NationStates Jolt Archive

"I tell you this now! If we make our stand here today, we can win peace
and prosperity for millennia to come! Today we can secure something that
will eclipse the very sun that shines down upon us!"
-- Thomas Drake, addressing the combined armies of Drako City-States and
Queendom of Trinidad: Battle of Throne Hill, Annals Imperium, 293 B.C.

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The light of the morning sun spread across the valley, making the city nestled in it look as if a million tiny suns shown out from with in it. Once the city had been a place of meeting for the mountain tribes, but it had grown to a vast metropolitan sprawl slowly spreading up into the foothills of the mountains that ringed the valley. Now, the small building, business sprawls, and houses were all visible from a tall bank of windows atop one of the skyscrapers that made the city's skyline. Behind those windows, Kaylen Taure ate breakfast in his suite.

Paying little attention to the vista spread out before him, the business mogul instead focused on his meal. Expensively dressed and well-manicured, Kaylen still had a look of youth, despite quickly becoming old enough to be called middle age. He possessed the rugged tanned skin of the people of the region and indeed could trace his route back to one of the most powerful of the mountain tribes. But Kaylen was no barbarian, he was a well educated and calculating entrepreneur who had build up his family mine into the most powerful mining corporation in all of continent.

Only the drone of a political analyst resounded through the sparse room, volunteering his opinions of recent events on some broadcast discussion program. "It's obvious that the struggling economy will be a major issue in this coming election," the analyst’s voice informed, continuing, "You can expect old issues to raise their head as well. The Praetor's Foreign Policy and our place in the world have both been hotly debated topics. Gholgoth. Klatch. We are going to hear all about them again. And with the Senate Speaker's seat up for grabs we are looking at what is going to be one intense election. I--"

A streak of light out of the corner of Kaylen's eye caught his attention. Before he could fully turn and look the streak became a flash. He heard it a moment later. An explosion. As he finally was able to look he saw the remnant of the blast float skyward. The windows of his suite shuddered from the blast's shockwave as he stood.

For the first time in a while he truly saw the city. Much of a city block in the distance had been reduced to rubble.

Kaylen pulled his suit jacket from the back of the chair and put it on. It was time to go to work.

__________________

Introducing...

{Eclipsing the Sun}
_

"Yes, I am just waiting for my ride to arrive."

The apartment was large, nicely furnished, and neatly kept. Well, mostly neat. If one looked carefully they would notice that there were a few scattered piles of magazines and other mail just lying around. And traces of dust in various places hinted that the resident did not spend much time there. However, for the most part it was clean and barring that mostly tidy. The place was well decorated having the feel of a modern home apartment showing it had seen quite a bit of care at some point in its history.

The place’s owner moved away from the window where she had been looking down to see if her transportation had yet arrived. She looked anxiously at her watch despite there being plenty of time for to make her appointment. Finally, she went back to the muted television and began flipping through news channels.

"I spoke to the Menelmacari Ambassador," she commented into the phone. "And he agreed that Fyreheart is going to take more time."

Diana Minerva was Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps. and among her duties was to be a personal advisors to the Praetor, on matters of foreign relations and affairs. She was also the chief diplomat of the Imperium and as such had arranged a rather unprecedented affair.

Diplomats from Aelosia and Xanthal had been invited to stay in the Grand Praetorian Palace. For these two nations the meeting would be their first visit to Drakonia and the visit was intended to introduce them to the nation and its culture with the hope of establishing a lasting relations. Glorious Humanity, Drakonia’s southern neighbor and close ally, had also been invited. While the visits were being treated as casual affair they were important and they came during a turbulent time in Drakonian History.

Once, it could be said, and often was, that the Drakonian Imperium eclipsed the Sun*. Few said such things now. For the last few years the Imperium had been in the grip of a recession; recovery hindered by political disunity. Now, with elections rapidly approaching the political infighting had escalated and despite renewed efforts by the Praetorship aimed at improving international relations there was resistance in the Imperial Senate. For better or worse a change was approaching the Imperium and it was just possible the delegates would see it happen.

