "Lets hope we are accepted and not to late" answered the Lord Chancellor

OOC: This is my first real RP so it may not be up to the quality of the more experienced of you

Iansisle

'Trish was wearing a coy half smile as they walked out to the cars. The terminal opened into a broad reception area, escalators and stairs to the left led to a second floor with coffee shops, although right now that way was blocked by two Met. Officers.

She didn't reply, immediately, but took Lubbock's arm when offered, "It depends." she answered eventually, "On just how important Iansisle is to Dyelli Beybi... shall I say 'vitally'?"

Glass doors opened into yet another opressively hot day in Cyro. A rank of black windowless half tracks had been assembled. One of the drivers stepped forward and opened the door to reveal soft leather upholstry and what seemed to be a mini-bar, "This is our all terrain armoured limousine." 'Trish pronouced, "The NFEV-1. If you wish I can join you. The journey should not be long, then you can relax until the remainder of the delegates arrive."

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Beddgelert

"Ok, foreign vessel" came the Dyellian reply, "We're sending you an approach route, try not to deviate from it... we're pretty certain there aren't any naval mines in the way."

Which was really reassuring... However it would turn out the Dyelli Beybian instuctions were good, one once they came within 10 nautical miles of the shore, the danger of hitting a mine passed.

Coming into Cyro was an interesting experience. Mangroves, small islands and sand bars dotted the entry, although it seemed the Dyellians had dredged a channel for large container ships, and oil tankers. Suddenly what had appeared to be a very small island with a tree growing on it moved to reveal the large bushy tree was in fact a gun turret for something that looked a lot like an American Civil War Monitor but on a larger scale.

The Dyellians had directed the delegates to a naval base. There were submarine pens and several more 'Monitors' at dock, although no sign of anything bigger.

"I take it you're some kind of hovercraft? Land transport?" the Dyellians radioed in again, "You should see a concrete ramp on your left, take her up there, you can park and disembark, we'll find somewhere to house the vehicle until you want it again."

----------
Blouman Empire

OOC: Not to worry, welcome to NS.

Cyro didn't seem especially perturbed by the late arrival. Apparently there were still two landing fingers available for the use of the Blouman Empire as a lot of other Nations had found more 'unconventional avenues of arrival', whatever that was supposed to mean.

As they arrived they would pass the imposing bulk of a zepellin, clearly decked out for warfare, with missile launchers, CIWS systems and gun turrets swinging off the gondola. If anyone had unconventional ideas it was probably the Dyellians...

Cyro didn't seem especially perturbed by the late arrival. Apparently there were still two landing fingers available for the use of the Blouman Empire as a lot of other Nations had found more 'unconventional avenues of arrival', whatever that was supposed to mean.

As they arrived they would pass the imposing bulk of a zepellin, clearly decked out for warfare, with missile launchers, CIWS systems and gun turrets swinging off the gondola. If anyone had unconventional ideas it was probably the Dyellians

The Boeing 737-800 landed and the passangers disembarked included in the entourage was the Lord Chancellor with his personal assistant, Professor Fronad, Dr. Leonard Leonards of Drehadtch University , The Rt. Hon. Peter Progranger of the External Trade Department, 6 sercurity members ready to die for the Lord Chancellor, his press secretary and 4 members of the media, as the Lord Chancellor walked to an awiting Limo he noticed a imposing zepellin with all sorts of armaments hanging off the gondola and stopped the entire party in their tracks. The Lord Chancellor leaned over to his assistant and whispered "look at thing when i was in the army I never saw anything like that" he was replied with "It seems as though these people arm everything or are they expecting trouble, did you bring your own gun" The Lord Chancellor replied to her "It never leaves my side miss never, it seems like it is a fairly safe country and we needn't worry" "I certainly hope not" she said.

Sollow twiddles his thumbs mindlessly. The sun was peeking through the planes window. Perhaps this conference might not be so bad, as long as he was spared some time to go swimming and meet the local women.

He could feel the plane coming to a halt. He reached into his suits breast pocket, and pulled out a dirty napkin, a single 9mm pistol, and a wrinkled chewing gum wrapper. He took out the last bit of gum, popped in into his mouth, chewed on it rapidly for a few seconds, and then took it back out, wrapped it up in the dirty napkin, and handed it over to the steward. He took the bullet and handed it to the pilot.

'Here we go...' He sighed, and as the co-pilot opened the door for him, he stepped out, walked down the stairs, and took his first step on ground for 15 hours.

'Trish was wearing a coy half smile as they walked out to the cars. The terminal opened into a broad reception area, escalators and stairs to the left led to a second floor with coffee shops, although right now that way was blocked by two Met. Officers.

She didn't reply, immediately, but took Lubbock's arm when offered, "It depends." she answered eventually, "On just how important Iansisle is to Dyelli Beybi... shall I say 'vitally'?"

"If that is the case," said Lubbock. "Then I think I shall enjoy this conference immensely."

He looked as if he had something to add, but Andrews coughed discreetly behind him and Lubbock settled for just a smile.

Glass doors opened into yet another opressively hot day in Cyro. A rank of black windowless half tracks had been assembled. One of the drivers stepped forward and opened the door to reveal soft leather upholstry and what seemed to be a mini-bar, "This is our all terrain armoured limousine." 'Trish pronouced, "The NFEV-1. If you wish I can join you. The journey should not be long, then you can relax until the remainder of the delegates arrive."

'Trish probably noticed Lubbock shutter a little when the door opened and the wave of heat blasted over them. Andrews, on the other hand, bore it remarkably well, seeming very used to hot climates, and if Older was uncomfortable he was determined not to show it.

"I trust this vehicle has that air conditioning?" asked Lubbock.

"You wouldn't last two minutes in Gallaga, sir," said Andrews. "There, the only 'air conditioning' -- outside of the viceregal palace and the nicer officer's clubs, mind -- is at the mercy of the punkah wallahs."

"Then it must be them, and not us, who really control Gallaga," said Lubbock irritably. "Miss Davies -- may I call you 'Trish? -- we would be honored if you would join us."

Lubbock climbed into the NFEV and settled, a sign of pleasure on his face.

Before anyone else could join him, however, Older stepped in front of 'Trish.

"I hope you won't think it too improper, ma'am," he said, "but I've a rather odd request." His accent was much less harsh than the abbreviated east Shieldian that Andrews and Lubbock spoke with. It had a soft lilting quality to it, with longer vowel sounds and less harsh consonants. "I know that Cyro has a port and, well, call it professional curiosity, but I'd love if there might be a tour arranged for me before the conference."

Karlie walked over to the meeting place of the Finance Minister. She greeted the Finance Minister with canned flattery, proceeded to banter for a few moments, compliment the nation, and then continued on to observe the real setting of the conference.

She wanted to take a look around the grounds of the conference first, although it was quite humid, something she being from the more continental climate of central Mephras, was not used to. However, the sheer amount and diversity of vegetation sparked her inquisitive mind. "Need to keep my mind on economics." She scolded herself and focused her mind. She had recently pulled many of her books on economic theory out of storage, in her attempt to hammer out an economic compromise for the new regime, however she was very rusty. She hoped to find her lodging soon, so she could relax for a while before the real discussions began. She new that this was going to be a battle of ideology and academics, and she was definitely unprepared.

"No, Lieutenent," Cokey replied, observing the officer's sergeant's insignia. "I wasn't really going anywhere in particular. I'm Jim Bunnion, representing the Murder City Jabbers in the Economics Conference." The policeman smiled.

"I'm Sergeant Kabukiman. I think all of you delegates are supposed to stay in the terminal you arrived in so they can show you to the hotel, sir. This terminal has been closed off for security. If you like, I can show you back to the rendezvous point."

"Well, I don't think they'll lose track of me." Cokey said with a wink and a nod towards the Dyellian serviceman who had been shadowing him. "Are you allowed to say why they shut this area down? I was going to pick up a carton of Phillip Morris Kommanders down at the duty free."

"No, sir, they just give the order to close up shop until all the delegates come through. I think it was just because of so many important people being here at once."

Cokey laughed, "Most of them are important, I suppose. So long, Sergeant." He strolled off in the direction of the main terminal. He thought about having a word with the man following him but changed his mind. He found the two Davies that had greeted him as they were showing one of the delegates to his ride.

"Hey Davies," Cokey hollered at no Davies in particular. "Is there a programme you can give me for this thing or something? I want to get an idea of who came here because they care about economics and who came here to shake their genitals at everyone else. So to speak."

Ilek-Vaad
Due to the fact that Patricia Davies was still at large in the terminal as much as anything else, the Vaadians were intercepted by a quit different member of the foreign office. A certain Charles ap Fychan, a neatly dressed Dyellian in a suit, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi, Ma'am, Sir. We have attached you a secuirty detail from the Metropolitan Police."

On cue a ploice man stepped forward, his rank insignia showing a larel wreath with crossed battons, "May I present Commander Harris. He will be your first port of call if you have any security issues."

Cyro airport it seemed didn't have porters, although one of the omnipresent Police Officers stepped up to the plate, "Can I take your bags for you Sir?"

The display was clearly put on to prove that Dyelli Beybi was committed to ensuring security. Possibly the Vaadians also knew of the long running animosity between the Metropolitan Police and the Cheka. They were also military trained and were one of the few units that had actively opposed Soult's insurection.

"In a minute the Minister for Economic Development will be ready to greet you. Do you have any questions or requests first?" ap Fychan again.



Minister Arden's expression remained unchanged as she dryly commented "A police detail?The Cheka agents that attempted to kidnap The Vaadian Ambassador are still at large then, hmmmmm."

Colonel Mitchell simply ignore the unfortunate comments and nods to Mr. ap Fychan and Commander Harris "I'm sure that will be fine, I don't think we will require anything out of the ordinary."

Minister Arden did her best to ignore the Dyellians and listened intently to Minister Davies. She was almost certain she had read intelligence reports of a Cheka agent 'Patricia Davies' but wasn't quite sure. Still it did bear looking into whether this Chief Executive of the Foreign Office Patricia Davies had a Cheka background.

She waited politely until Minister Davies was finished and then turned to Mr. ap Fychan. "We would be pleased to see our accommodations now and freshen up a bit."

It was more than obvious that she was not there to help thaw relation, best case she was there to observe and test the Dyellians, at worst she was possibly there to derail everything. Time would tell.

(OOC: Ian, you're a bad man. I'm just going to put any careless writing on my part down to the fact that I've just learned that, far from being still shy of the 88 days seasonal work I need to complete before acquiring a new Aussie visa, I've already gone and done 97, and can get the hell out of this hicktown as soon as I please.[/tangent])

The Dwrgi, it would become evident, is in fact a manner of flying machine akin to the USSR's Orlyonok, though somewhat larger and furnished with microprocesser intelligence and other features such as tend to prevent undesired two-hundred knot aircraft-surface interfaces.

The machine comes down shrowded in mist kicked up in its deceleration and exhaust-cushioned descent before rolling its reinforced nose up on to the indicated ramp and swining open forward doors.

Adiatorix staggers out ahead of Igo, insisting that he is better prepared to face any kind of danger, though Graeme doesn't seem especially worried in any event.

A member of the Durcodi, a warrior tribe of famously handsome stock based around the Commonwealth's capital, Portmeirion, in the Chhattisgarhi Soviet State, Adiatorix looks exactly how Beth Gellert wants the world to picture the Geletian peoples.

He stands -when sober enough to remain upright- around two metres in height, discounting any instances -such as before battle- in which he might lighten and spike his long brown hair with lime, has wild barbarian eyes, and a healthy, thick, drooping moustache, though he is otherwise clean shaven (by use of a naked blade, of course). The Indian sun has given him a bit of colour, which is hardly going to be noticed by eyes unfamiliar with his traditional manner of dress, which marries baggy chequered trousers to a heavy cape fastned with a ruby-encrusted gold broach, and finishes it off with a pair of sandals, a solid silver torq around the neck, and Indian body art presented in lieu of any kind of shirt.

With a sabre of wootz steel (Damascus steel to those that don't know better) on one hip and a flask of Geletian wine on the other, the bawdy Durcodi seems of a different race to the Cornovii Igo, whose own tribe, based in Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, tends to look more impressive on horseback than when obscured in the shadows of towering northern peers.

Thankfully, until offended or otherwise excited, Adiatorix is apt to let the besuited Graeme, India's most famed orator, do most of the talking. He does so with decent manners and a quite weird Indo-Celtic accent shaped by fluency in two Geletian dialects in addition to English, plus day-to-day familiarity with Hindi, Welsh, and Tamil.

(OOC: Sorry if that got a bit wordy for an introduction, I feel as if BG has faded from everything outside of the AMW group since I've been in Aus, and wanted the Geletians to make the proper impression.)

Beddgelert
Adiatorix's appearance seemed to be something of a suprise to the Dyellians at the naval base, although not alarm. The uniform was black with a variety of colourful sashes, epaulettes and hat feathers denoting rank. Everyone seemed to have a short sword for no apparent reason since most of them had an automatic weapon as well.

Someone sporting a red sash with gold borders, a broad brimmed hat with a red feather, a red sash over one shoulder and gold epaulettes stepped forward. It was a she, long blonde hair, blue eyes and angelic features that spoke of an innocent and trusting nature... at least until you actually got to know her, "Grand Admiral Adelle Collins." she introduced herself.

"Very impressive." she regarded Adiatorix critically, then Igo who she assumed must be the diplomat, "So you two are here for the conference? Foreign office is sending someone over to pick you up, although I thought I should be the first to say 'welcome to Dyelli Beybi'."

At one stage Adelle Collins had been First Lady of Dyelli Beybi. Unusually then she had about as much skill as a diplomat as a large boulder exiting a catapult. The fact that she was making 'first contact' was enough to give the likes of 'Trish Davies nightmares...

"Drink?" she offered a hip flask. It smelled vaguely like rum, although probably closer to mineral turpentine...

----------

Ilek Vaad
"Alleged Cheka kidnappers." Harris corrected, staring straight ahead, "No progress to report. No evidence of Cheka involvement. CID was declined a warrant to search Cheka databases on grounds of inadequate security clearance."

His tone was carefully neutral.

The Minister had a few typically banal words for the Vaadians, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi. I trust your stay will be a pleasant and a safe one."

Or something to that effect... "Vehicles are at the main entrance. Harris will be giving you a convoy to the hotel."

"Ma'am. Sir." Harris set off at a brisk pace, introducing the Vaadians to a similar armoured half track to that which the delegation from Iansisle had been introduced to.

"We will have a squad car in front and one in the rear." he explained, "Your security will be maintained.

As he was speaking a junior Officer strolled up to him, handing his senior a topee, "Thank you Constable." he handed the Constable his cap in return as he fastened the helmet/sun hat under his chin.

It was yet another beautiful, muggy day in Cyro. The delegates would find themselves arriving at a fairly smart hotel overlooking a section of river that didn't appear to be too swampy. There was a lawn running down to a low brick wall topped with a section of electric fence. A sign in front read 'Danger! Crocodiles, No Swimming!'

The rooms were pleasantly decorated in shades of cream with tropical hardwood furniture. They had everything one would expect from a top class modern hotel and seemed impeccably clean. A conference room on the ground floor seemed to be the venue. The door was firmly closed though, with two Met. officers standing guard.

----------

Murder City Jabbers and Iansisle
'Trish directed the delegate from Murder City Jabbers an unreadable glance, "Unfortunately, due to the fact that we have people joining at a late date there is no list of delegates in attendance, however there is a program available at the venue, might I advise you take one of the waiting vehicles outside? They will take you directly there and come with onboard refreshments."

"I assure you though, every delegate here is here to share in a joint economic vision." she concluded. Definitely not someone prepared to acknowledge the conference might be about more than economics.

Her attention returned to the delegates from Iansisle, "Yes, fully air conditioned, it makes life just that little bit easier. You never really get used to Cyro... unless you were born here I suppose."

"Absolutely." she nodded and smiled at the request to use her first name, "Amongst ourselves we don't tend to stand much on formality in Dyelli Beybi except in legal contexts."

Older recieved a few moments of scrutiny, "Navy?" she inquired politely, "Without going into facts I don't really understand about the river, Cyro's ports are inland a bit, two sattelite towns, one on each bank. In normal traffic could take you about an hour to get out there, although I can probably arrange a helicopter to take you there from the hotel. Out of curiosity, do you have any preference as to Westport or Eastport? You could visit both but they're more or less the same."

----------

Mephras
The delegate from Mephras was driven out to the hotel and left there at around the same time as the Vaadians. It was clear people were still ariving. There were things to do; an indoor swimming pool, a bar, a gymn, there were also a few staff from the Foreign Office on hand to answer questions anyone might have regarding Dyelli Beybi, her economy, culture etc...

Or if Karlie didn't feel like any of that, she could always rest until things actually ground into gear.

----------

Alba Scotland and the Blouman Empire
Both delegations would find themselves being connected to the terminal the Dyellians had roped off at about the same time.

All the fingers in the terminal seemed to dogleg for reasons known only to the architect, so just like the delegation from Iansisle, the first Dyellian either delegation would meet was a policeman with an automatic weapon who instructed them around the corner.

For the Bloumanian delegation who seemed cautious of trouble, it probably wasn't the most inspiring sight in the world... "Ladies, Gentlemen." he tapped his cap politely, "Would you like to step this way please? The Minister for Economic Development is waiting to greet you just around the corner."

"Enjoy your stay." he added, looking somewhat worried by the prescence of the press.

Meanwhile a few metres away Sollow was already meeting one of the local women, albeit one in a uniform with a gun. She looked very typically Dyellian, short, slender, dark eyes and hair, fine features, "Sir." this one nodded, "the Minister for Economic Development is eager to greet you. Just follow the path around the corner Sir."

She pointed with the muzzle of her gun as if to illustrate what a corner was.

Lately they were becoming like a bad smell; multiple Klatchian events had them hanging around the periphery, sometimes they were in the thick of it. And this one involved Dyelli Beybi and money, two subjects of interest to Kingsgrange. It was only a matter of time before the First Minister lazily dispatched someone, especially as the Covenant was now quite interested in the Blessed Kingdom's mineral wealth.

And the invitation had been an open one.

Air Diplomatique Maciska had ferried Sir Silvanas Vasard, Secretary of State for Trade (Ministry of External Affairs) to Cyro. Born and raised in the equatorial areas of Intaan, Sir Silvanas wasn't bothered in the slightest by heat or humidity; the sometimes frigid atmosphere of the Imperial Capital caused him far more distress, though his temperament matched it more often than not.

He had dragged along several civil servants, and a small honour guard (at the insistence of the Minister, who was keeping an eye on the tensions between Port Olympus and Great Lassic). They were genuinely interested in what people had to say, though not very likely to contribute themselves.

The Lord Chancellor thanked the guard and the delegation continued around the corner as they were approaching the Minister, Professor Fronad asked the Lord Chancellor what his name was again "I believe it is The Hon. John Davis". As the entourage approached the Lord Chancellor approched and siad Greetings Minister allow me to introduce myself I am Lesser Prince William VI Lesser Prince of Upper Braxon and Lord Chancellor of the Empire and these people are..." he continued the introduction of the rest of the group. After being shaking hands warmly with the minister he started up the small talk "Minister I was informed before we touched down about the heat and humidity is it as bad as they say?"

Bloumany wasn't an extremly hot place it was much more temperate, and Upper Braxon where the Lord Chancellor was from was a mountainous region where in some parts of the country the peaks of the mountains where covered in snow all year round and even though the airport was airconditioned and quite cool when he was close to windows he could feel the heat passing through and was starting to think that packing a lot of warm clothes was a bad idea and made a mental note to hit some clothing stores later on in the week

OOC: Not that it matters much but people from Bloumany are just know as Blouman not Bloumanian same as Germans

Sollow wasn't entirely sure of what to expect once he reached the end of the path. He could imagine a long table of fat businessmen, all bragging about how their economic delelopment was better than the others. On the other hand, he could find himself in a back-room, enjoying the company of a more-than-expensive female escort. That was why Sollow hated travelling to different countries so much. He was never sure what kind of politics operated. Sollow himself wasn't a corrupt man, but he defintely believed in mixing business with pleasure. If he found out it the discussion was going to be on under-the-table money and the blackmarket, then he would defintely stand up and leave right there and then. Sollow was still a man with morals, just not very many.

He could see someone waiting to greet him, and he assumed it was the Minister of Economics Devolpment.

Ilek Vaad
"Alleged Cheka kidnappers." Harris corrected, staring straight ahead, "No progress to report. No evidence of Cheka involvement. CID was declined a warrant to search Cheka databases on grounds of inadequate security clearance."