"They should be here any time now," she said as her conversation with the ruler of Drakonia segued back to the topic of the visit. "Transportation was arranged for yesterday. They will not be late." She could not help but look at her watch again. There was still plenty of time.

She looked back at the television and stopped as her eyes locked on the screen. "Sir," she said haltingly, un-muting the television. "I think you had better turn on ENN, it looks like something happened in Golan Heights."

"--no word from government or city officials and no one is sure what caused the explosion in Golan Heights this morning." A shaky helicopter view of a half destroyed city block, flames shooting into the air appeared on the screen. "What we do know is that most of a down town city block has been destroyed."

Diana was transfixed completed forgetting about her transportation. "Yes," she said absently. "I had better make some calls. We can probably expect some polite queries from the international community with this on the news."

"Emergency Crews are on the scene and are fighting to control the fires." The camera panned out and when the flames and debris came into focus it looked like a bomb had gone off as a distinct crater was visible.

"Thank you, Sir." The Praetor reminded Diana of her duties and she looked out the window confirm the arrival of the state limousine. "Yes, their here now. Good bye, Sir."

She headed for the door while rapidly dialing a number on her cell phone.

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* The National Flag of the Imperium (http://www.freewebs.com/unitedemirates/Flag%20of%20the%20Imperium.PNG) depicts a Dragon over an eclipsed Sun.

Please, keep all Out-Of-Character (OOC) content in the OOC Thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=541454), directing all questions and comments there. Thank you!

The nimble form of the diplomatic shuttle Nellas sailed through the void gracefully, after exiting the warp nearby, in open space scale, to the aerospace port of the Drakonian Imperium located nearby the capital city of Drako Throne. The ship, made of a pearl colored wraithbone, pulsed once thanks to the energy received by its golden solar sail, and began to approach its intended destination at a slow pace.

The diplomatic shuttles of the Sindar Empire of Aelosia were reknown by a mixture of simplicity of design, with an exquisite taste in their image and form, specifically done in purpose to appease races with a traditional sense of aesthetics. Manned by a reduced crew of three, those personal carriers were the smallest vessels capable of independent long distance travels in the entire civil or military aelosian navy, although they were able to transport a dozen passengers in rather comfortable, if not outright lavish, conditions.

The airship carried no weapons, and no armor, designed with the intent of looking inoffensive and pleasant to the elven and human eyes, relying on the small holofield generator and the natural speed of the light and agile shuttle for protection, even through long travels through Ork infested territories, or other alien menaces.

Aveline Paelisi sat in her seat located inside the main suite of the Nellas, when she heard the advise of the captain of the ship to remain locked in the her place during the atmospheric approach and the landing proccess. Her white dress, decorated with the characteristic golden inlaids of her Noble House, looked enlightened against the sober violet walls of the circular room where she was resting.

The Mablung Marshall aboard the ship, her personal bodyguard, directed a severe glance at her, and personally fixed the soft leather seatbelt around her waist, before going back to his own seat to do the same thing to himself.

Although the other elf, his impressive frame entirely covered by a full suit of wraithbone armor, that looked like a brown bodyglove attached like a second skin to his muscular body, towered over the small form of the Paelisi courtier, his big hands operated with delicate movements, taking special care to not touch the skin of Aveline as he fixed the security measure around her body.

"Everything will be fine, Mistress Paelisi, no need to be nervous. I thank to the Valar for the uneventful trip, even as large as it was. Can you enlighten this simple warrior with details about our destination?", said Galon Mablung, the security officer attached to the courtier, as he idly switched his eyes to the view through the pressurized glass that separated them from the outer space.

Aveline Paelisi let out a single sigh, as if worried, before speaking, "That is the problem, Galon, sire. I know nothing of them, except that they are, in a certain way, similar to the Glorious Humans. The report from the Imperial Chancellor contained little about them, except that they didn't seem to be an aggressive culture".

"Isn't Drako a human word for dragon?, Drako, Drakonian, Drakonian Imperium...", asked the bodyguard, looking absent in meditation.