His tone was carefully neutral.

The Minister had a few typically banal words for the Vaadians, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi. I trust your stay will be a pleasant and a safe one."

Or something to that effect... "Vehicles are at the main entrance. Harris will be giving you a convoy to the hotel."

"Ma'am. Sir." Harris set off at a brisk pace, introducing the Vaadians to a similar armoured half track to that which the delegation from Iansisle had been introduced to.

"We will have a squad car in front and one in the rear." he explained, "Your security will be maintained.

As he was speaking a junior Officer strolled up to him, handing his senior a topee, "Thank you Constable." he handed the Constable his cap in return as he fastened the helmet/sun hat under his chin.

It was yet another beautiful, muggy day in Cyro. The delegates would find themselves arriving at a fairly smart hotel overlooking a section of river that didn't appear to be too swampy. There was a lawn running down to a low brick wall topped with a section of electric fence. A sign in front read 'Danger! Crocodiles, No Swimming!'

The rooms were pleasantly decorated in shades of cream with tropical hardwood furniture. They had everything one would expect from a top class modern hotel and seemed impeccably clean. A conference room on the ground floor seemed to be the venue. The door was firmly closed though, with two Met. officers standing guard.



Minister Arden looked non-plussed with Commander Harris' excuses. "Very good, I'm allegedly impressed."

Colonel Mitchell just chuckled and followed along to their transport. On their way oput Minister Arden gave some very hard, dirty looks over towards where Patricia Davies was, although anyone paying close attention would notice her looks weren't for the Dyellians but for the Ianislanders. Markus Rumbiak had been very popular with the Vaadians, and Sir Alec who was Ambassador to Tanah Burung at the time of Rumbiak's death had many close personal ties to the Burungis and reports on the Ianislanders actions there had been entirely negative. They had been branded as murderers and troublemakers.

Once at the hotel they unpacked and while Minister Arden contented herself with work in the hotel room, Colonel Mitchell wandered to the hotel bar.

Before heading towards his waiting car, Cokey Bunnion observed the landing craft from Beddgelert and watched its occupants emerge.

"No fooling," Cokey said aloud to himself. "Is that Graeme Igo over there? Hangin' with the man today!"

"Are you a follower of Igovian economics, Mr. Bunnion?" asked Patricia Davies, not sure if Cokey was talking to her.

"Oh, certainly not, ma'am. I come from a strict laissez-faire philosophy. You might consider Igo something of a nemesis of the Jabbers. Our nation is founded on individualist principals."

"Strange, I had understood you were merely attending as an observer rather than an economic thinker, Mr. Bunnion. Yet you sound fairly like you have your own learning on the subject."

"Well, my mother didn't raise any fools." Cokey smiled, "All Jabbers as a rule are informed on our economic tenets, it works into the foundation of the rights we protect. But any understanding of various branches of socialism is extracurricular. Of course I know my basics on Igo and I'm aware of the respect he commands, but I can't go deeper without consulting references. I'll be seeing you."

Again leaving Ms. Davies shaking her head, Cokey left towards his ride. Inside the limo, the Nation of Dyelli Beybi earned about 10 Bunnion points with the fine variety of refreshments provided.

Murder City Jabbers and Iansisle
'Trish directed the delegate from Murder City Jabbers an unreadable glance, "Unfortunately, due to the fact that we have people joining at a late date there is no list of delegates in attendance, however there is a program available at the venue, might I advise you take one of the waiting vehicles outside? They will take you directly there and come with onboard refreshments."

"I assure you though, every delegate here is here to share in a joint economic vision." she concluded. Definitely not someone prepared to acknowledge the conference might be about more than economics.

Her attention returned to the delegates from Iansisle, "Yes, fully air conditioned, it makes life just that little bit easier. You never really get used to Cyro... unless you were born here I suppose."

"Absolutely." she nodded and smiled at the request to use her first name, "Amongst ourselves we don't tend to stand much on formality in Dyelli Beybi except in legal contexts."

Older recieved a few moments of scrutiny, "Navy?" she inquired politely, "Without going into facts I don't really understand about the river, Cyro's ports are inland a bit, two sattelite towns, one on each bank. In normal traffic could take you about an hour to get out there, although I can probably arrange a helicopter to take you there from the hotel. Out of curiosity, do you have any preference as to Westport or Eastport? You could visit both but they're more or less the same."

None of the Iansisleans said anything to Bunnion or made so much as a coughing noise while he was there. Older was predictably impassive, though a little irritation at having his conversation interrupted was obvious in his eyes. Andrews wore an expression of shock: even in his assignments to Waynesia, including when he was assigned to have a dinner party with Sir Henry Wayne himself, had he seen such a ghastly display of impropriety. Lubbock himself, however, still basking in the glory of the airconditioning and wishing everyone else would hurry up and shut the door, seemed rather amused by Bunnion's antics.

None of them, distracted by Bunnion's barrage of tactless non-sequiturs, noticed the rather ill-will shot at them by the Vaadian delegation. Even if they had, none of them were likely to equate it with the death of Markus Rumbiak -- an event largely lost in that great gap in history that marked the start of the Iansislean Revolution. If reminded, Andrews had actually served in the Gallagan Army with William Ashtonbury, the man who killed Markus Rumbiak, for a year on campaign on the Southwest Frontier. As Ashtonbury was now just about universally reviled -- both the republicans and the royalists hated him -- in Iansisle as an agent of the Corporate Yoke, however, it was not as association Andrews cared to dwell on.

Davies would doubtlessly notice Older have his first obvious emotional response of the journey so far when Bunnion mentioned the name 'Igo'. Although many years since the Battle of Salvador and the Igo in question had been Sopworth, not Graeme, nonetheless the Navy had never -- would never -- forgive the Soviet Commonwealth for handing it the single most lopsided defeat in six centuries of glorious naval tradition.

At last, Bunnion seemed to tire and departed for his own limousine. There were a few seconds of mute, silent shock which only gradually wore off.

"Ah, yes, and you can call me Harry," said Lubbock to 'Trish from inside the NFEV. "Now that we're all friends, please feel free to join me in here!" He smiled and gestured at the seat next to him, also motioning for Older and Andrews. "You only get used to Cyro if you were born here, eh?" he asked once everyone was inside. "And were you born here, 'Trish?"

Older, however, wasn't keen on letting the discussion drop into pleasant personal conversation. He interrupted Lubbock to ask again about the port, indicating that he would love to see both Eastport and Westport, if that were possible.

((ooc: Oh, and BG, I'm not bad -- I'm just drawn that way!))

"I've heard the name Igo before." 'Trish watched as the limousine departed, frowning slightly, "We may have had contact with him regarding something... no doubt any calls for a laissez-faire approach to economics will be greeted with the same enthusiasm as the abolition of Statutory minimum wage. We shall see how Mr. Bunnion fares here."

She had not missed the caustic look from the Vaadians and had interpretted it as aimed at her. She gave a slightly apologetic smile as she joined the others in the vehicle, "I just want to tell you before we leave, that whatever might be said by the delegation from Ilek-Vaad, the Squall Straights Customs Department was and is enshrined in the Statutes of the Federation. Just because people don't like paying a tax doesn't make it piracy."

The limousine come armoured half track jerked into movement. It was well lit inside, but there were no windows. The suspension seemed fairly good and the ride was smooth, "Now where was I... we can take you to both Port facilities, I will make the call when we get to the hotel."

"Drink?" the frige unit was centrally positioned. The young diplomat flicked the lid back to reveal a selection of spirits, wines and beers tightly arranged on small shelving units on one side, glasses on the other.

"As for your question before Harry, no, I'm not local. I'm from Quisa. It's a town in the desert North East of here, centre of the oil industry. Most of the population up there are from the desert tribes; not Dyellians. We mostly congregate on the coast and up the river, the farming zones. It can be a bit of a backwards place sometimes, but I'm probably one of the few Dyellians you'll find on this mission who can tie a Tagel."

__________

Harris looked confused, apparently he didn't understand sarcasm. It almost looked like he was about to ask for a name of who was making the allegation...

The bar seemed pretty empty so far. Apart from a man in a grey germanic looking uniform with blue piping sharing a beer with a woman in the same uniform, except exchanging the trousers skirt... she'd even kept the jackboots.

She raised an eyebrow to her colleague as Mitchell entered. He turned around, giving the Colonel a vague nod of acknowledgement before returning to his beer and conversation.

OOC: Sorry I'll reply to the rest of you ASAP.

"I've heard the name Igo before." 'Trish watched as the limousine departed, frowning slightly, "We may have had contact with him regarding something... no doubt any calls for a laissez-faire approach to economics will be greeted with the same enthusiasm as the abolition of Statutory minimum wage. We shall see how Mr. Bunnion fares here."

Older looked as though he were about to say something, probably about his opinion of the Igos, but a harsh look from Andrews shut him up. The moment passed without Lubbock even noticing.

"Yes, well. I suppose some difference of opinion at these events is always appreciated, what? Can't have everyone simply congratulating each other -- strength through debate and all that. I'm rather looking forward to seeing how this Mr Bunnion presents his arguments."

"Hopefully in a rather more cogent manner than that last conversation," said Andrews.

She had not missed the caustic look from the Vaadians and had interpretted it as aimed at her. She gave a slightly apologetic smile as she joined the others in the vehicle, "I just want to tell you before we leave, that whatever might be said by the delegation from Ilek-Vaad, the Squall Straights Customs Department was and is enshrined in the Statutes of the Federation. Just because people don't like paying a tax doesn't make it piracy."

"No, that makes it smuggling," said Older shortly.

"Ah, well, um, yes," said Lubbock. "We can't really know all the facts yet, lieutenant. No rush to judgment, eh?"

The limousine come armoured half track jerked into movement. It was well lit inside, but there were no windows. The suspension seemed fairly good and the ride was smooth, "Now where was I... we can take you to both Port facilities, I will make the call when we get to the hotel."

"Yes, thank you," said Older. He didn't seem the least abashed.

"Drink?" the frige unit was centrally positioned. The young diplomat flicked the lid back to reveal a selection of spirits, wines and beers tightly arranged on small shelving units on one side, glasses on the other.

"Only if you'll join me," said Lubbock. He spent no small time rustling around in the small refrigerator. He settled on a vintage of wine at last, poured two glasses, and offered one to 'Trish.

"As for your question before Harry, no, I'm not local. I'm from Quisa. It's a town in the desert North East of here, centre of the oil industry. Most of the population up there are from the desert tribes; not Dyellians. We mostly congregate on the coast and up the river, the farming zones. It can be a bit of a backwards place sometimes, but I'm probably one of the few Dyellians you'll find on this mission who can tie a Tagel."

"Sounds rather like Dianatran, only without the hollywacks getting in your way every step," said Lubbock.

"A Tagel?" asked Andrews. He looked a little put off that Lubbock hadn't poured him a drink as well, but was refusing to ask for one.

Blouman Empire and Alba Scotland

"Your Highness." the Minister shook hands with the Blouman Prince, smiling politely, "I apologise, we were unaware there were Royalty visiting the Kingdom, so please pardon the lack of reception. I will obviously inform the Prime Minister as soon as humanly possible."

He proceeded to shake hands with everyone in turn before confirming what the Prince had heard, "Most people find the climate of Cyro quite unpleasant."

"However, all the buildings you will be visiting will have air conditioning, it is almost unheard of for it not to be fitted. So will the vehicles."

His eyes then landed on Sollow, "And you Sir must be the delegate from Alba Scotland, welcome to Dyelli Beybi, I trust your flight was a pleasant one?"

----------

Iansisle

"Which is precisly." 'Trish explained to Older, suspecting he was somehow assuming she had been involved in smuggling, "Why I ordered the impounding of vessels failing to pay the tax. Laws must be enforced or there is no point in them being laws at all. In any case, I don't feel this is a matter of any significance, let us talk of something else."

She accepted the glass of wine passed by Lubbock, smelling then sipping at it in a refined manner, "A tagel is a headress worn by Dyellians and the D'Reg tribespeople. Main difference is the dye used. The Dyellian version is used by men and women, with the D'Regs it is only the men among the Islamic population, although Christian women also wear it. It looks a lot like a turban but comes down to cover your mouth and nose and ears, effectively just leaving a slit for your eyes. Really handy in the desert for keeping the sand out of places you don't want it to go."

There was time for a few more questions and for people to finish their drinks before they arrived at the venue. Not that there was any view of the city from inside the NFEV to judge that by.

----------

Macisikan

The arrival of delegates from Macisikan had been deemed to be quite critical. As such there was a Staff Member from the Foreign Office waiting for then to disembark along with the obligatory police officer.

"Esteemed delegates." it was a short, fairly typical Dyellian male, probably in his early fourties who greeted them, "Welcome to Dyelli Beybi. I am Sir Owen ab Heilyn. We are most pleased that you have chosen to attend our Conference and hope it will be mutually beneficial."

"Please." he stepped back, "If you would come this way please, you'll notice the finger you are on doglegs to the right just up ahead. Your transport is prepared, however first the Minister for Economic Development is here to greet all of the delegations as they arrive."

Harris looked confused, apparently he didn't understand sarcasm. It almost looked like he was about to ask for a name of who was making the allegation...

The bar seemed pretty empty so far. Apart from a man in a grey germanic looking uniform with blue piping sharing a beer with a woman in the same uniform, except exchanging the trousers skirt... she'd even kept the jackboots.

She raised an eyebrow to her colleague as Mitchell entered. He turned around, giving the Colonel a vague nod of acknowledgment before returning to his beer and conversation.



Colonel Mitchell smiled broadly as he entered the bar and returned the Officer's nod with a sharp salute and a nod before seating himself at a booth. Trouble at these sort of conferences always started at the bar, Mitchell was determined to assize the character of the participants in their natural habitat if possible.

When a waiter of waitress arrived he ordered "What exactly passes for beer around here? I'll have one of those."

He said it with a smile and a wink.

Sir Silvanas, a slim man of medium height, wouldn't have characterised his mission as "critical". The brown-haired Secretary would have used the words "of interest" to describe the mission, and the word "sensitive" to describe the delegation. And probably the phrase "handle with care"; missteps here could drive a Covenant already being courted by Ilek-Vaad further into the arms of the Free Republic.

Nevertheless, courtesy was demonstrated; they murmured their thanks to Sir Owen, and followed him in silence. The police officer was neither challenged in any way, nor sneered at, as they swept past. Their demeanour wasn't stand-offish or cold, but it wasn't warm and inviting either.

Nor did they look the way Macisikani usually look. The knight was not wearing the late Victorian-era clothes that were usually favoured by the Macisikani; given the climate, he had opted for the clothes his countrymen wore in their tropical territories (and during summer). Consequently, he had distinctly Roman flavour; a light green silk toga was draped over a bronze-coloured breastplate. Short sleeves, matching the toga, emerged from beneath the armour; they may have been connected to the flowing robe that extended to just above his ankles (the colour matched) which were encased in laced sandals. The hilt of a dirk protruded on his right hip, just above the fold of the toga. Something about his ease of movement said that he knew exactly how to use it, even with that outfit. The other delegates wore similar clothing, sans breastplate, and with slightly less elaborate designs sewn into the fabric.

The guards were encased in dark cream-coloured tunics and slacks; designed to be wearable in that climate, while allowing freedom of movement. In contrast to the delegates, they were not sporting blades.

"That is quite alright minister Davis we are aware that the announcement of our arrival was late and we came here as quick as we could, as for the climate while we may find it uncomfortable to begin with I am sure that we will become used to it"
While the Lord Chancellor waited he spoke to his assistant "Kristy remember to get me some more short sleeved shirts or whatever the custom dress is here that will keep me cool when I am out and about" "Yes your highness how about some shorts" came the reply "Are you serious you know I do not wear shorts" The Lord Chancellor had recieved a lot off scarring on his left leg during a peace keeping mission when a mortar landed nearby, being aware of this he had only been seen in public wearing pants. The Lord Chancellor than spoke to the reporters about the intial meeting with the Minister for Economic Development.

"Which is precisly." 'Trish explained to Older, suspecting he was somehow assuming she had been involved in smuggling, "Why I ordered the impounding of vessels failing to pay the tax. Laws must be enforced or there is no point in them being laws at all. In any case, I don't feel this is a matter of any significance, let us talk of something else."

Older nodded slightly, offering no apology.

She accepted the glass of wine passed by Lubbock, smelling then sipping at it in a refined manner, "A tagel is a headress worn by Dyellians and the D'Reg tribespeople. Main difference is the dye used. The Dyellian version is used by men and women, with the D'Regs it is only the men among the Islamic population, although Christian women also wear it. It looks a lot like a turban but comes down to cover your mouth and nose and ears, effectively just leaving a slit for your eyes. Really handy in the desert for keeping the sand out of places you don't want it to go."

Lubbock had never really imagined the possibility of sand in the desert; somehow, he imagined it as just like temperate regions, only a smidgen hotter. Even when he thought of the desert pictures he had seen (many of them supposedly taking place in the Sahara or the Arabian desert but filmed in Dianatran, despite the vast ecological differences between the two), they were always so clean and sterile with very little sand involved at all. At worst, it seemed to be a paler type of grass that never tracked in behind the heroes or flew up into their eyes.

"I take it the dye colors are symbolic?" asked Andrews, who seemed genuinely interested in this tagel. "Which color do the D'Reg use?"

"And, more importantly, how did you come to leave the desert?" asked Lubbock, determined not to let Andrews accidentally get 'Trish's full attention.

Adiatorix's appearance seemed to be something of a suprise to the Dyellians at the naval base, although not alarm. The uniform was black with a variety of colourful sashes, epaulettes and hat feathers denoting rank. Everyone seemed to have a short sword for no apparent reason since most of them had an automatic weapon as well.

Someone sporting a red sash with gold borders, a broad brimmed hat with a red feather, a red sash over one shoulder and gold epaulettes stepped forward. It was a she, long blonde hair, blue eyes and angelic features that spoke of an innocent and trusting nature... at least until you actually got to know her, "Grand Admiral Adelle Collins." she introduced herself.

"Very impressive." she regarded Adiatorix critically, then Igo who she assumed must be the diplomat, "So you two are here for the conference? Foreign office is sending someone over to pick you up, although I thought I should be the first to say 'welcome to Dyelli Beybi'."

At one stage Adelle Collins had been First Lady of Dyelli Beybi. Unusually then she had about as much skill as a diplomat as a large boulder exiting a catapult. The fact that she was making 'first contact' was enough to give the likes of 'Trish Davies nightmares...

"Drink?" she offered a hip flask. It smelled vaguely like rum, although probably closer to mineral turpentine...

Adiatorix gave an interested little, "Ah ha!" though the term little must be considered relative and probably sounded to a non-Geletian rather more hearty, and took firm hold of the flask offered to him, knocking back a swig that half-emptied the vessel. He seemed to approve, which was unusual for a Geletian tasting foreign alcohol (diluting alcohol from its purest form in any way is done sparingly at best in the Geletian tradition).

The big man content, Igo gave a brisk step forwards and introduced himself and his comrade in strong voice. Nobody was really sure of Igo's age, and though his hair was white as could be and his face knocked around by drink and Indian sun, the clarity and force of his voice and the ease of his movement could leave one inclined perhaps to put him in his fifties... though of course his son, Sopworth, an admittedly very young man at the time, was Premier of India as early as 1982, meaning that Graeme must be at least pushing seventy.

Graeme Igo briefly expains his past as short-lived Chairman of the Communist Party of India (Amalgamated) during the revolutionary 1982-89 First Commonwealth, before becoming an on-again off-again public servant, doing various duties as called for by the democratic Soviets. He and Adiatorix, a career soldier and veteran defender of the Igovian Revolution, had been elected to represent the resurgent Igovian ideal at this notable economic conference.

James "Cokey" Bunnion sat in a chair in his hotel room, his opened briefcase in front of him. He was on the phone wish his ever-agitated boss Albert Fish, head of the Jabbers.

"They said that for purposes of introduction and clarification they want all the delegates to at least make a small speech on their economic views and standpoints. I think you'd better send somebody who knows a little more about this stuff."

"I should hope you know enough about the Murder City Jabbers view on government involvement in economics to write a small speech about it!" Fish roared into Cokey's ear. "If I have to send a replacement for you, it'll be because I've fired you. This is going to be a test of your competence, what I read in the papers in the next couple weeks is going to determine whether or not I keep you on or not. You're in foreign relations, Cokey! You have to be able to wing it on this stuff if you want to survive out there. Do what you have to do. Goodbye."

With his phone now silent, Cokey looked at his blank notepad and thought about writing a speech.

"No," he said to the notepad, "I think it would be better if I put it off to the last minute." With that he flipped on the television, eventually drifting to sleep at the table.

Ilek-Vaad

The Colonel was passed something that seemed to be a lager. It was possibly a little on the bitter side, and appeared to have something citrusy added to it. It was refreshing, especially in the awful climate of the capital.

There appeared to be just the barman and two Dyellians in the bar at the moment. Neither of them made any approach to speak to him, although didn't look like people who would mind an addition to their table.

----------
Macisikan and the Blouman Empire.

"You probably won't want shorts at the conference, you might look a little out of place." the Minister ventured, implying it would be a suit and tie type of occasion, "Might I reccommend you visit one of the local tailors or department stores? They can make a linen suit or one made out of the new synthetic matierials, they are quite light, look smart and are suitable for the climate."

Clothing advice wasn't what one usually got from the Minister of Economic Development...

"Ah, the Honourable Delegation from Macisikan. Welcome to Cyro." the Minister spoke to the newcomers, momentarily switching his attention.

The togas weren't getting a second glance. In fact, the police officers seemed to be suddenly finding a reason to look somewhere else, or stare blankly ahead. It would no doubt illicit comment at the Station later, but right now the Police were being on their best behaviour.

The Dyellians believed in the expression 'when in Rome do as the Romans.' As such a Dyellian overseas would attempt to do what the locals expected. However they generally expected foreigners to addopt Dyellian manners when in Dyelli Beybi; which had potential for conflict.

The Minister extended his hand, "John Davies, Minister for Economic Development." he wasn't titled it seemed, which just about guaranteed he was ex Red Army.

After introductions and handshakes the Minister turned slightly to include everyone, "We have limousines waiting. I believe you are the last delegates here. Shall we make our way back to the venue?"

----------
Iansisle

'Trish nodded to Andrews when he asked if the colours were symbolic, "Yes, they are, the D'Regs wear black, Djels wear a russet brown colour. Benjian and Leean military units in the desert get issued with a faded green."

"Back in the day when the D'Regs and Dyellians were in a perpetual state of war it was important to know who was who." she explained of the colours.

"When I was twenty one I was asked to join the Cheka." Davies explained to Lubbock, "After personality tests and so forth they assigned me to CSD-1, which was a bit like the then Diplomatic Corp but with higher Security Clearance. As such they moved me to Cyro where I could be more useful. Quisa isn't really somewhere many diplomats go. The oil gets pumped to the river and there aren't dust storms here."

"After the latest civil war the Cheka was broken up." if Lubbock knew any Dyellian history he'd know it was because the Cheka had attempted to set up a dictator the then Chief Constable of the organisation could directly control, "There were few Commisaars of Mid to High rank who had sided with the Alliance, those of us who had ended up in quite good positions."

The limousine slowed and stopped. It had done this several times, presumably at traffic lights. This time though the driver stepped out, walked round to the side and opened the passenger door, a motion which was accompanied by a blast of heat, "That's us I think. I shall make arrangements for your Port visit."

----------
Beddgelert

The Grand Admiral listened to Igo with a somewhat detached expression, but seemed impressed by Adiatorix, "I take it you can use swords? and I can tell you can hold your drink..."

Whatever the admiral had to say was cut off by the appearance of a suited man with well combed hair. He looked quite out of place in the Naval Yard, "Honourable Delegates from Beddgelert?" he asked, "We have your limousine ready." he bowed obsequiosly, directing a slight glance at the Grand Admiral.

Much to the horror of the Diplomat, something he tried to disguise, the Grand Admiral was handing Adiatorix a business card, "If you're ever looking for a drink with the real Dyellians."

She'd spoken loudly enough to inspire a cheer from some nearby sailors and a cringe from the diplomat.

The Prince was quite taken aback by the sudden fashion advice given by the minister, after all he had been talking to his assistant about clothing to wear will not at the conference, however he thanked the minister for his infomation of the lightweight synthetic suits available all the while thinking the minister must think I am an idiot, fancy thinking that i would wear anything other than a suit to the conference.

After the minister had asked them if we should go the Prince replied "Yes let us go" and he along with the`rest of the group bar the four reporters followed the minister to the awaiting transport. The four reporters were to find their own transport and accomodation.

Ilek-Vaad

The Colonel was passed something that seemed to be a lager. It was possibly a little on the bitter side, and appeared to have something citrusy added to it. It was refreshing, especially in the awful climate of the capital.

There appeared to be just the barman and two Dyellians in the bar at the moment. Neither of them made any approach to speak to him, although didn't look like people who would mind an addition to their table.



Colonel Mitchell took a long sip of the lager and wondered what sort of politicians were arriving that wouldn't be belly up at the bar? It was mystifying to him. Normally the phrase 'take some time to freshen up' meant 'go and drink you pompous fat oafs'.

He paused and pondered his pomposity, he wasn't fat. He then stands and walks over to the bar and introduced himself.

"Afternoon, I'm Colonel Mitchell, Second Purifiers Division, Retired." He says offering a hand "I'm in Cyro for some econominical conference or something bound to be equally annoying."

The Cheka had indeed been mentioned briefly in Andrews' little folder. The note mentioned them as a 'probable intelligence outfit' and 'currently disbanded according to official government sources.' The civil war had also been briefly mentioned, but neither Andrews nor Lubbock felt qualified to speak on it.

"Amazing that someone so young and beautiful could achieve such heights," said Andrews. He didn't quite say 'a woman' rather than 'someone', but the implication was quite clearly there.

"That's rather similar to my own experience," said Lubbock, eager to keep the conversation focused on himself. "I worked with Lord Dirwisham in the Exchequer before the Revolution. Of course, I was only too excited by Mr Bradsworth's new ideas and eager to apply my talents to the new government," he added quickly, noting the curious look from Andrews at his less-than-ideal republican credentials.

Lubbock's face screwed up in distaste at the blast of heat when the door was opened, but he forced himself out into the furnace.

"You're leaving so soon to look after that?" he asked when told about needing to the port visit arrangements. A rather nasty look was shot at Older, who didn't seem to notice. "You'll be back soon, I trust?"

Iansisle

'Trish gave a slightly amused smile, evidently understanding the implications of Andrew's comment, "In Dyelli Beybi being someone young and pretty gets you a long way, especially in any kind of field where you're expected to interface with the public. Of course you need to be aligned with the right faction and willing to get your hands a little dirty in the process."

She stepped out first, waiting for the others. A rotating door a few feet away was all that separated them from the cool interior. A porter with a white solar topee and white naval style uniform was there to take bags, "You don't need to tip anyone if you're thinking of it. Just not done in Dyelli Beybi."

"I'll only be a few minutes then I'll be heading down to the bar, where I'm assuming you will be heading?" she assured Lubbock, "I guess you'll probably want to head up to your rooms and freshen up first... oh and don't ever cross the wall by the river bank. You never know when there's a croc."

"I'll get your trip sorted while you're up there." she said simply to Older.

----------
Ilek-Vaad

"Inspector Jones and this is Police Sergeant Campbell." the male Dyellian supplied, shaking hands before the Sergeant, "We're from the BCTE, that's the Bureau of Counter Terrorism and Counter Espionage. We're in charge of Conference security."

"Charmed." Campbell put in, patting the seat between her and the Inspector, "Come, join us, it's never much fun drinking alone. What are you drinking?"

----------
Blouman Empire
OOC: Sorry, didn't read your post that carefully. Probably shouldn't have offered ministerial fashion advice :P Feel free to RP your politicians arriving at the hotel whenever you like.

Finding other accomodation or transport wasn't hard. There were taxis outside the main terminals; White vehicles with a horizontal red stripe wrapping around them. However they first had to cross a military style check point. Several officers with automatic weapons and military style body armour were hanging around. They were entirely in dark blue, except for the big yellow letters on their backs 'T.W.E.P'. Apparently they needed to see passports, check that the reporters had arrived in the terminal and hadn't sneaked in somehow, then make a record of where they left from before allowing them to leave; a process that took a good 15 minutes. The Dyellians were paranoid about security it seemed.

Lubbock had already gotten his billfold out and was in the process of pulling out a ten-general note -- hoping to impress 'Trish with the large denomination and praying she didn't know that Iansislean generals were a trash currency on the international market -- when she mentioned that tips were not needed. He laughed it off and put the fold back in his pocket.

"Just as well -- more money for this bar of yours," he said. "I was just thinking I could use a drink, and that's always such a social activity."

"I'll join you," said Older shortly, the bowed curtly to 'Trish when she addressed him.

"Perhaps a bit too much for me today, Harry," said Andrews. "I'd like to wire my wife, let her know I've arrived safely. Can you direct me to the nearest telegraph office, please?"

After Andrews had been set straight on communication in a more modernized country than Iansisle, he set off to try and contact his wife. Lubbock and Older, however, went up to their rooms. Lubbock was eager to change out of his traveling clothes for something a bit more suave, while Older wanted to get out of his dress blues and into tropical dress for the tour. Both came down to the bar after changing.

OOC: Sorry don't quite get your part, the bit about the sercurity is that applied to all members of my delegation or just the reporters. And what is the name of the best hotel with the best (read largest and most luxurious) that is available to the Lesser Prince.

Sir Silvanas, and his associates, cared little for what the Policemen thought, and even less for what they would say later. It was utterly irrelevant to them; in the Covenant, clothing (as long as it wasn't showing of parts of the body that were generally not on public display) tended to be less important than what a person said and how they said it.

"Sir Silvanas Vasard, Secretary of State for Trade," he murmured with a curious accent flavouring every word. His handshake was stiff, but firm.

He didn't seem inclined to casual conversation, only opening his mouth to enquire if it were possible for them to please stop off to refresh themselves before proceeding to business; the flight from Arn-Maciska was "a rather long one".

Cokey Bunnion awoke from his short nap at the table with a stiff neck. He stretched and checked the time. With plenty of time before he was scheduled to be anywhere downstairs, he strolled out to the balcony outside his room overlooking the river. The bright sun glared down on him but at least 13 floors up there was a breeze.

Far down below he could see the forms of three crocodiles lazing near the perimeter of the hotel. He pulled his .45 out and began taking imaginary potshots at the tiny figures. He sang to himself, "Now Amos Moses was a Cajun, and he lived by himself in the swamp. And he hunted alligator for a living, he'd just hit 'em in the head with a stump. The Louisiana Law gonna come and get you, Amos...."

Ilek-Vaad

"Inspector Jones and this is Police Sergeant Campbell." the male Dyellian supplied, shaking hands before the Sergeant, "We're from the BCTE, that's the Bureau of Counter Terrorism and Counter Espionage. We're in charge of Conference security."

"Charmed." Campbell put in, patting the seat between her and the Inspector, "Come, join us, it's never much fun drinking alone. What are you drinking?"



Colonel Mitchell takes the offered seat "Well, I'm drinking something that I'm assured was beer. It's not a Fuller's Ale but it's passable. A bit fruity, maybe with a hint of alligator?"

He pauses taking another drink "You don't suppose it's brewed with river water?"

He chuckles.

The Bar
Jones laughed, "Better hope it's not from the river. I'm suprised the thing doesn't go solid with all the garbage that gets dumped in it. I'm sticking to the spirits." he waved a glass of what seemed to be something mixed with Cola.

"So you're a bit like the bodyguard for the Vaadian Minister?" Campbell asked, although it was more of a statement of fact, "I hope it's not impolite of me to ask if you have a first name? We are off duty after all." a hopeful smile, "I'm Maria by the way."

While they were talking a third person had sidled into the bar and taken up position well away from the other three. It was the same elegant bureaucrat who had been with the Iansisle delegation upon their arrival. She ordered some kind of white wine and draped her jacket over the back of a bar stool while seemingly waiting for someone.

"That's the Chief Executive of the Forreign Office." Jones pointed her out, "Patricia Davies. There's also some Federal Ambassador, from Fasta I think, Hugh Spader. Got a bit of Dyellian in him by the sounds of the name... and the look of him. I haven't noticed him but no doubt he'll be lurking around tomorrow sizing up any potential new Federal States."

***

'Trish stood as Older and Lubbock entered the room, "Ah Lieutenant, Harry, I hope you're feeling refreshed? You seemed pretty eager, so we have a helicopter ready to head North for you whenever you want to go... it's parked on the roof I think."

"Drink? I highly reccommend you do since the Ministry of Economic Development has very kindly supplied us with an open bar." a slight smile implied she was planning to make the most of that opportunity, at least while not on duty, "Then perhaps you can tell me a little bit about your country and what you hope to get out of this conference, I must confess to being quite ignorant."

----------
The Lobby

The staff were busy trying to figure out if they could call Iansisle for Andrews, although he had also been approached by a helpful minion from the Foreign Office who had volunteered to run the message back to the offices in the City for him where he was sure it was possible to send a telegram...

----------
Macisikan

"Absolutely." The Minister assured the delegation, "We don't expect anyone to get straight into a meeting after a long haul flight. We are begining tomorrow, although of course I am sure there will be plenty of opportunities to meet other delegates beforehand."

He very carefully managed to not say 'bar', "There are limousines waiting outside to ferry you to the hotel."

----------
Blouman Empire
OOC: It was just for the press sorry. It's because they aren't leaving by limousine and therefore have to go out an entry the Dyellians didn't expect anyone to leave from. The Dyellians can be a bit bureaucratic in the way they do things...
I've RPed Cyro's top hotel as the Ritz-Carlton, the Prince may wish to stay there, however the Ministry is paying to put people up in the Riverview which is another 5 star hotel, not quite as flash but with better conference facilities.

The Macisikani were instantly all smiles and gratitude; anyone looking closely at Sir Silvanas would note the hints of dark circles under his eyes.

Sir Silvanas thanked the Minister graciously, then led his delegation to the waiting cars; once at the hotel, they would vanish up to their rooms for a while. Serious napping followed.

The Lord Chancellor walked up to the two limos, "Myself, Kristy and Professor Fronard will enter this one, and the rest of you will go into the one behind us" as the members were stepping into the assigned limos with the 6 sercurity guards halving themselves into both, the press secretary whispered into the the Lord Chancellors ear "Your highness I am on the phone with one of the members of the press, they are being subjected to checks and everything, they say it is much like a millitary base"
The Lord Chancellor spoke very loudly so that the entire group could him "We are in a foreign country and as such we will follow their rules and their procedures, and that goes for everybody including myself, we would expect no less from them if they were visiting our country, that's Moller on the phone isn't it" "Yes your highness" "I would expect that from a self centered brat like him, tell him what I just said and I don't expect to read about our hosts sercurity measures in his articles" "Yes your highness".

After the delegation had settled down and were driving towards thier destination, the Prince asked his assistant "Kristy my dear what hotel are we staying at, is it the Ritz-Carlton I've been told that is the best hotel in the country" "No your highness, we are staying at the Riverview, it is a 5 star hotel and the reasoning behind this is that it has better conference facilities", "is that where the conference is being held", Professor Fronad interjected "Yes your highness it actually said that on the invitation I gave you" "Yes Professor but when I had read it I didn't think that I was coming along, open up that fridge there I could do with something cool perhaps a mineral water". The members in the other car had by now fully relaxed and had already found the fridge and had first hit the alcohol "you know one of them said, this trip might be alright after all" "for sure, there's booze and I saw some fine women in a car we just passed, showing up in a limo will get thier attention i think we will have a lot of fun"

As the limos pulled up to the hotel the delegation exited and then entered the lobby, with the Lord Chancellors assistant going to the front desk to inform the hotel of thier arrival.

Cokey Bunnion was awakened from his daydream on the balcony by a loud knock coming from the hallway outside his room. He holstered his pistol and opened his room door to reveal a seven foot tall security man (Cokey stood at 6'5") with the Dyellian crest on his sweater.

"Mr. Bunnion, sir, I've been sent to inform you that hotel guests are not allowed to brandish firearms on the balconies. It's both a matter of hotel policy and government security as we have all these delegates staying here."

"Oh. Well, I was just playing a little Croc Sniper out there. I haven't much to do until the meeting starts."

"Yes.... I don't think there would have been a problem but a few guests called and thought there was some... trouble afoot. If you need something to do to keep occupied for the time, I suggest you go down to the hotel bar and restaurant where you can mingle with the other delegates. Or if you like you can see some of Cyro's historic areas which I can provide an escort for."

"Yeah, I guess I'll go check out the bar and maybe head into the city later on. Let me go grab my smokes and you can show me down there."

Cokey and his towering companion rode the elevator down to the lobby. They walked together until they reached the bar entrance and could hear the music and loud banter inside.

"Care to come in for a drink?" Cokey asked the security man.

"I couldn't, sir, I'm working."

Cokey laughed, "So am I." He looked into the bar and back at his companion. "Jesus, look at those characters. Well, so long."

"Enjoy your stay, sir." the security man smiled. With that they parted ways as Cokey Bunnion headed into the thick tavern air.

The Bar
Jones laughed, "Better hope it's not from the river. I'm suprised the thing doesn't go solid with all the garbage that gets dumped in it. I'm sticking to the spirits." he waved a glass of what seemed to be something mixed with Cola.

"So you're a bit like the bodyguard for the Vaadian Minister?" Campbell asked, although it was more of a statement of fact, "I hope it's not impolite of me to ask if you have a first name? We are off duty after all." a hopeful smile, "I'm Maria by the way."

While they were talking a third person had sidled into the bar and taken up position well away from the other three. It was the same elegant bureaucrat who had been with the Iansisle delegation upon their arrival. She ordered some kind of white wine and draped her jacket over the back of a bar stool while seemingly waiting for someone.

"That's the Chief Executive of the Forreign Office." Jones pointed her out, "Patricia Davies. There's also some Federal Ambassador, from Fasta I think, Hugh Spader. Got a bit of Dyellian in him by the sounds of the name... and the look of him. I haven't noticed him but no doubt he'll be lurking around tomorrow sizing up any potential new Federal States."

***

'Trish stood as Older and Lubbock entered the room, "Ah Lieutenant, Harry, I hope you're feeling refreshed? You seemed pretty eager, so we have a helicopter ready to head North for you whenever you want to go... it's parked on the roof I think."

"Drink? I highly reccommend you do since the Ministry of Economic Development has very kindly supplied us with an open bar." a slight smile implied she was planning to make the most of that opportunity, at least while not on duty, "Then perhaps you can tell me a little bit about your country and what you hope to get out of this conference, I must confess to being quite ignorant."



Colonel Mitchell pauses "I'm sure I have a first name, though I don't really remember it. Everyone just yells MITCHELL! when they need something, ever since I was about five. It could be Marvin, or Frank maybe."

He shrugs and sips at his ale. "No, no, I'm not a bodyguard I am the Assistant to the Minister of Foreign Trade. All us assistants and staff are drawn from Active Velite Guard. No bodyguards for Vaadian officials normally. The People consider them fully expendable. Why protect someone that it only takes five days to hold an election for a replacement. Bloody waste of good money."

'Trish stood as Older and Lubbock entered the room, "Ah Lieutenant, Harry, I hope you're feeling refreshed? You seemed pretty eager, so we have a helicopter ready to head North for you whenever you want to go... it's parked on the roof I think."

"Drink? I highly reccommend you do since the Ministry of Economic Development has very kindly supplied us with an open bar." a slight smile implied she was planning to make the most of that opportunity, at least while not on duty, "Then perhaps you can tell me a little bit about your country and what you hope to get out of this conference, I must confess to being quite ignorant."

Older had changed into his tropical duty uniform, a white shirt with green epaulets, shorts, and high white socks. He nodded crisply to 'Trish. "Thank you, Ms Davies. I appreciate the effort."

"Won't you stay and have a drink with us, Lieutenant?" asked Lubbock, whose ears had perked up at the words 'open bar'. Getting smashed on someone else's coin was something of an Iansislean tradition.

Older actually hesitated. Drinking was an integral part of naval tradition; part of a captain's duty was to keep the wardroom stocked with fine liquor and the senior petty officers were in charge of organizing 'secret' stills for the rates in their division to supplement the official rations of grog. After the battleship Indomitable was taken into drydock for repairs from her torpedoing, no less than thirty-seven stills were discovered, including a rather large and intricate one on the open deck abaft Tuesday Turret that a cunning gunner's mate had been passing off to the first lieutenant as part of the shell hoist for a nearby 5.25" mount over nearly six months. In the end, however, he shook his head. It was clear even an NIO man was vulnerable to the temptation of a free drink.

"Thank you for the invitation, Mr Lubbock. However, I am quite eager to see the port facilities." He begged 'Trish's pardon and made his way to the roof.