"Indeed. That's the reason for the gifts, although we could be wrong, and the culture has nothing to do or respect about flying reptiles. That could be my first mistake. Humans do not have a single language, they have thousands and hundred of thousands, Drako could mean wine, or plains, or mountains, or happiness or despair for them, as far as I know", answered Aveline, knowing that the conversation was a polite attempt from Galon to distract her during the descent, that was already affecting her guts.

"Everything will be fine, I tell you. I am even going to leave my equipment aboard the ship. My superiors told me that my presence here is a mere instance of protocol, I hope you do not take my assigment as a sign of danger", continued the tall elf, as the ship shuddered and trembled under the changes of pressure.

Aveline felt how her thin and delicate frame was almost to the limit of collapsing, and continued also to distract herself. "No reason to worry, then. Right? Can I count on the word of the Mablung Marshall?"

Galon made a failed attempt to smile. "You can count on it, Mistress Paelisi. Everything will be fine, and this is going to be like a vacation, except that we are going to get paid for it"

The ship finally stopped, and the captain announced that the ship had landed. The pressurized internal hatches opened, and a light green hue appeared in the walls. Aveline felt a brief moment of mental rest, before her nerves realized that for sure the delegation of the Drakonian Imperium was already waiting for her outside, sending shivers up her spine again. Galon got the belt off Aveline's waist, and helped her to regain her feet.

"The dizzy feeling will go away as soon as you reach the main ramp", said the armoured elf, looking not affected at all by the landing process.

"In that I'll trust you again. How many interplanetary trips have you taken, Galon?", said Aveline as she fixed the skirt of her dress over her long and nimble thighs.

"With this one, twelve. Including one planetary assault jump in Mars. You get used to it, and after the fifth one, you even start to enjoy the ride", answered Galon, opening a small opening in the walls and placing there his carefully crafted needle pistol, next to his rather large vibro axe.

After walking the short hallway towards the only exit of the shuttle, Aveline distracted her troubled mind with the thought that they looked funny, the small, slim, blonde courtier dressed in a white, delicate gown, leading the tall, muscular guard in sober brown plate that matched his long mane of ochre hair. Typical aelosian diversity, I hope the drakonians find it amusing, she told to herself, as finally the door opened with a hiss, letting a gush of air and a ray of sunlight inside the cold inside of the ship.

As Galon took their luggage, she took a step outside, her first step into the Drakonian Empire, and expected the welcome...

OOC: A bit of character presentation, although speeding things a bit, I hope you don't mind about the fast landing and all of that.

As Aveline Paelisi, the Aelosian Envoy, stepped from her climate-controlled shuttle, her first introduction would be to the tropical climate. It would feel as if she was walking into a wall of humidity. The wet season had just begun in the southern hemisphere and while it was still rather mild and the humidity still low, it would seem rather oppressive to someone unaccustomed to such a warm climate.

The view however made up for the climate. It was green everywhere, well most everywhere. As one look up past the terminals and runways of the airport the rolling green hills of the Sanctuary Valley were clearly visible. Even among the urban environment of the aerospace port cement vanished into lush green landscape, clearly well cared for to give the appearance of a lush natural garden. Palm trees and exotic shrubbery beautified the area with colorful tropical flowers lending their bright shining petals to vibrant ambiance.

An honor guard had already taken position around the diplomatic shuttle as the Aelosian exited their craft. Praetorian Guardsmen in their Full Dress Uniforms, jet black and trimmed in gold and royal purple, stood stiffly at attention. Their uniforms included the traditional Gladius Short Swords alongside the more practical pistol side arm. Each Guardsman also bore a full armed rifle affixed with a bayonet. In a unison drilled motion they slapped their fists to their hearts in a Drakonian Salute.
The National Anthem of Aelosia, or a suitable equivalent elven song, began being played by some Guardsmen, which were clearly an official band. They wore their ceremonial sword swords and side arms, but instead of rifle held their instruments.

A middle aged woman stepped forward to greet Aelosians, trailed by another much younger woman. Both wore formal business suits and skirts. A Praetorian Guard Lieutenant also stepped forward. He was identifiable not just by his uniform, but also by his lack of a rifle and because he wore a rapier rather than a short sword.