"More for us, I suppose," said Lubbock. Without a moment's glass for the Vaadian and his companions, he waved down the barkeep. "Local beer, the thicker the better, and whatever the lady would like if you please."

Needless to say, Adiatorix was taking a liking to this Grand Admiral. Most Igovians abhor the notion of rank unaccountable to those below it, but Adiatorix is less an educated and politicised Communist and draws most of his sense of Indian camraderie through traditionalism and what is loosely called anti-classicalism, in other words what follows still-storied rampages through Greece and hopeless defiance to Rome... things that make Geletians like Adiatorix very much radicals in civilised society but not much moved by 'scientific' Igovian-Communist objections to this institution or that.

In short, he has no objection to raising tankards with uniforms, even though he may be half naked and painted yellow.

He also gave an affirmative grunt and automatically touched the hilt of his sword before deciding to draw it for a brief moment to show-off the swirling patterns adorning its blade, a result of the traditional high-carbon forging that had made every blade different in appearance but akin in strength and flexibility for countless centuries. "Killed a couple of Thugees with it, last year." He said, replacing the blade while raising his chin to show-off the strangle marks around his neck, which he had won after accepting the hospitality of a trio that turned out to be at the fore of a brief but brutal revival in the Cult of Kali in south-central India.

Igo, meanwhile, hardly joining in but clearly not upset by the behaviour of Adiatorix, the Admiral, or the surrounding sailors and dockers, moved to make the proper introductions once again, and find out, hopefully from this more civilised looking new arrival, something about the itenerary.

(OOC: Most distracted work, I must say. I'm in the middle of hearing that I've court summons back in the UK! Bloody... government!)

OOC: Sorry, I've been distracted as well :P

Beddgelert

"Very impressive." the Admiral seemed it, she was looking at Adiatorix in a way that implied she thought he might be her equal, although in what was unclear.

"Call me." she suggested fairly forcefully, "There's a bar at your hotel."

The Diplomat seemed to be bowing and gesturing towards one of the peculiar armoured-half-track-limousines the Dyellians drove important people around in, "Sirs."

----------
Blouman Empire

There was a slight man at the front desk, his hair plastered down thickly with some kind of wax, probably the same that kept his ludicrously thin moustache sticking out at 90 degrees from the sides of his face, "Welcome to the Riverview hotels Sirs and Madams." he managed to half bow behind the desk, anything more would probably have resulted in him knocking himself unconscious on the marble counter.

"The Ministry has asked me to inform all guests that refreshments are available in the bar. I will have someone escort you to your rooms."

----------
The Bar
"Interesting thought." Jones mused, "We've found people tend to get quite upset when things happen to their politicians... which is why we're trying to keep this venue as well protected as the Federal Gold Reserve. Do you like Chad? I think you look like a Chad."

Maria Campbell shot her superior a glance which could best be described as a warning.

This was greeted with an amused chuckle from Jones, "We have been warned not to be too brash and if we are encountered to try to be the 'friendly face of Dyellian Intelligence', quite unlike the nasty Cheka."

On the other side of the bar Davies smiled, "Not a problem at all. It's just a lot of cranes and stuff, no exciting hidden military bunkers or anything like that. I hope you find it interesting."

Thicker the better seemed to throw the barman for a moment, but he left anyway, eventually returning with something that looked a lot like guiness, "You have a Harrier Estate Chenin blanc I believe?"

"Yes Ma'am." the barman nodded, turning to the bottle on the wll behind him that Davies was eyeing, pouring out a glass for her.

"So tell me." her attention was now fixed on Lubbock again, "Tell me about your country, and tell me about youself. I'm very curious and sadly have very little information at my fingertips. I do not believe our Nations have been in diplomatic contact before? Certainly not under the current regime."

On the other side of the bar Davies smiled, "Not a problem at all. It's just a lot of cranes and stuff, no exciting hidden military bunkers or anything like that. I hope you find it interesting."

Older had smiled thinly and assured her that the workings of a modern port were of the utmost interest to him. He didn't add, of course, that the NIO often 'scouted' out an area's civilian sector before inserting agents, often posing as longshoremen, to start to probe the military instillations. Dyelli Beybi had never been penetrated before by the NIO and the Admiralty was eager to start getting a feel for the country. It was not, however, overeager: the Dyellians' reputation for espionage and counter-espionage was (somewhat) well-known, even on the Shield.

"So tell me." her attention was now fixed on Lubbock again, "Tell me about your country, and tell me about youself. I'm very curious and sadly have very little information at my fingertips. I do not believe our Nations have been in diplomatic contact before? Certainly not under the current regime."

Lubbock sipped at his drink, which was satisfactory (but, then again, Shieldians are hardly connoisseurs -- anything that will give them a decent buzz is 'satisfactory').

"Not directly in contact, I believe, although Iansisle has had dealings with Klatchian states before." He waved a hand. "But now is hardly the time for politics! Besides, if you haven't already been able to tell, I have an abominable education in foreign affairs -- I'm an economist by training and a politician by necessity, but ambassadorial duty is not something I ever imagined myself doing.

"As I mentioned earlier, as soon as I graduated I worked at the Exchequer under Lord Dirwisham as a clerk. My contacts are above average, you know, and I fit in naturally with the new guard after the Revolution. I had been looking after some trouble in one of RM&M's mines in Thortraia when the call came for someone to come to this conference. I tell you, after negotiations with those Normarchers, I was quite ready for a change of pace."

He laughed and took another swig. "It's unusual, perhaps. I'd never been one for wanderlust: traveling all the way to Thortraia was quite a distance for me. Still, it looks as if the journey was entirely worthwhile this time." He winked at 'Trish.

((yes, I can say that I've been distracted the last couple days myself =P))

The delegation followed the porters to thier respective rooms. The Lord Chnacellor was impressed with his room it had a large bedroom with ensuite a small dining area and an area with a large desk for him to conduct conference and work. The other members has smaller sized rooms but nevertheless they were luxourius and comfortable. The Lord Chancellor had to conduct business as he was still in charge of his pricipality and there was many pressing matters, he had given the ret of the day of to his assistant and she decided to visit the stores of Dyelli Beybi. Professor Fronad being an old man had being knocked about by the heat and had decided to have a nap.

Dr Leonard Leonards and The Rt. Hon. Peter Progranger hearing about the open bar had qucikly made thier way there to make the most of the free drinks ordering a jug of the local version of beer, "There you have it Peter free booze, I say later tonight we hit the town see if we can pick up some good looking birds" "Stuff that we have free drinks right here we should scout out women from the other delegations after all we are meant to establish ties with other nations". At that point the press secretuary entered the bar. "Henry join us for a drink" "Of course boys a north south cocktail" he orded from the bar looking around the bar he noticed a group of people at the other end some were in uniform "Do you suppose those are other delegates" he said to the other two men, "Yeah probably" Peter replied "Well shoudn;t we go over there and introduce our selves" "Yes we should Henry but give us a break we just got here let us have drink first" "I suppose your right" "I like the look of that woman amongst them" said Peter to no one in particular

The helicopter flight was unremarkable. Cyro was a large city, usually sprawly and lowrise, although where it had sprawled onto the riverbanks, some larger buildings had been erected; where the ground was more solid.

The pilot spoke occasionally through the headset, pointing out things like Parliament, which was a squat sqaure building on an island all to itself. A large red brick square out front housed a statue of someone on horseback, although it was hard to see from the air.

Some kilometres North of the city were two smaller cities, much denser and more high rise. At this point, one could barely see across the river from the ground, just see the row of cranes and tall buildings in the haze. There were perhaps 40 cranes for offloading and onloanding cargo on each side of the river. The Djel was the artery of Klatch, running into the great lakes that run North into the polar circle. A ship with a draft of up to 25 metres could happoly navigate the river, provided they didn't mind ascending to the York plateaux via a series of locks. On the far bank, barely visible in the haze was a forrest of squat oil storage tanks.

There were hundreds of ships choking the river or moored at one of the 80 piers the two ports had. On this side they seemed to be entirely container ships, but the other side held oil tankers as well. Oil had once been the main export of Dyelli Beybi, but had now been overtaken by titanium, iron, vanadium and silicon products since new titanomagnetite refining methods had been perfected, "Do you want me to put her down Sir?" the pilot asked through the intercom as they circled the port lazily.

----------
Back at the Bar...

'Trish was wearing a slight smile as Lubbock told a bit of his history, "Ok, I'm a bit confused, I have to confess to being a little ignorant as to the people and places you're talking about. I'm quite interested in this Revolution..."

She broke her sentence by raising her wine glass to her lips, "...Who won? As you may know Dyelli Beybi also had a Revolution quite recently, it was won by an alliance of convenience between the Royals and Red Faction."

She motioned to herself as she said 'Red Faction', "As for me, I'm 27, I live in a studio apartment near to here and keep a cat, which isn't as sad as it sounds. Oh... and I hate guns and people who regard a convincing argument as waving one around."

"Evening." she greeted the delegates from the Blouman Empire.

"Good evening" said Peter "allow me to introduce myself I am Peter Progranger of the Blouman delegation this is Leonard Leonards" "Dr" interjected Leonards (It was very much the custom that Bloumans introduce themselves with their title, even speaking to each other the title was used unless the people speaking amongst themselves were very close (it is known that two people could work side by side for 20 years without knowing thier first name) Peter was a part of a new trend amongst the young to only use titles in formal sessions) "And this is Henry Larriking our press secretuary" "And you might be?"

Older's dark eyes slid from one landscape to the next, making a mental catalog of the features of Cyro's port facilities. The pilots' measurement of depth in meters threw Older for a moment: Iansisle was one of the relatively rare countries which had not yet switched to the metric system. His brain ran through the conversion -- about thirteen and a half fathoms. Not too bad for an inland port facility.

The large oil tankers were also of keen interest to Older. Iansisle had access to large petroleum reserves in its Dianatran colony, but the continued turbulance of the oil-producing regions left the supply uncertain. In particular, nomadic tribes armed and incited by Effit, Iansisle's primary Tilsitian rival, often struck at the Shieldo-Dianatranian pipeline, the primary link between the oil fields and the port at Empire. Before the Revolution, about 45% of Iansisle's oil had been imported: after the revolution, increased consumption combined with diplomatic and economic isolation to create crippling shortages. Quite often, the refineries in Ianapalis and the Daldon Basin were left operating at well below optimum efficiency due to lack of supplies.

Fortunately, Iansisle's civilian population was not overwhelmingly affected by the shortages. The lingering threat of famine made sure that petrol got out to the farmers, horses were still common enough as work animals to provide for local deliveries, and the roads were so bad between cities that all long-haul transportation was done on the trains (of which nearly all ran on coal). Still, strategic reserves for the military were constantly below capacity and the Navy, dependent on fuel oil for its ships, often bickered with the Flying Corps, which needed jet fuel for its aero-flyers, over new petroleum shipments from Dianatran. It was not lost on Older how much a new trade partner could help alleviate the shortages on the Shield.

"If you please," he called back to the pilot when asked if he wanted to land. "I should like to have a conversation with some of the locals."

---------

"It's rather hard to describe who 'won' the Revolution, I'm afraid," said Lubbock. "The ancien régime is gone, if that's what you mean, but the change is much more a social one than a political one. You see, it really came from two distinct socio-economic collisions -- between the cartels and the petit bourgeoisie and between the aristocracy and the noveau riche.

"You must understand first what the conditions were before, when the Grand Empire was running things. I was in the Exchequer, so I saw most of this first-hand. The Empire was an arcane, almost feudal creature: the High King and his Combined Parliament were nominally masters of the entire Shield, but the individual kingdoms which made up the empire all had their own kings, parliaments, and laws -- they really functioned as semi-autonomous states-within-a-state. Then you had the Dominions and the colonies, as well as Gallaga. On the whole, it was a gigantic mess of overlapping jurisdictions. In such an environment, corruption was rife and conditions always favored the longest purse.

"Cartels were allowed to be built up -- Royal Mining and Manufacturing, for instance, which controlled nearly all the mining of coal and iron ore, the production of steel and alloys, and the transportation of such over its rail network. RM&M had the pockets to get its way whenever and wherever it wanted, and their voice carried more weight in the Combined Parliament than all the voters on the Shield combined. These cartels slowly became indistinguishable from the government and then, in the early '50s, the difference vanished all together.

"The Revolution started as a series of talks and strikes in RM&M's Grand Street Steelworks. RM&M demanded that the government put down these strikes violently and, when Lord Dirwisham refused -- for you see, he was the actual power in the government, even if that idiot Edward Tarriff was Prime Minister -- they seized control of Jameston Place and used the machinery of the state to put down the strikes.

"It soon became clear, however, that the government was not itself and one-by-one the armed forces deserted to the revolters while the outer reaches of the Empire -- Weshield, the Normarches, Wyclyfe, the Dominions, and Tharia -- broke away from Ianapalis entirely. Finally, the corporatist forces deserted Ianapalis all together and a new government was declared. The power of the cartels was broken: RM&M has since been nationalized, its assets divided amongst other companies or retained by the state for defence purposes. Across the Shield, in every industry formerly dominated by a cartel, there are now dozens of small, competing businesses and legislation has been passed by the National Assembly to prevent cartels from ever growing again.

"The other trend, which I alluded to, has been away from the strict formality of the aristocrats. Iansisle used to be among the most class-conscious countries in the world, but in the last twenty years differences have developed between those influenced by Larkinian egalitarianism and those clinging to Hampton's Rules (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Hampton%E2%80%99s_Rules_of_Etiquette). The Revolution naturally tilted those trends in a more modern direction, away from inherent classism and hatred and towards a more integrated Iansisle.

"I wouldn't say, of course, that the Revolution is over, per se. It will continue until Iansisle is the state that Citizen-Martyr Bradsworth envisioned all those years ago."

Lubbock had been talking for quite a while now, quite excitedly at parts, gesticulating wildly and occasionally taking long draws at his beer. It was rather ironic, then, that Doctor Leonards and the Bloumans happened upon him and 'Trish just as Lubbock was describing Iansisle's move away from strict formalism and titles.

"I'm Harry Lubbock, Iansislean Finance Office," he said simply before turning back to 'Trish. Without Andrews around to correct him as to the niceties of diplomatic conversation, Lubbock had the potential to be a faux pas factory. "You see, 'Trish? It is the inherent superiority associated with the use of titles against which the Revolution was directed. That's why Andrews tells me that our missions around the world are directed to use no honorifics other than 'sir', even when addressing royalty."

There was a helicopter landing pad on top of a squat block of offices. After a bit of radio chatter the chopper touched down, allowing Older to step out into the blazing Cyro heat again.

An executive of some sort had appeared just as they were touching down. He wore black suit pants and a china blue short sleeved shirt, "Phil Jones, Port Authority." the man bellowed over the noise of the rotor blades, "I hear you're interested in talking to people? Come inside."

----------

"Patricia Davies." 'Trish used her full name when introducing herself to Progranger and Leonards, "Chief Executive of the Forreign Office. Just another bureaucrat I assure you."

"Gentlemen, we were just discussing Revolutionary Iansisle." she moved slightly, nudging Lubbock's leg with her knee, a gentle warning he might be making enemies unnecessarily.

She winked at him before continuing, "In Dyelli Beybi usually we work on first names. In a business setting continued use of titles indicates you have no wish to cultivate a working relationship... obviously though we make allowances for foreigners who we understand don't necessarily immediately understand our quirks."

"When I meet with the Prime Minister, I call her Alexia and she calls me 'Trish. The head of the Cheka is Felix, Minister of Economic Development is John and so on... you get the picture." It would probably seem suprising to Harry Lubbock that the Dyellians had elected a female Prime Minister... who unusually in a Constitutional Monarchy was also the Tzarina. It didn't take long to realise that 'Alexia ap Adam' had something of a personality cult surrounding her.

It was around now that a couple of the Macisikani entered; one was a cream-clad guard, the other was a woman wearing a cleric's black suit. In deference to their hosts, there were no visible weapons.

She had an expression of extreme boredom on her face, but brightened when she spied the bar; making a beeline for it, she peered at the drinks on display with the air of a professional, before settling on an old favourite.

"A gin and tonic please good sir," she said to the barman.

"Hm." Both Igovians let out little sounds of that sort as they boarded the halftrack in consideration of its pretty radical difference to the electric rickshaw taxis that Adiatorix tended to flag down and the public trams that Graeme relied upon in spite of his fame.

During the journey Graeme becomes notably pale, though he tries not to draw attention to it. Igo began frequently to fiddle with what may appear to be some manner of hearing aid and was in fact linked in a wireless fashion to a pocket computer and global communications aparatus of typically over-complicated design-by-committee Indian Soviet information technology.

It wouldn't bother Adiatorix in the least, but Graeme was most anxious about sharing conference time with Shieldians now that he'd been informed of a Soviet resolution to run the Republic's blockade of Igovian Wyclyfe, apparently for little more than propaganda purposes.

"It is nice to meet you Patricia" replied Peter "And yourself Harry" Leonard also welcomed Patricia and gave Harry Lubock a small hostile nod "I do not think that having titles places people above one another it is mearly a formality but does acknowledge that people have accomplished something over their lifetime it also shows that there is respect between the two people and when the need arises it can show who has authority think of the army do not they..."

Before Leonard could say anymore which might result in a full, hostile and relationship damaging argument Peter interjected to cut him off "Patricia while it may be the custom in Bloumany to speak to each other in a formal setting we still talk to each other on a first name basis espically in social settings and as it is the custom to refer to each other by their first names we will of course make this small adaptation"

Peter continued "The Revolutionary Iansisle ah yes from memory I have heard one or two things about it from travellers and friends but as I am in the Chancellery I am not fully informed as far as I am aware it started due to a large amount of corruption within the aristocracy and big business as well as the lower classes not happy with their treatment by the ruling class, You know Harry the empire is similar to the Iansisle of old as we have layering jurisdictions as each nation has their own ruler, laws, defence forces etcetera and the empire has their own laws ruler and even an 'almost' seperate defence force, however there are checks and balances amongst each other and the market is now very much a free market and for the last 160 years or so classes while still around are very much broken down their are the old traditions with the high nobles strongly encouraged to marry other nobles but the days of two types of people are while not quite gone certainly have diminished"

After that long speech Peter took a swig from his glass, a mobile phone went off it was Henry's he excused himself and walked out of the bar Peter commented "No doubt one of the reporters are demanding another press conference with his highness" Leonard sat there drinking he was begining to dislike this Lubbock fellow for all the banter about equality he sat and talked like he was superior to everyone else.

The Bar
"Interesting thought." Jones mused, "We've found people tend to get quite upset when things happen to their politicians... which is why we're trying to keep this venue as well protected as the Federal Gold Reserve. Do you like Chad? I think you look like a Chad."

Maria Campbell shot her superior a glance which could best be described as a warning.

This was greeted with an amused chuckle from Jones, "We have been warned not to be too brash and if we are encountered to try to be the 'friendly face of Dyellian Intelligence', quite unlike the nasty Cheka."

On the other side of the bar Davies smiled, "Not a problem at all. It's just a lot of cranes and stuff, no exciting hidden military bunkers or anything like that. I hope you find it interesting."

Thicker the better seemed to throw the barman for a moment, but he left anyway, eventually returning with something that looked a lot like guiness, "You have a Harrier Estate Chenin blanc I believe?"

"Yes Ma'am." the barman nodded, turning to the bottle on the wll behind him that Davies was eyeing, pouring out a glass for her.

"So tell me." her attention was now fixed on Lubbock again, "Tell me about your country, and tell me about youself. I'm very curious and sadly have very little information at my fingertips. I do not believe our Nations have been in diplomatic contact before? Certainly not under the current regime."

Mitchell chuckles "I used to have a pet gila monster named 'Chad'. I had to get rid of him when he kept escaping. I think he was trying to kill me."

He pauses and finishes off his beer and raises his glass at the bartender "Just call me Mitchell. It works for everyone else. So do we really need all this protection? Isn't Dyelli-Beybi safe? Don't tell me I should actually take notice of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs travel advisory?"

Fortunately, Lubbock had been briefed by Andrews on the flight about the Tzarina. A monarch heading their own government brought up memories of the brief spell HM King Godfrey of Walmington on Sea spent as his own Prime Minister. Somehow, the daffy personality of Godfrey fit in an intensely amusing mental image of what the Tzarina must be like and Lubbock and Andrews had spent several excessively unprofessional moments laughing about it under Older’s disapproving gaze. A female head of state (and government, apparently) was a surprise but, having prepared for it already, Lubbock didn’t seem phased.

What did phase Lubbock a bit was the brief presence of ‘Trish’s knee on his leg. Had the progress really been going that well? Lubbock missed the hint entirely and, rather than becoming less obnoxious, was now prone to be more belligerent. The brief hadn’t mentioned, of course, that he’d spend this entire conference in small talk with reactionary royalists! His beer being empty, he motioned the barkeep over and requested a refill while he listened to Peter go on about the Blouman political system. He found himself idly wondering whether Peter had heard of the regicide of King James; most royalist countries tended to shy away from Iansisle if they knew that the government had killed the king. He briefly considered mentioning the regicide, if only for the pleasure of seeing Dr Leonards’ presumably indignant reaction. However, ‘Trish seemed quite taken with the Tzarina and he managed to reason that it would not therefore be a wise thing to bring up.

“It’s interesting that a ‘very-much’ free-market state has decided to attend a socialist conference,” Lubbock said instead. He turned to Leonards. “Doc, you seem to be the expert here: what brings you folks to Cyro?”

-----------

At least the heat wasn’t so bad now that he was in his . Ducking low under the blades, Older nodded at Jones. “Lieutenant Older, Iansislean Navy. Thank you.” He followed Jones into his office.

The docks

The office of Phil Jones was a small room, white plaster walls, a cheap chip board desk with a vinyl veneer that was host to a computer and a jumble of files, two chairs and a noisy air conditioner. The Manager motioned Older towards the chair in front of the desk, "Have a seat Sir... now, what can the Port Authority do for you?"

__________
The Bar

The barman poured out a gin and tonic for the delegate from Macisikan, adding ice and a slice of lemon, "One gin and tonic, Reverend?"

He ventured a guess at title, although clearly not being quite sure if it was correct. There was a certain deferential manner about him, Dyellians tended to respect clergy (and the Church of Cyro was now ordaining women).

A few metres away the Chief Executive of the Forreign Office gave a particularly winning smile to the two newcomers, "Well I am an Ambassador for my people, and above all we wish to be known as people who respect cultural differences, so we'll do whatever makes you most comfortable."

"You'll find a few nobles around Dyelli Beybi, Counts of this or Barons of that.As you may have gathered, I am not one of them. I'm good peasant stock." she pouted.

She didn't interject when Lubbock questioned the Bloumans on their prescence at the conference. Truth be told she was interested in that as well, although she feigned apathy.

Across the room, Jones was giving pet advice, "Try adoptiong a Dyellian River crocodile. I heard the late Prince Henry of Benjia kept two."

Campbell was giving him the 'don't be cruel' look again...

"Security?" Jones shrugged, "Nah Dyelli Beybi is pretty safe, low crime rates, very low violent crime rates. We just have to put on a show for people. The day we don't will be the day some forreign terrorist cell decides they can blow up lots of dignitaries at once. Well not on my watch."

__________
Beddgelert

The Diplomat dealing with the delegation from Beddgelert inquired politely if Igo had any medical difficulties, hinting that they could arrange for another vehicle if he suffered from claustrophobia...

Eventually they were offloaded outside the Riverview hotel with the other guests, shown to a room or left to misbehave at the bar.

Two men in a Tinnie (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tinnie) (OOC: Australian Slang: Runabout boat), with large amounts of Tinnies (OOC: Also Australian Slang for Beer Cans), draped over the side cooling in the water of the Ocean.

"Do you have any idea where we aree Bruce?"
"No idea, Bruce but this life Fishing on a Tinnie with lots of Tinnies and with your best mate. We must be in heaven Mate."
"Actually, Bruce I think we're somewhere in the South Klatchian Ocean, floating on the currents... Actually I think we're somewhere near Squall Straights."

The 2 Bruces look around , no land in sight, "well, guess we'll find somewhere to land soon. I mean it's not like we'll just float in the ocean for ever."

"Hey, isn't the Squal Straights close to those Djels?"

"Not too bad thsoe Dyellians... bit stuck up yeah, those Djeli Bastards." For some reason Shielas and Bruces has a love hate relationship with Dyelli Beybi. There wasn't anything particular, but perhaps it's the jovial lightt-hearted entirely casual demeanor of the Brucians and their Sheilas that can see the more formal, Dyellians as pretensious.

Either way, The 2 Bruces being in Dyellian waters only in a Tinnie (even though they have plenty of Tinnies) was a total freak.

OOC: I realised that I hadn't done anything with these guys for ages... and co mic relief is always good.

Igo tried to politely laugh-off any suggestion as to his ill health (he is actually rather exhausted after recent speaking tours in several capitalist states and two war-torn would-be Igovian nations) and, once arrived, suggested that Adiatorix would be better suited to do the necessary pub diplomacy, excusing himself and making for the assigned room. There he would certainly sit down and probably concern himself with using the Soviet satellite grid to catch-up on the situation with respect to Beddgelen meddling on Iansisle.

Adiatorix, on the other hand, places no reliance but upon the bar, and makes there in typically high spirits. "Standard measure of your strongest, to start with, barkeep!" he bellows as he strides across the floor, tossing his don't-call-it-a-mullet-to-his-face hair and casting his gaze first across any visible array of beverages and only then glancing about at the figures and faces already present.

Peter smiled back at her "Thank you Patricia we will of course adapt to your customs while we reside within your country and as I say all Bloumans respect cultral differences, well except for those arrogant Holchmainians" Both men chuckled at this comment showing the strong dislike directed towards the region.

Dr Leonards replied to Harry's question noting the hint of sarcasm "Well Lubbock, the official reason to our presence is to learn more about Neo Liberalism and to improve relations with other nations, the unofficial reason now that the Lord Chancellor is attending the conference is Professor Fronard hopes to influence the thinking of the Lord Chancellor and direct imperial policy towards Neo-liberalism after all he was the chancellor of Braxon about 10 years ago when it was very much a closed economy just before the late prince died he had started to demolish the socialist economy and became much more capitalist, Professor Fronad tried to influence his son when he took over the trone but resigned when the Prince took his fathers measures even further, but now the Professor is director for the department of external trade and sits on the Council of the Imperial Chancellery he hopes to bring the entire empire away from this open market regime"

Peter interrupted "just don't mention that to the reporters they will have field day"

((ooc: I just noticed I've been writing "Beddgelern" rather than "Beddgelen" all over the place in the other thread. Whoops.))

"Oh, of course not! I wouldn't dream of it," said Lubbock, wearing the face of innocence accused. He didn't add that his career had only really survived the Revolution because he had snitched on every royalist he could find in the Exchequer, not really concerning himself too much if their careers were ruined, if they were shunted off into exile, or if they were sent to the gallows.

He toyed with trying to sell the story to the nearest reporter he could find, but decided to hold on to the information instead. It was obvious that he was not making many friends in the Blouman delegation and being able to hold something like that over their heads could prove to be a powerful weapon, should he need it. Yes -- better to be patient and try to extract some more information from the loquacious doctor.

"I'm interested to know, however -- what has the media reaction to the Lord Chancellor's visit been? I am assuming, by the by, that he is the head of your government? I know that if President Ranalte -- that's our head of state, Doc -- were to leave the country, it would be quite big news. It would be even bigger news were he to attend a conference proposing an alternative economic theory. Mightn't this visit strengthen the opposition parties -- assuming, of course, that such exist in your country?"

The Djels were in fact very close to the tinnie... or some of their explosive naval devices were at any rate. The Dyellian Government was paranoid about invasion. They took a lot of precautions against it. They liked to think it was why they hadn't been invaded since Klatch formed (except by Fasta Benj, but they didn't count they were a rebellious province).

But then again, so long as they didn't run over a naval mine one of the zepellins would probably pick them up... there was one on the horizon now, the sun gleaming off the silver gas bag. They certainly weren't subtle...

----------

Meanwhile at the Bar, 'Trish Davies had decided to shut up; she wasn't paid to get involved in fights. She signalled for the barman, "Gin and tonic, plenty of gin... thanks."

She cast her eye about, then exchanged a nod with Jones at the other table. Adiatorix caught her eye for a moment, he difinitely stood out among the bureaucrats... like a nudist at a Sunday service.

"Hey, Bruce, am I hallucinating or is there a Zepplin over on the horizon over there." The glint of the Zepplin had attracted one of the Bruces attention, The other Bruce looked over his shoulder to see the Zepplin...

"Well, either we both are hallucinating the same thing or there is a Dyellian Zepplin in the air over there Bruce"

"Well, good to know that Bruce,"

"Uh, Bruce?"

"Yeah, Bruce."

"Can you look down into the water with me Bruce?"

"What, you looking at Bruce, seeing those Mermaids again?"

"No, Bruce, don't be silly Bruce... I'm seeing anti-naval mines... you know those balls that look like pincushins."

"You know what Pincushons look like, Bruce? Sounds like poofer talk."

"Bruce, you very well now that Sheila is a magician with that Janome of hers. I'm always getting stuck by pins lying around in the carpet."

"Anyway, I don't think this tinnie is deep enough to bump into any of those pins."

"It's your shout when we get back to land."

"It's your turn... I did it back on Barrow, remember?"

"Oh, right."

The docks

The office of Phil Jones was a small room, white plaster walls, a cheap chip board desk with a vinyl veneer that was host to a computer and a jumble of files, two chairs and a noisy air conditioner. The Manager motioned Older towards the chair in front of the desk, "Have a seat Sir... now, what can the Port Authority do for you?"

((whoops...forgot about this third of my delegation))

"Thank you," said Older, taking a seat. "Well, as you may know, Mr Jones, I am an Iansislean naval officer. We've been looking to modernize our port facilities at Mansmouth and I've heard about the top-notch facilities you have here. I was rather hoping for a brief tour, along with the chance to perhaps interview a few of the workers."

"Sister, please," the cleric answered the barman, accepting the drink. "And ta very much," she saluted him with the glass.

She'd perched herself on a bar stool, and was quietly enjoying her drink. Everyone seemed to be heavily involved in serious discussions, and she didn't want any part of that.

Leaning over the bar with his reach of quite some feet, Adiatorix snatched a bottle of something that he thought to have a 'healthy' colour about it and, also out of habit, slapped several Indian shillings on to the bar, probably to the value of at least eighty or ninety US dollars, before (ripping the stopper out with his teeth and) strolling down towards a gathering of individuals.

Peering over the head of one of the Blouman delegates, whose back was to him at the time, and speaking to nobody in particular, perhaps to everybody in the varied group, the 6'7" Celt spoke up at the first pause -which he took to represent the minimal courtesy, even if it were one speaker uhming before making a reply to a prior comment- "Good day, namaskar, bore da, and all of that... Adiatorix of the Durcodi, Indo Soviet delegation. And who do we have here? In fact, what do we have here? Classical Liberals? Socialists? Feudalists, is it?"

He paused to knock back a swig of his captured beverage, leaning back with his free hand acting as if to steady him by pressing on the hilt of his still-worn saber. One likely got the impression that he was prepared to go on immediately after the gulp, if not interjected against. Already he was straying without Igo's direct influence, having employed at least one greeting classified for purposes of official and diplomatic intercourse as archaic owing to reactionary implication (namaskar, I bow to you is not an expression, traditional or not, that meets with Igovian doctrinal approval). But, when ambassadors are elected, and by a people such as the Beddgelens, these things will happen.

"We can certainly do that." Jones nodded, "If you want we can set off now, I can take you down this pier, they're all pretty much the same. Feel free to talk to anyone who isn't doing anything. Plenty of those here I'm afraid. Very strong Union."

"Although before we set off I'll let you know a little about how the whole system works." he patted the computer, "As you can probably guess there is a ridiculous amount of stuff coming in and out of this facility."

"When a ship comes in they radio us data on each of their containers. We then input that into the system. When the ship docks we electronically tag the containers. If the tag moves without someone having logged the container ought to be moving it sets off an alarm to let us know the container is being tampered with. The tags also allow us to quickly locate where each container is. When the container leaves we remove the tag and reuse."

"Same deal for incoming containers." he added, "Processing officers have a tablet computer with the facility to log container movement. Our system interfaces directly with the customs department. They use the tagging system to quickly and efficiently select random samples of containers for inspection. If something comes in from somewhere dubious they are imeediately notified and can manually specify a greater random sample for inspection."

----------

Davies looked like she was about to engage with the cleric before the sudden whirlwind appearance of Adiatorix, who left her momentarily speechless. She looked at him, her mouth slightly open, then abruptly shut it, "I can't speak for the others, but I can say I am a Socailist with firm beliefs in Pluralism. 'Trish Davies, Chief Executive of the Foreign Office, at your service."

"Well Lubbock the Lord Chancellor is only the head of the Imperial Chancellery the position is the third highest in the Royal Council his highness is however the ruler of his nation. The reporters have been briefed on the prupose of our visit by the Lord Chancellor, however, should they find out about Professor Fronad's hidden agenda it will cause more than a little discomfort for his higness espically after the last debacle he was involved in"

'Careful there Leonard you'll soon be giving away secrets" Peter said he turned to Patricia who looked bored at all this economic talk "so tell me Patricia being the head of the foreign office you must of encountered many different people and seen some very strange sights"

Doctor Leonards who was obviously being affected by the pints of beer he had been sculling quickly had made him much more relaxed and had let his defences down continued "You see Lubbock it was about four months ago not long after the chancellor was appointed he attemped to make the empire a common market but he was brought down by the other members of the council, they would be what you would refer to as opposition parties and after his last attempt to go over the council, it certainly would help their argument to have him dismissed from his duties after all you know the media they will beat anything up to get thier story on the first page"

"Truth be told I'm quite a recent apointment." Davies had turned back to Peter, "Things got shuffled up quite a bit when the Prime Minister camer in. The Diplomatic Branches and Intelligences agencies all used to be lumped into one big sprawling agency known as the Cheka. It still exists, but in a much slimmed down version."

"Although yes I have done a few exciting things... like trying to transport a briefcase full of money that was coincidentally handcuffed to my wrist, across a desert... Or trying to open an embassy only to find you suddenly have to flee from unhappy rebels who have overun the airport... Or catching a lift in a passing Cruiser when Cyro was captured by Soult's army." she grimaced at the thought, "Not as much fun as it sounds."

"Just call me 'Trish by the way." she shook her head, wearing a slight smile, "Always though 'Patricia' makes me sound like someone's Grandmother."

Truth be told, despite his eagerness to have something to hold over Leonards should push ever come to shove, Lubbock was only listening to the doctor with half an ear. He was quite diverted by the feeling that he was losing 'Trish's attention and, with it, the chance of a pleasurable stay in Dyelli Beybi. He was just saying "You'll have to excuse me, doc" when Adiatorix solved half of Lubbock's problems for him: he was no longer engrossed in conversation, at least, but neither was 'Trish paying sufficient attention to him.

"Good day, namaskar, bore da, and all of that... Adiatorix of the Durcodi, Indo Soviet delegation. And who do we have here? In fact, what do we have here? Classical Liberals? Socialists? Feudalists, is it?"

"I can't speak for the others, but I can say I am a Socailist with firm beliefs in Pluralism. 'Trish Davies, Chief Executive of the Foreign Office, at your service."

Lubbock had managed to go this far without committing himself to an economic ideology, and he would be damned if this over-sized lummox pulled it out of him. Drawing himself up to a rather unimposing five-foot-seven (and perhaps noticing a bit to late that Adiatroix had well over a foot on him, not to mention quite a few more pounds of muscle), Lubbock puffed out his chest.

"I might ask the same thing. You're an Beddgelen, eh? I always wondered if the lithographs of your type my mother used to frighten us with were accurate. I must say that it's always reassuring to have one of your stereotypes confirmed."

It might not be known in the Soviet Commonwealth, but Iansislean political cartoons and caricatures always depicted the Beddgelens as towering, hunched troll-like creatures with rippling muscles, a large wooden club, and an exceptionally slow wit.

Having thus very likely signed his own death warrant against someone nearly twice his bulk, Lubbock became dimmly aware that 'Trish was still not quite paying attention to him, instead becoming involved in a conversation with one of the Bloumans -- couldn't remember which one in particular, they all looked damn similar to his untrained eye -- he had just left.

The cleric watched the proceedings with a half-smile on her face, utterly bemused as Adiatroix captured Davies' attention; the man was certainly direct, but didn't seem belligerent. A good sort.

An elegant eyebrow rose as Lubbock raised himself very nearly to Adiatroix's chin. The half-smile turned into a "coughing" fit as he referenced the cartoons; she'd never seen one herself, but from the tone of voice it was easy to guess.

The grin she couldn't quite hide was buried in the glass, and the expression of slightly-detatched amusement returned.

This was turning out to be more entertaining than she'd suspected.

Dr. Leonards saw both Lubbock and Adiatorix have a little exchange and it seemed that Lubbock was more bold (or perhaps stupid considering he was 7 feet tall and twice as wide as Lubbock) then he orignally thought, Dr Leonards stood and introduced himself to the newcomer "I am Dr Leonard Leonards of the Blouman Empire"

Meanwhile Peter was responding to 'Trish's comment "Well 'Trish certainly sounds much more hip, so you were a part of the intelligence branch, you certainly have been through a lot and too think that I thought my time in the air force was bad" Peter turned and nodded at the newcomer and returned to 'Trish "Through a lot indeed as well and to be the head of the foreign office is quite an achievement espically for one so young"

"Hey, Bruce, am I hallucinating or is there a Zepplin over on the horizon over there." The glint of the Zepplin had attracted one of the Bruces attention, The other Bruce looked over his shoulder to see the Zepplin...

"Well, either we both are hallucinating the same thing or there is a Dyellian Zepplin in the air over there Bruce"

"Well, good to know that Bruce,"

"Uh, Bruce?"

"Yeah, Bruce."

"Can you look down into the water with me Bruce?"

"What, you looking at Bruce, seeing those Mermaids again?"

"No, Bruce, don't be silly Bruce... I'm seeing anti-naval mines... you know those balls that look like pincushins."

"You know what Pincushons look like, Bruce? Sounds like poofer talk."

"Bruce, you very well now that Sheila is a magician with that Janome of hers. I'm always getting stuck by pins lying around in the carpet."

"Anyway, I don't think this tinnie is deep enough to bump into any of those pins."

"It's your shout when we get back to land."

"It's your turn... I did it back on Barrow, remember?"

"Oh, right."
.

Adiatorix was just in the middle of approvingly pursing his lips and giving a twisted nod towards 'Trish for her advocation of socialism, and about to confirm with her his assumption that her pluralism was in reference to economic diversity, as opposed to perhaps political, when the Iansislian's little outburst put him into a fit of booming laughter.

"Would you like to take her back a photograph of the two of us, to show that you've seen a Geletian up close and lived?" He said, gesticulating with his bottle hand, the other still on the pummel of his sword, and still smiling broadly though putting a pretty heavy inflection on the last two words of his question.

"I could sign it for you. Oh, don't worry, Shieldian, it won't steal your soul, and nor shall I!" And with that he chuckled again.

"Well then!" the Celt said, tracing his gaze across the whole group, "I don't want to hijack the conversation, but by way of introductions, I should say that I'm here to represent what my comrade calls the other India. I'm told that my votes in the Soviets identify me as a traditionalist sympathetic with the Old Guard of the first three Commonwealths, interventionalist and all that, while comrade Igo, off upstairs or some damn place, is here to advocate his theories of market simulation and socialist free trade. So that's that!"

And he took one last swig of the drink that he had taken from the bar and shook his head before thrusting the bottle, half full, into Lubbok's arms and breaking open his hip flask to offer Dr.Leonards -in lieu of a handshake- a sip of infamously potent and overpoweringly flavoursome Geletian wine.

"Although before we set off I'll let you know a little about how the whole system works." he patted the computer, "As you can probably guess there is a ridiculous amount of stuff coming in and out of this facility."

"When a ship comes in they radio us data on each of their containers. We then input that into the system. When the ship docks we electronically tag the containers. If the tag moves without someone having logged the container ought to be moving it sets off an alarm to let us know the container is being tampered with. The tags also allow us to quickly locate where each container is. When the container leaves we remove the tag and reuse."

"Same deal for incoming containers." he added, "Processing officers have a tablet computer with the facility to log container movement. Our system interfaces directly with the customs department. They use the tagging system to quickly and efficiently select random samples of containers for inspection. If something comes in from somewhere dubious they are immediately notified and can manually specify a greater random sample for inspection."

"Ah, yes," said Older as he peered at the computer, for the first time somewhat fazed. He knew of such things, of course, but the only computers in use on the Shield were room-sized contraptions mostly useful for range-finding on battleships and (although Older's security clearance wasn't high enough to know about this) code-breaking in Lenore Room.