"Greetings, I am Diana Minerva, Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps.," the older woman said, bowing her head slightly in a traditional Drakonian show of respect. "On behalf of the Praetor and Queen of the Imperium, and the People of Drakonian, I like to welcome you to our nation."

Smiling she turned to introductions. "Allow me to introduce, Gaia Calpurnia." She indicated the younger women. She was thin and attractive, with blond hair and a fairer skin tone than should have been possible under the equatorial Sun. "She has been assigned to represent Drakonia to you and to help share our culture and history with you."

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Gaia greeted in the elven language, Quenyan. Even though she was quite young she specialized in language and relations with aristocratic cultures.

"This is Lieutenant Titus Marius," Diana said, introducing the Praetorian Guard Officer. He was tanned skinned and had a military manner about him. Thin, he was also slightly shorter than most of the other Guardsmen. "He is charged with insuring your security while you will be staying in Drakonia. If you need anything, just ask, and he will see to it."

"It is an honor." The Lieutenant saluted and inclined his head.

Behind the group a limousine sat waiting, the flag of Aelosia flying from it and fluttering about in breeze. What appeared to be a Police Car was in front of the limousine and a Police SUV was behind it followed by another Police Car. The escorts were however painted black and trimmed in gold and purple, indicating them to be in the service of the Praetorian Guard.

Emirate News Network

"It is a scene of devastation that has not been seen here in Golan Heights for nearly twenty years." Black smoke rises into the sky passing above emergency vehicles with their lights flashing and the squat buildings of the commercial district of Golan Heights. The camera shifts to a young male reporter, while lights flash in the background and a jet of water sprays some smoking rubble.

"Early this morning as commuters were on their way to work, most of a down town city block was destroyed by an explosion of unknown origin. Despite being hampered by morning traffic, rescue workers were quick to respond and have been on scene now for a several hours fighting subsequent blazes started by the explosion. It is unclear as to whether there are any survivors or how many may have been killed in the blast. However, due to the earliness of the explosion it is believed that few were at the scene of the disaster.

Neither Drakonian nor Golan officials have not voice any speculation as to cause of the explosion. And local investigators could not be reached for comment. However, a visual survey of the area--" A clip of a clip of video footage taken from a helicopter plays. Showing emergency vehicles arrayed out what appears to be a blast crater that engulfs much of a city block. Fires burn in some areas and rubble litters the area. "--shows what appears to be a large bomb crater."

The camera returns to the reporter. "Such devastation is nothing new to the Golanus Mountains. Rebel fighters here fought a guerrilla war with Drakonian Forces for nearly forty years following the occupation of the region at the end of the Emiratus War. During that time the Golan Liberation Army claimed credit for a number of terrorist attacks against Drakonian Troops and Civilians. However, the fighting largely ended as trade and commerce between Drakonia and Tersanctus brought relative affluence and work to the impoverished region. Nearly fifteen years ago, following five years of relative peace, Drakonian Troops were withdrawn from the Mountains and the region was allowed to maintain self-government as a territory in the Imperium."

"Jayden Nix, ENN, reporting from Golan Heights, Drakonian Imperium." The ENN Logo appears on the screen and a loud booming voice is heard saying, "This has been an ENN Special News Bulletin."

Golan Heights, Drakonian Controlled Territory

It was another day at the Red Cross Health Center in Golan Heights. A fledgling institution set up up the organization in attempts to stem the tide of disease and malnutrition in the area. It saw the worst and the best of the city in past years. Funding was always scarce, medicine precious, and needy people overflowed the tiny lobby. It was nestled on the corner of an avenue in the Commercial District, on the outskirts but a part none the less. It was a humanitarian center that helped the community in any way possible. Dr.Stanislav Kazimirez made his rounds through the rooms of patients. Influenze shots were being administered that day but he could not take a part in it. He promised to go out to a village today with a few others and fix a well that was the life source for this tiny village outside the city, nestled along the base of the mountains. He was a tall man, calm and light hearted. He enjoyed helping and believed this offered the best way to do so. He wasn't the most gifted of doctors but what he had was heart. Heart and fortitude allowed him to make it day in and day out.