"I worked for a time in the revenue service myself," said Older. "Before the Linhower Plan, that is." He didn't seem too concerned that Jones likely had no idea what the Linhower Plan -- a massive, pre-revolution expansion of the navy -- was. Unfortunately for his smug sense of self-confidence, Older was just about to forget what computers were called:

"We were working with, ah, these...machines there as well. Trying to better organize the traffic in the Weshield Strait. It's almost too bad for the Reproducible Technology Acts -- I'm sure revenue would love to get their hands on these."

---------

Lubbock turned scarlet when faced with the laughter Adiatorix greeted his insult with. His mood certainly didn't improve when a bottle of liquor was thrust into his hands. Forgetting all sense of decorum, he took Adiatorix's brief pause while offering Dr Leonards a drink as an opportunity to throw the bottle at the giant Beddgelen's feet.

Much to his embarrassment, it didn't shatter.

"That's for the heroes of Salvador!" he declared regardless, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the bar. He brushed shoulders rather roughly with Andrews, who had apparently contacted his wife and was just coming to take a look-see on how Lubbock was faring. Andrews started to say something, and then noticed the Beddgelen, the quizzical (and somewhat amused) looks across the room, and the unbroken bottle on the floor.

"Give me strength," he muttered to himself, before walking half-heartedly towards the group in an attempt to salvage the tattered remnants of Iansislean foreign policy.

The cleric's face processed a range of emotions; approval when Adiatorix handed over his liquor (seeing it as a conciliatory gesture), surprise when it was hurled to the ground, amusement when it failed to break, and then she started laughing as Lubbock stormed out of the bar. Pride of his nation he is, she thought. This would definitely get passed onto Sir Silvanas.

She downed the rest of her drink, and requested another from the barman. The neutral little half-smile came back as as she noticed the newcomer, but her attention was quickly absorbed by the arrival of the next G&T.

"Quite handy really." Jones had totally missed the slip, "Port is too big to function properly without them. Shall we take you out on the pier?"

Jones waited to see if there were any more questions before leading Older downstairs. A solid wooden door with a glass panel at head height led outside. A large open window and desk gave access to a secretary's office on their left. A man in a horribly out of fashion hawaiian shirt was having a heated discussion on a telephone.

His eyebrow rose as they appeared, although his stream of chatter never slowed, 'Guest' Jones mouthed at him. Something apparently had been found by customs in a container, leading them to seize the contents of the entire ship pending thorough examination for 'irregularities in the declaration'. Whoever was on the other side of the line was not happy about that...

The man rolled his chair around the corner, then rolled back handing over two hard hats. One was white, which Jones put on, the other was hot pink, this one was handed to Older.

----------

'Trish laughed, perhaps a little self consciously at the description of her abbreviated name as 'hip', "Well the problem with Dyelli Beybi is when the Dictator Soult enjoyed his rather brief stay in power he was put there by the Cheka as a pawn. I was one of maybe a dozen middle to high ranking Agents who stayed aligned with the Democratic movement. There were many more who were involved in trying to set up a Democratic State in the North, but that didn't exactly work, and we were never quite sure how far to trust them, I mean they did split away, and only really came back because they needed us to send troops to restore order up North."

"So that's why Richard Quentin is now Commissioner of the Counter Terrorism thingee, that retired Tzarist enforcer who looks like a walrus... Sir Cecil Wolfe... got the Home Office, Vlad got the job of Ambassador to Port Olympus and I got the Foreign Office. We may not be the most experienced people in the business, but the Government knows we are loyal." she explained.

It looked like she was ready to say more, but stopped instead to watch the scene unfolding, exchanging another glance with the pair of off duty security officials. The woman, Police Sergeant Maria Campbell to those who had actually met her (which was only Colonel Mitchell), rose silently from her chair. She had something holstered, which her hand had strayed to (almost certainly a taser). She watched everything unfold, watched Lubbock storm from the bar, then sat back down again, apparently satisfied nobody was going to try to kill somebody.

"Perhaps someone could enlighten me as to what the fuss is about?" 'Trish again, looking decidedly confused by the whole affair.

Dr Leonards thanked Adiatorix and took the flask presented to him he took a big swig, not prepared for the potency of the drink he coughed and choked for a few moments before composing himself just in time to see Lubbock chuck the dummy and storm off, it was hard for Lubbock to suppress a laugh the performance he had just seen only reinforced what he thought of the man, "Well Adiatorix" handig the flask back "you certainly ruffled his feathers"

Peter was listening to 'Trish intensely and only turned around when he heard Lubbock yell out he turned just in time to see Lubbock storm out of the room. "Leonard what the hell just went on?" Dr Leonards replied loud enough for people nearby to hear his account of events. "well there you are 'Trish it seems as though your friend got a little hot under the cover, theere must certainly be some rivalry between the two nations?" he siad hoping that 'Trish might elaborate after all he would be the first one to admit to have next to no knowledge of the two nations "But please do continue your story, loyalty is certainly a virtue especially in these troubled times"

"Quite handy really." Jones had totally missed the slip, "Port is too big to function properly without them. Shall we take you out on the pier?"

That made Older rather self-concious; of course all Iansislean ports, some of them among the largest in the region, functioned without computers (although, unlike some of the more reactionary officials, Older at least saw the use in the devices).

His eyebrow rose as they appeared, although his stream of chatter never slowed, 'Guest' Jones mouthed at him. Something apparently had been found by customs in a container, leading them to seize the contents of the entire ship pending thorough examination for 'irregularities in the declaration'. Whoever was on the other side of the line was not happy about that...

The man rolled his chair around the corner, then rolled back handing over two hard hats. One was white, which Jones put on, the other was hot pink, this one was handed to Older.

Older accepted the pink hardhat without question. After they exited the building, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the room with the loud hawaiian shirt. "Contraband?" he asked. Assuming a positive response, he then went on to inquire what sort of material could provoke such a virile reaction, and whether it was a matter of avoiding duties or importing illegal goods.

In an Indian drinking den Lubbock's behaviour would have been the start of a merry brawl, but when the bottle failed even to break Adiatorix thought for half an instant that maybe it had been dropped accidentally. Realising otherwise he was actually somewhat wrong footed. He couldn't flatten this little man, who couldn't even shatter glass when it really mattered, and gain any honour from it, but now the little bugger was getting away without any kind of chastisement! "It's Sri Lanka, now!" he said, mumbling somewhat and not quite getting out a full shout.

Fortunately the reactions of those around him, and especially from Leonards, seemed to give Adiatorix a way out.

"Down, I'd say." He replied to the, 'ruffled featers' comment. "Good stuff, eh?" he added, grinning as he took back the flask and offered it in turn to 'Trish. "Most people react worse than that, first time, Doctor. Don't worry!"

Seconds after the return of Andrews, Graeme Igo returned from his room, relieved to have heard that two Soviet aircraft penetrated Iansislian airspace and landed in Wyclyfe without any exchange of fire between Beddgelen and Republican forces. Small blessings, he thought. Catching part of Andrews' air-clearing attempts, however, Igo, still not having really intruded on to the group, gestured for Adiatorix to please, please tell him that this wasn't about Salvador, again...

"Someone was smuggling tobbacco in a wool shipment." Jones shrugged, "Guy on the phone was importing a whole lot of electrical goods that happened to be on the same ship, doesn't see why his stuff ended up seized as well. Thing is, could have been a third party putting stuff in the container."

There was a momentary pause before Jones realised one point probably needed clarification, "There are heavy tarriffs against imported tobbacco. Helps to protect the local industry."

As they walked onto the docks, the heat of the concrete underfoot seemed to soak through the soles on your shoes. It had been baking in the heat all day, and probably would burn anyone silly enough to go bare foot. They passed a few bands of workmen, mostly doing nothing. Everyone seemed to have a yellow hat on. Presumably the hats were coded.

There was some activity by the crane. There was no ship in, but the crane, which up close was set on rails, was busily moving a stack of containers onto the back of trucks.

"Got another ship due in in about 4 hours." Jones explained, "Need to clear space so we're moving some of the uncollected containers to storage."

----------

"Well that's more or less it really." 'Trish finished with a slight shrug, "I've been lucky and am earning quite a bit."

She took the flask of Adiatorix, taking a swig without any apparent ill effect, "Thank you Sir... Interesting drink, don't recognise it, although it tastes like something Adelle would drink... I hear you met her?"

"The current Grand Admiral and I once had a little adventure on a river gunship." she confide (without going into specifics) as she handed the flask back.

"Someone was smuggling tobbacco in a wool shipment." Jones shrugged, "Guy on the phone was importing a whole lot of electrical goods that happened to be on the same ship, doesn't see why his stuff ended up seized as well. Thing is, could have been a third party putting stuff in the container."

There was a momentary pause before Jones realised one point probably needed clarification, "There are heavy tarriffs against imported tobbacco. Helps to protect the local industry."

"Ah, of course," said Older. "I spent my own time protecting the tobacco growers of Gallaga, and the regulations are only getting stronger -- the government is convinced that the Nushies need colonial preference or they'll make too much trouble over the Quit."

As usual, Older did not bother to translate his meaning to those who might be unfamiliar with Iansislean domestic politics. Gallaga was Iansisle's largest colony, covering an area some six times larger and three times more populous than the Republic proper. 'Nushie' was the slang term for white settlers living in Gallaga, coming from the native corruption of 'New Shield'. The Quit referred to President Ranalte's 'Quit Gallaga' program, being negotiated with the Congress and the Rumbiak Brigade, designed to make an independent Gallaga that would make less trouble but was still economically and militarily tied to Iansisle.

As they walked onto the docks, the heat of the concrete underfoot seemed to soak through the soles on your shoes. It had been baking in the heat all day, and probably would burn anyone silly enough to go bare foot. They passed a few bands of workmen, mostly doing nothing. Everyone seemed to have a yellow hat on. Presumably the hats were coded.

There was some activity by the crane. There was no ship in, but the crane, which up close was set on rails, was busily moving a stack of containers onto the back of trucks.

"Got another ship due in in about 4 hours." Jones explained, "Need to clear space so we're moving some of the uncollected containers to storage."

Older followed, occasionally questioning Jones about a triviality, and always sweeping his dark eyes over the dockyard.

If the union is strong enough to support this many idlers, he thought, then it's probably strong enough to get pay cheques such that our budget for this operation won't be sufficient to cover the right 'loose lips'. Still, better to find out...

"I see what you mean about the union, Mr Jones," said Older at an opportune moment. "We had our own trouble with them before Cupidonolo. A shame to see so many idle men -- and I assume they get paid twice as much as a non-union man, no?"

Yet again, Older failed to explain Cupidonolo, a reference to the Cupidonolian Reaction. (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/index.php/Cupod%C3%ACnolian_Reaction)

((ooc: boy, that was one hell of a weekend. I'll be back for Andrews a bit later -- just assume he stands around quietly for now. BG, I'll get back to your thread presently. Now I need to collapse.))

Colonel Mitchell had remained sitting, face to the bar while all of the previous action had gone on and simply busied himself with his ale. He nonchalantly checked over his shoulder at all of the commotion and simply shrugged, motioning to the bartender for another drink.

"Swagger, swagger is generally a mask for cowardice." He said to no one in particular and smiled as the bartender returned with another ale.

He chuckled to Jones and Campbell " River Crocodile? Are they poisonous? How big do they get, I only have two bedroom flat."

Jones gave Older a blank look for a moment, then something seemed to visibly register with him, "Joining the Union in the Dyelli Beybian public sector isn't optional. If your industry has one you have to join. Wages are negotiated via an 'awards' system. Even I'm in a Union, the 'Middle Managers Union', they're broad, general coverage across all industries in the State."

Behind him the crane was swinging a crate towards the back of a waiting truck, "'Course, the idlers..." he waved towards a pair of smokers leaning up against another pile of crates, "... aren't idle the whole time. When things get busy they'll all be busy. Last negotiations we had a minimum 6 hour shift negotiated, which means there are periods like this where a lot of people are doing nothing. Doesn't help me, but no doubt if you speak to one of the delegates they'll give you a different side to the story. Guys in the red hats are organisers by the way."

A spectacled woman with a clipboard seemed to be the only red hatter in view. She drifted between the clusters on unproductive dock workers, exchanging a word or two, but not making any notes.

"Back in the day when we were quiet we used to knock off down to the pub for a few hours." Jones added wistfully, "Now though they worry about drunken crane opperation."

There was a paused as he seemed to realise what he'd just implied, "It's a good thing of course, far fewer accidents."

----------

"Not that big." the Jones at the bar assured the Colonel.

"For a truck." his subordinate added, "No, they aren't poisonous, but a big male can and will swallow you whole."

"Hippos are even bigger of course." Jones added, continuing the lesson on botany, although whether he was telling an even vaguely true story was debatable, "Except they have a tail like a whale and flippers like a seal at the front so they aren't really a hippo. You can ride them."

A that point Kristy (The Lord Chancellor's assistant) she had returned from her shopping trip and was now wearing a short red summer dress, which she had just brought, she sighted Peter and Leonard at the bar amongst a group of other people, a women, a extremely large man and another man in a brown suit, Kristy made her way over to the group and ordered a champange sunrise, Peter spoke to her first "How was the shopping trip Kristy" "Excellent Peter there’s a lot shops I spent about 1000 Herzogs” “You certainly have been busy” Leonard said Kristy “well I’ve only just begun I am hoping to get some more done before the conference is over" Peter continued "Has his highness finished with his work yet" "I checked in on him don't mention this to anyone just yet" All three moved thier heads together and Kristy whispered "he is dealing with some Lower Wedrom seperatists Queen Natasha has accused him of allowing them to store armaments in amongst our mountains" "Preposterous" yelled Dr Leonards "shhh" they both said to him Kristy continued "His highness has instructed the army to check it out so he is being held up with that" "mmm" said Peter "perhaps the rumours of an uprising within Wedrom is true it certainly looks like they are gaining stregth" "Well the remains of the Lower Wedrom forces are most likely to join up with any new rebellion but the deceased kings brother is still attempting to have Lower Wedrom as an independent state, but it will never happen anyway rumours thats all they are just a couple of people running around the country side with nothing better to do" Peter replied "Yeah lets wait and see what happens come on kristy I'll introduce you to the rest of this group rising they turned to 'Trish and Adiatorix "Kristy this is 'Trish Davis executive director of the foreign office and this is Adiatorix of the Beddgelert, this is Kristy Doroma Personnel Aisstant to the Lord Chancellor" she greeted them both they then turned to Andrews and Peter said while extending his hand "I am sorry I don't think we have been introduced I am Lord Peter Proganger and this is Kristy Doroma we are both from the Blouman Delegation"

OOC: Its been a while since I posted on here, it may be a while till I do again final exams over the next week and a bit so it may not be till then when i can reply again assume that my mob are still there I'll try and catch up

OOC: Hello is anyone there, well this thread seems to have gone the way of the dodo someone might reply

OOC: Sorry I was slack. I did read your post and figured I would wait for some of the others to write something, what with your exams and all. Unfortunately nobody did :P

"How do you do." 'Trish shook hands with each of the newcomers in turn, "May I extend a warm welcome to Dyelli Beybi."

The barman was loitering expectantly at their end of the bar now...

"So." 'Trish continued, giving the appearance that Lord Proganger had her full attention, "What do you hope to get out of this conference?"

"Cokey" Bunnion had entered the bar and had racked the billiards table hoping somebody would join him for a game and some conversation, but after clearing off the table three times he was beginning to take the hint. He thought for a moment that perhaps taking off his sunglasses would make the other delegates feel more welcome to introduce themselves, but decided to keep them on in the interest of "keeping it real".

As a matter of fact he was strongly tempted to leave and find a bar where he could mix with some more working class Dyellians. There were two women in the bar that he could see from the table, one was completely surrounded by males each vying for her attention and the other one appeared to be a nun of some sort. The biggest guy in the bar was apparantly not down to fight even when insulted to his face, so there would be no entertainment in that regard. Intellectual conversation would surely lead to trouble seeing as how economics was the common topic and the Murder City Jabbers were pretty much the polar opposite of this assembled collection of statist-socialist variety.

Only one other delegate seemed to even think that he had some respect for a free market, and Bunnion or any other Jabber would consider him a big government stooge from remarks overheard.

Cokey was about to finish his beer and head out to see what Cyro had to offer when another female delegate entered who had apparantly been about the city until then. He decided to set up the table one last time and see what the score was before giving it up.

By this stage the cleric was nearing the end of her fourth drink, bored stiff, and was wondering if she should ask the bartender to just leave the bottle, or if she should just leave. She had nothing to contribute to the economics class (reasoning that she was the lone semi-capitalist in the room), and didn't care for the posturing of the other delegates; the novelty of watching them compete for 'Trish's attention had worn off, and she found herself wishing she hadn't opted out of the canasta game back in the delegates' quarters. Maybe it was a bad idea to have come at all.

She was also rather irked at all the attention 'Trish was receiving (the only one who even spoke to her was the barman), but around the second drink had decided to blame her own outfit rather than the other woman. Even though the black suited her, she had a strong suspicion that no-one was seeing past it, assuming she was just another crazed borderline nun frothing at the mouth... oh, bugger this for a game of soldiers...

She drained her glass, and set it on the bar, before slipping off the stool. She thanked the bartender for his "fine service", and headed for the exit. Maybe they could deal her into the next round.

OOC: Thats alright I finished my last exam today I have now got all of the summer off sweet.

"Well 'Trish" Peter started glad that she was taking an interest in him again "I hope to get a better understanding of a different economic view point my time at university devoted a basic understanding but I would like to learn more and see how countries manage their economy effectively using alternative approaches, it should help me make more informed decisions when I recommend policy and when conducting other parts of my job"

"A pleasure to meet you to" Kristy said to 'Trish "thank you Deylli Beybi seems like a wonderful country I have been enjoying my stay here" she turned to the barman and ordered a drink "I will have a Champagne Sunrise please hold the umbrella" she turned back to the group and said generally with a laugh "I hate those little things" while she enjoyed a having a good drink amongst other people she wasn't the sort of person to talk about economics and politics in fact as a 22 year old she was rather bored and not interested in these matters and when with her friends would talk about fashion or work or other trivial aspects of life, as Peter and 'Trish talked she looked around the bar she saw a largish woman sitting at the bar another group of three people in deep discussion and a man who was at the pool table.

At that point Henry (the press secretary) reentered the bar while he saw most of the delegation still at the bar he did notice a man racking up balls on the pool table, fancying himself as a decent player he decided to go over there and challange him to a game "Hows it going, the names Henry" he said extending a hand "care for a game?"

OOC: Forgot about my other man there

Dr Leonards was now on the sidelines of this conversation he was just wondering wether he should get involved when he saw the woman at the other side of the bar get up and leave the room. Dr Leonards pinked up his drink and decided to catch here before she could leave just outside the bar he said "Excuse me I never got the chance to introduce myself, and i trust that you are here for the conference, my name is Dr Leonard Leonards a part of the Blouman delegation"

The cleric paused her stride and turned as the Blouman addressed her, head cocked to one side. Her mood for conversation had vanished when she stood up; now she just wanted out.

"Deacon Mary Ducaskar, aide to Sir Silvanas Vasard of the Covenant," she said by way of introduction. Without pausing, she continued.

"We are indeed in Cyro for the summit," she allowed an apologetic note to enter her voice, "however, pray excuse me, good doctor, as I am feeling unwell and must retire."

She gave a sort of stiff little head bow, then turned and left the room, her guard in tow.

"Yeah, grab a stick and break 'em," Cokey replied, shaking Henry's hand. "I'm Jim Bunnion. You can call me Cokey. I'm the representative for the Murder City Jabbers, here to make friends and influence people. What outfit are you with?"

"Don't ask me about economics." 'Trish shrugged, "I'm just a glorified messenger without the faintest idea how it works, although one begins to feel after a while, that much like systems of Government, it mostly works because people believe it works."

She shrugged, sipping daintily at her wine, "So tell me Peter... can I call you Peter? You're from the Blouman Empire right? Tell me about your country, and tell me about you, I am fascinated to know."

'Trish's dark eyes sparkled with interest, it was easy to imagine with her that you were the centre of the universe. There was no guile there either, no hidden agendas, she actually was interested in people.