When supplies were low, he traveled to the border to deal with black market traders to buy medical supplies. They were unsavory characters but their kind had to be dealt with in business terms. He scratched his unshaven face and smiled at a child hugging the waist of her mother, fearful of the impending influenza shot that awaited her. He knelt down and comforted her and the mother and went back on his way. Stanislav hardly looked like a doctor, his old worn jeans and boots, as well as a plain white t-shirt. As he rounded the corner and towards the back room where some tools were located he brushed against Ferdinand Yolzkin, a fellow doctor.
"Stanislav, it's pretty slow today" Yolzkin joked, having een here from the start, over twenty years ago. He was an old hand, dedicated to his work.
"Indeed, a couple of us still have work to be done out of the city. We should be back by nightfall."
"Be careful" Yolzkin warned and Stanislav departed with the acquired tools. As he passed through the hallways, his pinky finger rubbed up against his wedding ring, memories filling his mind of a love he missed early. As he fell into this moment...everything went dark.

The heat, combined with the gust of air that almost stamped itself against Aveline Paelisi was more a relief than a nuisance. As she crossed the door of the hatch and took a step forward, she sent her prayers to the Valar for the joy of finally leaving the controlled environment of her shuttle, and step into the lushful atmosphere of Drakonia. Sure, climate control was one of the most advanced fields in aelosian technology, the sindar being both a nature loving people and yet denizens of the outer space, as their metropoli and common birthplace was after all a massive spaceship, but to taste, smell, feel the real air and the force of nature was the highest blessing any elf could receive.

Galon wasn't that comforted, although, his full body suit of armor, as nimble as it was, more a nuisance than the almost ethereal outfit of the courtier. Fixing his helmet over his head, he closed the insect like mask and pressurized himself to enclose his body inside the more controlled environment provided by his power suit, opting to watch the scene through the optical sensors implanted in his head protector.

Aveline took another step, taking a really long breath, closing her eyes, and letting the humidity of the air to caress her stiff arms and features, without paying attention to the Drakonian delegation in front of her. Such breachs to protocol were becoming common amongst the Paelisi courtiers lately, specially amongst the younger members of the diplomatic corps, educated in a new way to be and behave more like themselves and less involved in stiff codes of conduct like their older counterparts.

As soon as she exhaled and opened her eyes again, she looked at the woman in front of her, who was saying something (in english, latin?)

"...Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps. On behalf of the Praetor and Queen of the Imperium, and the People of Drakonian, I like to welcome you to our nation.", she said, and Aveline cursed herself twice for missing the woman's name.

Galon, more used to military discipline, raised an eyebrow behind his armoured mask at the frame of Gaia Calpurnia, for sure temporary affected by Lúthien Curse, before his attention fixed over the show of close order of the Praetorian Guard, and their weapons, a subject more akin to his own occupation.

The Paelisi envoy was pleased with the show of menelmacari noldorin by Gaia Calpurnia in her presentation, and hoped that she could have in her a similar spirit, and an able and trustful guide. However, the lushful view of the plains and trees around the spaceport was already distracting her enough to fix her stare in the face over the speakers, as was expected.

Still looking around, she also missed the name of the military officer that bowed his head a bit in front of her, and promised silently to focus herself more, before a tragic protocol mistake could give the Drakonians the wrong impression about the aelosians. After all, her constant distraction could be seen as a show of aloofness and not just as a lack of concentration.

Taking another long breath, Aveline prepared herself for her own show of courtesy, and bent her back to propel her body forward, as her left foot slide behind her and her arms gestured around her torso, performing a rather exquisite and delicate bow, not different from the ones common in the the European courts of the renaissance and the XVI and XVII centuries. Gathering focus, and showing a bright smile, she recovered from her bow and looked directly into the eyes of the three humans greeting her. "I am Aveline Paelisi, envoy of the Noble House of Courtiers of the sindar Empire of Aelosia, appointed by the Everqueen and the Imperial Chancellor to give you a show of good will and desire to cultural exchange, and it is the highest honor that my rulers could have given me, this duty to know, to learn, to teach and to share with you and your people", she said in menelmacari quenya, her extreme thin forearms now resting in front of her body in a relaxed posture, as she grabbed her right wrist with her other hand.