"Of course you can call me Peter. Well lets see The Blouman Empire was formed about 500 years ago when 11 blouman nations under the direction and inspriation of King Christopher I of North Braxon decided to come together and form a larger, more powerful and stronger Bloumany, this was meant to try and benefit all nations and try and stop some of the wars against each other as well as trying t bring some continuity amongst the nations. It did take a while for there to be common agreement and even one country threatned to attack the other nations if certain things wern't agreed to. The orignal 11 countries were Braxon, Eastern Bloumany, Fraycrant, Holchmain, Lower Wedrom, North Braxon, Promdrania, Regarmar, Truingren, Upper Braxon and Wedrom. There are now 12 countries with East Bloumany and New Regarmar being established recently and Lower Wedrom losing its soverignty last year. The leaders of the nations come together and to form the Royal Council, one of these members becomes the Emperor voted for life or according to the constitution if they decide to resign or are voted out by all but one member of the Royal Council but this has never happened, those able to vote are all members of the Royal Council and the previous emperor who placed their choice in a sealed envolope before they died. The Royal council meets on most empire wide matters but the emperor can place in some certain rules and authorise cartain things without Royal Council approval. Most of the countries have their own rules and regulations, they even have their own defence forces, and the empire has their own defence forces as well as many other departments which controls empire related matters" At this point he took a sip of his beer and then continued "The Blouman people are usually reserved but they like to relax and tend no to worry about a lot of things, however, they do work hard and seek to enjoy the very best quality in all aspects of life"

"As for me well I was born in Hunter's Lodge in Upper Braxon as the second eldest of a family of four children, I then joined the army as it is compulsory but decided to use the volunteer option so I could study at the Upper Braxon Defence Academy studying economics and international relations, being of noble birth I was automatically qualified to become an officer but I wanted to get my degree at the expense of the state hence why I took the volunteer option, 4 years later I completed the degree and recieved my commission as a Lieutenant and served another 6 years in the army, serving in peace keeping missons and I was actually a part of the contingent that was used to threaten Eastern Bloumany and the rebels to compromise or both parties will be dealt with before a civil war broke out between the two, I was promoted to Captain in my final year I then left the army and moved into the Upper Braxon Chancellary for two years and last year I moved into the Imperial Chancellry working in the department for external trade, but I love relaxing having some drinks with good company" at this point he nodded to 'Trish "but my main passion is skiing"

Henry grabbed a stick and began chalking the tip "I am with the Bloumany delegation" He leant over took aim and struck the white ball it travelled and hit the balls which in turn scattered across the table, unfortunally none sunk "Damn" "Your turn Cokey, are there any others from your delegation?"

Dr Leonads was a bit schoked from her brusqeness Well he thought somoeones unhappy, he went back into the bar to get himself another drink he could see that Peter was once again in deep converation with 'Trish again so he wasn't going to be able to do anything there, Henry was playing pool against someone he thought to himself if Henry had told his competitor that Henry could beat all members of the Upper Braxon Royal Press club, and Kristy was siting there sipping out of a champange glass. Dr Leonards decided to do the work that Professor Fronards wanted him to do for the conference he asked the barman to have a selection of bottles of beer to be sent up to his room.

Kristy sat there sipping her drink looking around she saw that Peter had began talking to 'Trish and had 'ditched' her there was still that large bloke and that bloke in the brown suit just standing there, ok she thought whatever makes people happy

Over the last... considerable stretch of time the moods and behaviour of the Igovians had altered some what. Igo's eyes appeared to have glazed over somewhat, and, vacant as he looked in this social setting, exactly how he was sustaining verticality had become unclear. The same went for Adiatorix, who had consumed a really heroic quantity of alcohol, and was now fencing with the air, saber drawn, as his attention wandered far from the field of economics. Oh well, at least it was a nice saber.

"No, no, it's just me here." Cokey replied as he looked over the lay of the table. "Technically, I have no business being here myself." Cokey decided to pick off the 5 ball and hope he'd be left with a crack at the 2. "The Murder City Jabbers is an organization that has a completely laissez-faire policy regarding economics." He sank the 5 but the cue travelled much farther than intended, leaving him with either a tough cut at the two in the side pocket or a bank shot at the 1. He lined up to try the 2. "That is to say that the Jabbers as a rule do not meddle in economics other than protection of rightful claims upon private property. Seeing as how half of the nations here don't even recognize private property, I don't see the Jabbers contributing much to any purpose relating to the conference. On top of that, outside of some knowledge in libertarian philosophy I don't have much of a head for economics in general." Cokey made the 2 but scratched in the corner. "Really, I'm just here to gather information on the other nations attending, as well as test the waters as far as possible Jabbers expansion into any of these countries. But mostly because I needed a break from the office."

"Looks like you're stripes, Henry." As the words came out of Cokey's mouth he happened to gaze over at Adriatox and suddenly the 80s hair metal act Stryper came to mind.

"Wow, you certainly seem to have excelled." Davies looked genuinely impressed by what Peter had to say, "Military mmhm, I probably would have guessed that if I had actually thought to guess."

She laughed, a somewhat self-deprecating laugh, "I have to confess I've only ever seen snow at a distance, don't tend to get any around Dyelli Beybi proper, although the territories up in the North of the continent do apparently have some good ski fields. Down here is pretty useless... unless you can ski on sand?"

She ordered another drink, a slight smile conveying that she did realise skis weren't designed for sand, "Any other plans while you're over here?"

"Heh yes i should try it" Peter said refering to the notion of sking on sand "I don't really have much planned I always thought that most of my time will be taken up by this conference, but when my duties aren't called for I plan on relaxing and seeing the best that Dyelli Beybi has to offer and just enjoying myself in general" "If you are ever in Bloumany you should look me up I will show you snow and teach you how to ski, I'm sure you will be in the Empire at some point I know that the Emperor wants to establish diplomatic ties and have an exchange of embassies with many of the countries in attendence at this conference that is if the royal council agrees to a suitable program, so if you and your Prime Minister agree you may be in Upper Braxon before you know it"


"Interesting Bloumany is also a free market but perhaps not as free as your economy there is still some public industries and there are also tarrifs and other non-tarrif barriers implemented, but we are by no means as extreme as these people, but we are here to view alternate ideas and try to establish relations with other nations" He leant over and placed the cue ball back in the position he aimked to cut 15 into the side pocket which would allow him to position the cue ball into a position that gave him some more options as he sunk 15 and aimed on 10 to also sink that "But tell me Cokey if your forte is not economics how come it was you that was sent here" He hit the 10 which rebounded off the pocket and went towards the other corner this then scratched 6 "Bloody Hell" Henry muttered under his breath shaking his head he was certainly not on form today

"I can tell you... off the record of course." 'Trish leaned forward conspiratorially, "That I would definitely not have a problem with that, neither would the Prime Minister, Dyelli Beybi isn't one of those odd isolationist regimes."

"So tell me Peter, when you say, the finest Dyelli Beybi has to offer, what kind of 'finest' are you looking for?" she ran a hand across her cheek, hooking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "That way I can make sure that your free time is taken up with the kind of activity you'd most enjoy."

Cokey chalked up his stick again and looked the table over.

"I'm the head of public relations in the agency. I generally do a combination of promotion, customer service, and market surveying for the Jabbers. I guess this counts as market surveying mosty. While I'm here, I test the waters in Dyelli Beybi as far as whether or not there is a tangible presence of laissez-faire or anarchist sentiment in the country. If there is, I try to get a bearing on how the government would react if the Jabbers were to advocate the rights of those individuals bearing those sentiments." Cokey lined up a pretty straight shot and tried to bang it in hard enough to get the cue to roll back for a shot at the 7. The ball just stopped instead of rolling back, however. Cokey had no shot but figured that a defensive maneuover wouldn't win him points in a diplomatic situation, (Where does it win you points?) so he decided to hop the cue over one of Henry's balls to try at the 4.

"But on a personal level my superior just wanted me out of the picture while accounting did an audit of our department, so I got sent here." He took a hard crack at the bottom of the cue, which sailed off the table past Henry and struck the foot of one of the other patrons.

"Sorry, Henry. They must make the balls lighter in this country or something." Cokey apologized and looked around for his beer, leaving Henry to hunt the ball down.

"The Lord Chancellor willbe pleased to hear that" Peter said of the embassy exchange program "Well 'Trish as for the finer things I would like to dine at the finest resturants and see the very best night life this town has to offer, of course I can't do this alone, I would need someone to come with me preferably a local" he hinted towards 'Trish


As Henry found the ball and placed it back on the table "I see Cokey so you are using the conference as a cover for corporate expansion, interesting tactic" he lined up the ball to sink the 10 and hve the ball bounce towards the 9, he then cut the 9 into the side pocket, he then went to bank the 12 into the opposite side pocket but he hit the ball wrong which sent it spinning off and hit the 7 as he rose he said "I wish I had throught of that tactic when I worked in the marketing department for Braxon Electric, I might have continued in that field rather than moving into PR"

And 'Trish knew a hint when she saw one. She smiled, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "Finish your drink, have another and if you like dancing I can take you to one of Cyro's most infamous night clubs. That is, if that's what you mean by 'night life'."

And with that Peter drowned his drink, "Perhaps we should grab a bite to eat" he stood up and extended his hand towards her

OOC: Why have all the visitors to Dyelli Beybi abandoned their people in this country

OOC: possible variety of reasons, like it's the leadup to Christmas now and people are busy in RL with the silly season.

Mine are simple; the default attitude of my people towards foreigners drifts between "callous indifference" and "active dislike" - the cleric was the only one inclined to be social and ended up being social with a bottle of gin before getting peeved and leaving.

My delegates are here for business, not chit-chat; don't expect to see much of any of them outside of the official meetings. Speaking of which; are those ever going to happen?

OOC: Sorry I've been slow my computer has broken down, so my time on here is very limited. Yes the official meetings will probably happen very soon. I was kinda waiting for all the unofficial alliance forming to die down a bit... i.e. everyone declares their character is in bed. Probably not the best way to do things without losing people along the way, but damned if I could think of a better way.

___

Trish took Peter's hand as she rose, but stopped, giving a slightly wry smile, "Mind if I run off and get changed? I'm more dressed for the office."

"Have another drink" Davies suggested, glancing at her watch, "45 minutes I'll be back. It'll be the limousine waiting just outside the main doors."

For what it was worth, Davies only took 40 minutes. She didn't get out, rather waiting for Peter inside the vehicle, although a silent hotel porterwas there to indicate the vehicle (if it wasn't already abundantly obvious). the senior bureaucrat had opted to change into a black evening dress, which was somewhat shorter and somewhat lower cut than what she had been wearing earlier, "So." she asked as Peter sat down, "We getting food first? By the way, if you're worried about security I've got two agents following discreetly."

When Peter stepped into the limo he noticed 'Trish in the much more attractive outfit "'Trish you look beautiful in that dress" Peter sat down and continued "Yes of course I wanted to go out and eat first, what do you recommend, Security does not bother me much but I am glad that you have some back up, but from what you tell me of your experinces you seem to be able to look after your self alright"

"Thank you." 'Trish acknowledged the complement with a smile and slight inclination of her head.

This one was a real limousine, not the big armoured kind... it had windows which gave a view of night time Cyro as it drove into the heart of the city, which had something of a tropical Venice feel to it, "I'll take you somewhere nice... Langley on the Water please driver."

She laughed at the talk of her handling herself well, "I wouldn't agree. I'm good at not being shot, mostly because all the people who have been thinking about it, haven't really been dead set on it, and I'm pretty and have a 'silver tongue'... that won't protect anyone else though, so it's better safe than sorry."

She'd let her hair down for the occasion, Peter would also notice a golden cross on a chain around her neck. She might have been wearing it before, but it would have been hidden then. Dyellians tended to be a highly religious people, in their own peculiar way.

Langley on the Water would turn out to be a very expensive lookinbg restaurant with a well lit Victorian style interior and a Pianist tinkling away gently in the corner. There was a reservation under 'Foreign Office', "Hard to get in as a private citizen." she confided, "But there are seats more or less permanently reserved for State meetings."

These appeared to be three tables set in a bay window built out over a fairly open area of the delta. One other table was occupied by another young Dyellian woman of about 'Trish's age was eating with a pair of older men in field grey uniforms and a young blonde uniform in a black one with a gold eppaulettes, red and gold cross belts and a red sash that dangled to the floor while she sat. They looked like military types... apart from the first woman, who looked like a very bored civilian.

'Trish was wearing a slight smirk when she sat down, "If we get bored we can always try to play 'spot the security official. We're in illustrious company."

The menu arrived before she had time to go any further on that point. It featured a lot of roasted meats (particularly beef and crocodile), fish; monkfish seemed to be the most expensive item on the menu, eel was also present in a variety of cooking styles (pickled, jellied, roasted and crumbed then fried). To top it all off the two main meats (beef/veal and crocodile) were also available in a coconut curry or with marsala sauce (although what crocodile marsala might taste like was anyone's guess).

"So tell me." 'Trish Davies asked, rather than focusing on the menu, "I may have asked this before, but what brings you, personally, here to Dyelli Beybi?"

While sitting down at their table Peter could see that this resturant was highly exclusive and it seemed as though it was one where many deals both open and tansparent and ones which were shady had been made, at this very moment he could see a table where many uniformed people were sitting no doubt talking about some such problems that seemed to trouble Dyelli Beybi and surrounding areas for many years. "Very nice place here 'Trish, haha yes I think I can pick one of them out right now" he said in reply to 'Trish comment about the sercurity guard. "The main reason that I am here is that I was appointed as a member of the delegation and i had no real objections I don't mind travelling to new and exotic places espically if it is on his majesty's expense, but as I am here I plan to enjoy myself and seek out the best that your country has to offer and try to have a bit of fun and enjoyment that is of course when I am not called upon to do my duty to the empire" While looking at the menu Peter asked 'Trish "I have never had crocodile before is it any good?"

"It is ok, not to everyone's taste." 'Trish gave a slight shrug at the mention of the crocodile, "It is gamey... somewhere between fish and chicken? Texture a bit like a red meat... but it's white."

She shrugged again, "Personally I'm going to order the veal marsala."

"That's the same answer you gave me in the hotel, interesting." she smiled slightly, closing her menu and setting it aside, "I hope you know something about economics and employment relation theory or I fear you'll find the conference rather boring... For now though I'm sure I can find something fun for you to do, it is my job after all."

It was probably really the job of a subordinate, but 'Trish Davies seemed to be the kind of person who rather liked company. Entertaining foreign dignitaries at expensive restaurants and the like was fun.

"Well I may never get the chance again to have crocodile and as I have said I enjoy experiencing new and exotic things so I will order that", he too set aside his menu and looked at 'Trish "I did study economics at University but it is not something I have a strong interest in I do keep up with new information that I need know for my job but that is about it, As for having fun well what do you have in mind?"

'Trish ordered the veal Marsala along with a rather expensive bottle of Pinot Noir from York, "Technically you should probably drink a white with crocodile, but the Dyellian whites are rather substandard, poor climate for them I think they say."

An obsequious waiter arrived a short while later, pouring them both a glass, then waiting to see if there were any complaints about corkage, which there weren't from the Chief Executive of the Foreign Office.

"Now as for fun, that depends entirely on what you want to do. You can get outrageously drunk for a very small amount of money then go to a trance club, or you could take a midnight crocodile spotting expedition on a paddle steamer, you are the guest of that State my friend, and the State can give you whatever you want."

She laughed, "Which is really what I'm trying to pry out of you, what do you want to do?"

"Haha I see well after this meal you and I should hit some these famous Dyelli Beybian nightclubs I have heard so much about where we can have a few more drinks, what do you say"

Peter took a sip of the wine "Mmm This is an excellent wine by the way, I can taste dark plum and black cherries as well as a hint of the oak, very nice"

"Perhaps." 'Trish was wearing a somewhat coy smile.

"Well you know, if you end up hanging around here for a while you can head up to where they grow it. There are valleys that are just filled with vineyards in that part of the country. Very idyllic, very dry, although obviously not as dry as the desert. It occasionally rains..."

The meal arrived quickly. Crocodile it would seem was more or less exactly as 'Trish had described it. It was quite tasty if the peculiar combination of texture and flavour was not offputting. Certainly in Dyelli Beybi it was prized as a delicacy (despite the abundance of the beasts in the river), "Do you have any family back home?" 'Trish enquired politely, swirling her wine glass as she spoke.

Graeme Igo, who'd spent most of his time thus far hiding away in his room, supposedly checking up on the Wyclyfe situation, reappeared periodically to catch his comrade's attention and give an update. These updates varied from, "Kumble's giving them what for, all right!" to, "We really need some Geletians in the side, no bugger can bat worth a damn!"

Adiatorix, for his part, was now completely paralytic, and as such considered that he'd, "won the bar" by being first to utterly lose his sense of self and surrender his perpendicularity.

The Igovians, in their different ways, were merely waiting for official business to begin.

[/token still here post]

The Macisikani had ordered room service for dinner, being disinclined to move much, before arranging for a 6:30 wake-up. They then turned in. At regular intervals one would rise, and check the communications links to the Red Bailey, in case anything came in.

They were doing what their Igovian counterparts were doing; waiting for official business to get started. The difference was that the Macisikani whiled away the hours by sleeping

ooc: as above.

OOC: My apologies for sidetracking into nefarious Dyellian Intelligence work. I will return the thread to normal ASAP. BTW Blouman Empire, if you don't mind I could run the conference + a retrospective side story of the night before.

OOC: Yeah that should be alright sorry about taking so long to reply but I was moving around the country as well as having various BBQ's and parties to attend this time of the year gets busy. I will just do the post I would have done anyway but starting the conference is a good idea.

IC: "Hmm yes I should attempt to make my way up there" Peter said refering to 'Trish's advice on the local wine region. He cut a slice off the crocodile and chewed it allowing the flavours to completly move throughout his mouth as it touched every part of his palate, it was certainly a taste which he found enjoyable and tender and cooked to perfection as it melted in his mouth. He returned to 'Trish's question after taking another sip of wine, "I don't have much of a family I do have a five year old son from a previous marriage but as Upper Braxon laws favour the mother in cases such as these as well as the nature of my job I don't get to see him that much only about once every six months and even then it isn't for very long a fortnight at the most, but that is about all", "What about yourself 'Trish?" he asked

"I think it's the same the world over." she said consolingly, "There is a feeling that a mother is more important to a child than a father. There is a certain bias in Dyelli Beybi in that direction."

She seemed to enjoy the veal, she ate slowly, daintily, "Never been married or anything like that. My career has never been conducive to long term relationships."

"My personality probably isn't either." she added with a slight laugh, "I have two older brothers and a younger sister, Dyellian families tend to be quite large. They're respectively a lawyer, a paramedic and a 'Government employee'."

'Government Employee' almost certainly meant something nefarious...

----------

The next morning people began shuffling into the conference room. Someone in a field grey uniform with blue piping was hunched over the podium. For those who had spoken to those in similar uniform at the bar the night before they would realise he was event security.

"Pease. An usher will show you to your places. No weapons within the room, thank you. This is for your own protection. Thank you..." he continued in a bored sort of voice, coughing out phrases of the same general intent.

The Macisikani delegation filed silently into the room. They were quite pleased with the air conditioning, and had reverted to their darkened 1900's-era suits and dresses; it made it look as though a flock of very-well dressed ravens, armed with binders and suitcases, had descended on the area that they were seated in. In deference to the fact that they were inside, the hats had not made an appearance.

In deference to their hosts, their scabbards were either absent or empty.

Their guards took up station outside.

The Macisikani had been seated next to a band of scruffy looking Dyellians with a sign that read 'CTU'. If they knew something of Dyellian Industrial process they would realise this was the highly influencial Council of Trade Unions.

There was also a list of speakers. The first it would seem was destined to be Minister Davies, speaking on the the problem of Neo-liberalism. After that the floor would be open to others to speak.

It seemed things were nearly ready now as the Security Official stepped down from the podium.

OOC: Just going to tgram everyone to let them know it's really starting :P

The Blouman delegation entered the room, The Lord Chancellor was wearing a navy blue suit with a diagonal stripped tie of a ligghter blue. He sat to his left was Professor Fronard and Dr Leonards to his right would be sitting Lord Progranger and further on Miss Kristy Doroma. Lord Progranger was late he had been told that he spent the night with a high ranking government official, the Lord Chancellor mad a mental note to speak to him about his lateness later today. The press delegation took awaited to be shown where the press box was. Behind the the Lord Chancellor sat two men in suits they were two of the Lord Chencellors bodyguards, while they tried to look like another member of the delegation (they had even taken their sunglasses off, and were wearing different suits) they could easily be identified by the wire emerging from their collar and entering into their ear

The Macisikani seated themselves quietly and efficiently, placing the Secretary squarely in the middle. The cleric who had been at the bar the night before sat next to him, on his right. They'd nodded politely to the Dyellian CTU delegates, and had glanced over at the Blouman delegation without much interest.

They had the air of people who were waiting patiently for everyone else to get there, or for the conference to begin, whichever came sooner, and were quite prepared to wait right there until continental drift moved the room.

Minister Arden reappeared the next morning, followed closely by her 'assistant' Colonel Mitchell. She was dressed practically the same, dark gray suit with stylish palazzo pants and dark sunglasses, Mitchell is in uniform.

Minister Arden wears the same expression of annoyance/disdain for the surroundings. Colonel Mitchell appears sleepy, yet cheerful. They wait until they are led to their seats by the usher and then wait quietly.

The Bloumans noticed that Minister Arden had now entered the room and watched them as the two were lead to their seats. Peter Progranger rushed in and quickly sat down next to the Lord Chancellor who gave him a stern look, "Sorry I am late Your Highness" "You can explain that to me later Lord Progranger, you are lucky we haven't started yet" the Prince replied, "Yes your highness I wonder why it is taking so long" Peter muttered mainly to himself

OOC: In other words a creative bump

After what seemed to be a long time in which there was much fluffling around from the organisers who seemed hell bent on locating weaponry (which they seemed to think foreigners carried at all times for use against each other); the Minister for Economic Development, John Davies took the Podium.

"Esteemed Delegations." he began, it was immediately clear he wasn't the world's most fantastic public speaker, looking far too often at his notes, "We are gathered here today to debate and promote the fostering of counter-Neo-liberal economic theories. Undoubtedly you have already realised that Dyelli Beybi as a State is built upon these theories, and we attribute much of our success in productivity to the fact that we have not allowed ourselves to bow to free market thinking."

The other Davies, the Chief Executive of the Foreign Office Davies had slunk in the back door while he was speaking, leaning against the back wall with her arms crossed. What exactly her purpose today was was unclear, what was clear was the holstered pistol visible under her unbuttoned suit jacket.

"...Today I shall focus on the topic of productivity." the Minister continued, apparently he was warming up, he seemed to be addressing the audience now rather than the podium at least, "Tradition Neo-Liberal philosophy advocates the abolition of many worker safeguards such as minimum wage. While Neo-Liberal thinkers will say that wages will remain fair due to the laws of supply and demand, when we factor in natural unemployment and the like, we find that the true intercept for these curves lies at a point where wages are just what one needs to survive, at least for unskilled labour.

"In such a low wage economy, business owners are encouraged to 'throw more manpower' at a problem, rather than attempt to find a more constructive way around it. This in turn will without a doubt lead to a drop in productivity growth, in some cases a decline in productivity, which in turn leads to a shortfall in GDP."

Most people without a background in economics were probably getting lost about this point, certainly the Davies at the back looked to be, "What we propose in Dyelli Beybi is the correctness of the Scandinavian economic model. In this model we see high wages imposed by minimum wage law leading to increased productivity.

"This is not merely a theory, it is fact. Numerous examples exist proving the validity of this theory beyond reasonable doubt, yet still classical Neo-liberal doctrine pervades the thinking of far too many economists. The truth as witnessed in Dyelli Beybi is that employers, counter to traditional labour supply and demand curves, will not lay off staff, downsize, when minimum wage is increased. A company is not about to downsize every time it gives it's staff a payrise, State imposed or otherwise. In fact what occurs is the company is forced to find more productive methods of producing the same good or service, thus increasing worker productivity, while at the same time stimulating other sectors of the economy such as Information Technology.

"Furthermore, the simplistic Neo-liberal model which states such an artificial rise will result in no real wage increase due to inflation pressures brought on by the increase is similarly flawed. A variety of other overheads drive cost along with wages, while at the same time, the impact of wages on cost is somewhat counter balanced by increased productivity.

"The Neo-liberal model is flawed." the Minister concluded, "We hope that in this forum we will have the opportunity to discuss the logical alternatives. I am open to questions, then the floor is open to whoever wants to speak. After that, Mr Arthur Bigley, Delegate for the CTU will speak regarding the Partnership model of Unionisation, the Black and Lynch four Scenario Model, and how positive management combined with Unionisation can boost productivity."

As soon as 'open to questions was uttered' Minister Arden was on her feet, asking a question.

"Minister Davies, while I do agree that minimum wage laws that assure a a livable wage for workers will increase productivity, it seems a far cry from addressing the issues of most workers as whole.

Would it not be more effective to also take into consideration environmental, safety and spending concerns of the worker? Surely in a system that pegs workers wages will inevitably lead to a surge in black market economies, is that not what has taken place in Dyelli Beybi?

If you want to speak to productivity, there are a whole slew of areas that should be addressed, the more worries you eliminate from the mind of the worker, the greater productivity would be.

Should we not also consider scarcity of goods, lack of medical care, lack of environmental controls and disenfranchisement in the workplace and workplace decisions?

For a worker to productive, healthy and happy, all of these issues must be touched on at once, at least that is what we have found in The Free Republic. It is unrealistic to have a discussion on productivity without comprehensively exploring all of the factors that are involved."

It seems Minister Arden has a problem with narrowed discussions that simply gloss over other issues.

The Beddgelens had arrived in their turn, Graeme Igo first, Adiatorix some time later after the sore-headed titan had finally relinquished his sabre to the care of his hosts.

For now the two listened, or Graeme listened and Adiatorix sat low in his seat shiftily looking about to convince himself of the security of his swordless situation, and it would be some time before he felt sufficiently comfortable to unclench his fists, and his lips. The smaller, older Commonwealther tried to make himself care more about the differing capitalist models, but truthfully the Igovians' problems with neo-liberalism start with the lack of... liberty and only touch on productivity as a secondary concern. Conflictingly they are no more enamoured of the national imposition of wage controls than they are by their abandonment to the market.

Still, Graeme would wait for more to be said before thrusting Communist economics on to the table.

"Wages are not precisely pegged." the Minister explained, "Minimum wage laws are precisely that, a minimum, guaranteeing a certain baseline dictated by a system of National awards negotiated by Trade Unions."

"I am assuming that when you talk of 'black markets' you are assuming that higher wages will lead to unemployment, and therefore a surplus of workers working for lower than minumum wage?" he sounded perplexed at the idea of a black market, "Dyelli Beybi is a welfare State. This is a fact we are proud of. Citizens whether employed or not are all guaranteed a basic standard of living. Furthermore such illegal employment practices would be dealt with most severely, I believe they might fall under the Exploitation of Slave Labour Act? I have not looked this up, it is not an issue."

"As for the question of greater worker concerns, that is dealt with in a series of other labour related acts of Parliament, the Holidays Act, the Workplace Safety Act, the Accident Compensation Commission Act and so on. When talking about workplace and Union relations, management behaviour and so on, I believe the speech this afternoon regarding the Partnership Economy and Black and Lynch four Scenario model of Employer, Union relations will shed some light on that issue."

"Then it sounds like you are simply trying to tout a package of slap-dash after the fact laws as a real package of reform and protection for the Dyellian worker?"

Minister Arden frowned "Your opening statement made it sound initially as if you had suddenly found some way to deal with worker productivity, while protecting the worker, yet apparently your comprehensive worker protection package seems to include laws that were most likely enacted after it was apparent they were needed, like minimum wage laws.

What exactly among these package of laws protects the spending power of the Dyellian worker? Minimum wage laws are useless unless the People are able to find and afford the necessities. What happens when commodities become scarce? Or currency is inflated or under valued? "

It was readily apparent to Minister Davies that a cheerful smile and a declaration of 'everything is fine' was totally lost on Minister Arden.

"You can list the laws that allegedly protect your workers, but aren't sure which ones apply in which situation? How does being guaranteed a minimum wage help anyone if nobody knows how exactly it's to be applied, or if anyone can even live off of that wage? I suppose they will just have to wait until an additional law is passed?"

This sort of nebulous, bureaucratic, haphazard approach was exactly the sort of thing that made Vaadians testy, especially when somebody thought they were going to have a conference to tell everyone how good it is.

Minister Arden's confrontational tone, and well honed skills of projection probably made the whole thing rather unpleasant to anyone unfortunately hung-over, Colonel Mitchell himself had closed his eyes and begun rubbing his temples.

Sir Silvanas was twiddling with his pen. Had been doing so as soon as the Minister began his conclusion. In most people gestures like that would have given an insight into what the man was thinking; in this case, it simply signalled that he was thinking. The subject was a mystery.

The cleric next to him seemed to find something funny, and the two were watching the back-and-forth between the Dyellian and the Vaadian with the air of spectators at a tennis match.

"The 'worker protection package' as you so charmingly phrased it." the Minister responded, sounding sincere in all but wording, "We prefer to refer to as 'Employment Relation Legislation'. I don't understand precisly what it is you are trying to imply, indeed our laws were passed after the Second Civil War to provide protection that was non existent under the Neo-Liberal regime. So yes, I will freely admit we have created legislation in response to an existing problem. That is usually how you do it is it not?"

"I believe every person in Dyelli Beybi knows how the minimum wage is applied, and I would thank you not to make such wild accusations." he added, "The current negotiated Award for a newly appointed Menial Worker, a class which includes cleaners, road workers, factory workers, unqualified kitchen staff, waiters and retail workers is 1 Kronor per hour, a figure which equates in purchasing power to $12US. It is understood that people within this class will be paid at that amount per hour, every hour, except in the case of Statutory Holidays as detailed in the Holidays Act, in which case the worker will be paid at 1.5 Kronors per hour and will gain a statutory day in lieu to be claimed at their convenience but requiring 14 days notification to the employer."

"A minimum wage is applied quite specifically so that people can live off it, it is not a figure we have pulled out of our air. Each year the wage is moved pending the pressure of inflation and under advise from the CTU. We do not know how you run things in Ilek-Vaad, but Dyelli Beybi is fully knowledgeable as to the state our people live in, courtesy of our very fine Department of Statistics."

The Lord Chancellor and Professor Fronard had been busy scribbling down notes as well as in quiet discussion with each other and Dr Leonards, Lord Progranger had been sitting comfortably looking around the room, from his face you could see he had something on his mind, last night perhaps or the work that was building up in his absence or perhaps he was thinking about the current discussion in any case he was on the outer from the main discussion in the delegation.

The Lesser Prince rose to speak "While I believe in the need for a minimum wage I do find it rather disturbing that you allow the unions to have a lot of influence within the decision making progress of setting a minimum wage, after all unions only care about those workers who have a job without thinking of the unemployed, surely your government believes in lowering your unemployment rate, furthemore it should be up to the government to try and control inflation as unions continue to have a large amount of influence in determining the minimum wage which places upward pressure on prices which does regardless of your premise does lead to inflation which will inturn force the unions to demand a higher minimum wage and increase peoples expectations on inflation in the coming year. We also agree with you that firms will not lay off workers because of an increase in wages it will, however, discourage firms on hiring more employees which inhibits productivity of the firm up untill the point where the utility of the extra workers begin to drop and thus the minimum wage imposed by any government should not be given to the unions whose role is to get the highest wages for its members, but should be made by the government that will set a wage that ensures that those people on the minimum wage can maintain a certain standard of living which you have stated that you do, and also try to lower unemployment as well as ensuring that inflation is kept in check."

The pen stilled, and the Macisikani Secretary stood with an air of quiet dignity.

"As scintillating as this back-and-forth discussion is," Sir Silvanas observed in dry tones, "I believe we have strayed from the central matter of this conference, which is to discuss and share our thoughts on alternative economic, socio-economic and politico-economic models other than the Neo-Liberal one. Clearly our hosts have not embraced that model, and I rather doubt that you will find any close adherents in this audience. In any case, this fixation on the minimum wage, and to a lesser extent, worker protection laws, is distracting. They are only a part of the greater whole. I would put this question to the Dyellian Minister; is there a moral reason that you reject the Neo-Liberal Model, or is your reasoning solely based on the pragmatic remarks in your opening address," he paused a moment.

"I would then inquire of the Honourable Minister from the Free Republic Of Ilek-Vaad" he half-turned to face the Vaadian party. "Your nation, as far as I am aware, has not chosen to operate within Neo-Liberal parameters. Which system would you characterise your nation as having chosen, and is there conscious reasoning behind it?" he turned slightly to face the Lesser Prince of the Blouman Empire.

"And, ser, I would put the same two questions to you; which model have you selected for your nation, and if you have deliberately selected it, what is your reasoning?" his voice, though dry, had not risen throughout; he had not been confrontational, merely inquiring. He indicated he had finished by seating himself.

Minister Arden smiled at the input from Sir Silvanas and the Blouman Prince, she looked to the lesser Prince first.

"I think you just made part of my point a bit clearer and with more eloquence than I previously did."

She then turns to Sir Silvanas "I think you raise a valid question. The Free Republic is a Socialist Nation in that business , including foreign trade, takes place at the pleasure of The Ministry of Economics and The Republican Council. Further any business entity that makes a gross profit of one million Drachma or more is legally obligated to sell a ten percent stake of their company to The Ministry of Economics, and accept a Ministry partner, or a Ministry Official on the Board of Directors.

Business is free to act, so long as they remain socially and environmentally responsible. Additionally the Ministry of Economics funds monthly economic studies, which is then used to continually adjust the minimum required wage of all Vaadian workers. It takes into consideration inflation, productivity, strength of currency, and so on.

My office then audits foreign companies that trade with the Free Republic, making sure that they also meet this minimum wage requirement. This protects Vaadian workers from being undercut by cheap, foreign labor, and gives foreign workers a guarantee of a liveable wage on par with Vaadian workers. Most companies submit to this , the prospect of eleven billion consumers makes it well worth it.

This system allows the minimum wage to be adjusted ahead of financial crisis and makes sure that Vaadian workers not only have a livable wage, but also have income left over for savings, investments or purchases of real estate.

The current wage is pegged at thirty eight thousand Drachma a year, or roughly sixty thousand Dollars.

This system has allowed security for the Vaadian worker, and unlike most financial control systems it does not depend on a 'nanny-state' that in a financial crisis may not have the funds to support mass lay-offs and job loss.

In the Free Republic business depends on the government, the worker does not."

"An interesting point." the Minister acknowledged the delegation from the Blouman Empire, "However we disagree as to the validity of this classical neo-liberal argument. The idea of minimum wage pushing up inflation is somewhat fallacious, while undoubtedly it has some effect, the magnitude of this is highly exagerated. In a typical firm, paying minimum wage workers is far far from the highest overhead. And it is these overheads which drive inflation, the situation is far more complex than the simplistic model many persons take as gospel truth. Furthermore, in a high wage economy, in order to compete with goods produced in low wage environments, companies are forced to increase productivity. In answer to the Delegate from Macisikan, we call this the Scandinavian model of wage driven efficiency."

"The reason we have chosen to strongly integrate Unions into the workplace is based on the Black and Lynch Four Scenario model of Employment Relations. We believe this to be a further efficiency driver, however I will not continue to explain this model, as in doing so I will be covering much of the material the C.T.U. have been asked to speak about. However I can say that ideas of Unions being anti-employment is astoundingly inaccurate. While the primary focus of the Union is the Employee, it cannot be said that this focus results in an anti-Emplyment culture, Companies and Firms are still able to employ new persons at will. I simply cannot see the logic behind this statement."

"As for ideology, Dyelli Beybi has a strong histry of Unionism and Socialism, a fact which undoubtedly has been cause for our movement towards models such as Black and Lynch and the National Awards System of wage pegging... which for reference is a process involving the Unions, Employer Representation Organisations and the Judiciary."

"Now, as to how what I have been speaking of presents an alternative to Neo-liberalism. The traditional Neo-liberal viewpoint regarding high wages is that they result in high unemployment and high inflation, resulting in poor economic performance. What we are suggesting, is that these are simplifications of a much more complex reality, simplifications that result in an erroneous belief that a completely unregulated economy will outperform a regulated one. The model we prepose is that properly implemented, one can combine more than adequate worker protection with a high performing economy."

The cleric stifled a sigh of relief; the conference was back on track.

Behind her the soft scratching of pens could be heard; although audio recordings were undoubtedly being taken or would be extracted later, three stenographers were taking it in turns, two at a time, to record every word that was being said here.

Next to her Sir Silvanas was smiling broadly and nodding as the other delegates explained their systems; this was what he'd come to hear. Ideas and theorems that were already being applied in other nations, which he could possibly take back to the Senior Cabinet for their consideration. Not to mention that the more data they had, the more complete their evaluation matrices would be, the more accurate their trade advisories; a special note had already been made concerning trade with Ilek-Vaad.

They were now anticipating the Blouman Empire's answer.

The Lesser Prince stood to reply to the Macisikani "The system that has developed within my nation Upper Braxon is a semi-open economic system that is to say that business is free to produce sell and buy what it wants in order to remain competitive and continue to grow, there are however restrictions imposed by myself and my ancestors that limit some actions ranging from safety, environmental, competition based laws and some important industries such as electricity and postal services still under public ownership. When it comes to managing my economy and attempting to bring reach my major economic objectives Strong growth in GDP, low unemployment, low inflation and external balance of payments I use demand side policies in both the fiscal and monetary sense to help achieve these objectives." He took a sip of water and continued "As for my role as Lord Chancellor I haven chosen to take my policies empire wide as far as the roles of the Imperial Chancellery allows me to, if you want more detail please do not hesitate to ask"

He then turned to Minister Davis "I also do not believe that the minimum wage will be inflation causing indeed there are obviously higher wages being paid which if forced to be risen higher can cause higher inflation, I did however express concern for allowing unions to have so much power in determining the minimum wage and I assume other wages for more skilled workers, which can have an impact on inflation as one of the roles of unions is to attempt to bring about the best possible wage increase for its members correct? and if the unions have a large amount of influence then they will be able achieve a large increase, as for being anti employment that may not be their intention, however if their aim is to increase the wages of their members and have a large amount of influence in bringing about this goal then employers will be unwilling to employ more workers due to the large increase in wages thus keeping the unemployment rate high the unions may not intentionally do this but as they don't consider the unemployed in seeking wage increases, as the unemployed aren't members and why would they? it will not lead to a decrease in the unemployment rate."

He continued "I do not believe that high wages will always lead to stagflation, however, to dismiss it entirely as never going to happen is dangerous in itself, but if you Minister Davis or other delegates here have other systems in better economic management then I am happy to here and consider them"

The soft scratching continued as the Lesser Prince spoke, and Sir Silvanas' smile maintained its warmth. As the Lesser Prince finished, the Secretary stood.

"Thank you Minister Davies, Minister Arden, your Lordship; your remarks are most enlightening on this subject," he nodded to each of the three in turn, and resumed his seat, just in time for the cleric to whisper something to him.

Whatever it was, it didn't draw a frown; a smile continued to play around his lips, though not as broad as before.

Of course, anyone sitting close to the Secretary, say, in the next seat, would notice that at no point had that smile reached the man's eyes, which were like mirrors.

Minister Arden nodded as she listened to the answers as well,she returned to seat, looking dissatisfied with the Dyellian's answers.

"Once again I would argue that there is not a direct correlation between a high average wage and a high employment rate. While some correlation certainly exists, the fact of the matter is that in raising wages the average person is still better off. We are willing to trade a small increase in unemployment for an overall increase in the economic welfare of the average Dyellian." the Ministrer answered, "Furthermore this increase in unemployment is frequently exagerated. An employer will not downsize simply because they need to pay the workers an extra shilling an hour. Neither will they abort plans for expansion. Rather they will usually find more constructive methods of solving the problem, such as attempting to foster a more productive workplace."

"Dyelli Beybi has the highest economic growth of any State or Nation within the Klatchian area according to recent UN reports, by a considerable margin. We attribute this growth to continued attempts to foster workplace productivity."

"As for Unions." he continued, "We include Unions in order to address the essential inbalance in bargaining power that exists between Employee and Employer."

The Lesser Prince rose again "Minister Davis before I reply to your comment can you tell us how exactly do you decide how high the minimum wage should be raised, what factors do you look at to decide inflation?, GDP?, unemployment? It would be interesting to see how it decided especially as there is strong union influence? And I will say again I believe that you are correct that a raise in the minimum wage will not result in mass layoffs and an increase in the unemployment rate, it may however and this does depend on how well the economy is growing and increase in the wage, limit a decrease in the unemployment rate.

He sat back down awaiting the Ministers response

OOC: Glad to see that this is still going I was just about to have the Lesser Prince to mysteriously reappear on his throne, I also wont have access to a computer for a few days so just continue and I will try and catch up

The Macisikani looked at eachother and shrugged. Truth be told, wages in the Covenant were on the high side due to the rachma's buying power, and their economy was going from strength to strength. They honestly didn't see what all this fuss was about.