Gesturing to Galon, she simply said to Diana Minerva, "He is my only companion, Captain Galon Mablung, in charge of my personal security. I am sure that him and...", she said before growing pale, almost panicking as soon as she realized she didn't hear the name of the human lieutenant.

Galon wasn't exactly a courtier, nor he care about politics, but quickly noticed that Aveline was close to embarass herself in front of the Drakonian delegation, and with her, the entire aelosian empire. Faster than a distracted eye could follow, he dropped the luggage and using a common salute between brothers in arms alongside the aelosian armed forces, he took a step forward towards Titus Marius and grabbed his left forearm with his right hand, resting his own left palm over Marius' right shoulder, encouraging the Drakonian officer to do the same. "I prefer a more military protocol during our presentation, Mistress Paelisi. And you are right, I am pretty sure that Lieutenant Titus Marius of the proud Praetorian Guard and myself have lots of things to coordinate, and to share. It is also an honor", were the words transmitted in english through the transponder of Galon's helmet, in an electrical, impersonal voice, that made Galon look more like a cyber organism than a living elf.

Aveline's mind let out a sigh of relief, realizing the quick reaction of Galon had saved her of a difficult diplomatic breach, and regained her smile, answering in english with a flute like accent. "Thanks for that beautiful and new interpretation of the Ballad of Lúthien, and thank you for the kind words. We have a lot to learn from each other, and my eyes are eager to see the marvels of your country. Your climate is very kind, too. This is a perfect place for a vacation, so warm!", she said in a joyful tone, starting to move forward. "Let's walk to that limousine and get a ride. I suppose my transport is the one with the star of King Thingol flying from it, shame that it isn't open topped, to get a better view of this awesome landscape".

Galon quickly grabbed the big suitcases again and walked behind his charge, smiling behind his mask, thinking about the fun that this travel alongside the youngling envoy would bring to his centuries old weary mind, directing a casual look at Gaia Calpurnia again, something that made his smile grow.

"Can I get a newspaper?", added Aveline in english as she reached the door of her transport, looking at Gaia Calpurnia and Diana Minerva. "I want to read a bit of english, or latin, if my reports are correct and those are the languages in use inside this nation. I noticed you are ruled by a Queen too, as we are. We are finding things in common to begin with".

The timing could not have been more perfect. As the Aelosian and Drakonian officials prepared to enter their limousines, another aircraft was making its descent into Drako Throne's airport. It was a small jet, a sleekly designed atmospheric craft that would be instantly recognizable to anyone familiar with GH's Ministry of International Relations as a diplomatic transport. The interior was well appointed as befitted the passengers it normally carried, possessing six plush seats upholstered in real leather (though only three were occupied) that could swivel in any direction, deep blue carpeting, and a variety of refreshments served by a stewardess.

While the Federation of Glorious Humanity was now a space power, and possessed more modern shuttles that could skip between the stars, many of these older atmosphere-only craft were still in service. It made it easier for some nations who were not themselves space powers to accept the arrival of a jet. Also, using the jets for diplomatic business on Earth freed up diplomatic spacecraft to do the star-skipping they were so good at.

If it had to be admitted, Georgia Lancaster would privately confess that she still wasn't entirely comfortable with space travel anyway. She had only been up twice, once in an orbital shuttle for a tour of Reachstar, GH's primary orbital station over Earth, and one trip to Mars, again for a tour, this time of the new colony. Most of her work kept her planetside, and she preferred it that way. Glorious Humanity's ascent to the stars had happened with shocking speed, even in this day and age of incredible scientific breakthroughs happening on an almost weekly basis, and Lancaster was one of those who was still a little stuck in the past.

Her companions in the jet did not seem bothered, however. Captain Christopher Ames of the President's Guard was enduring the trip the same way he endured all of them, with a show of indifference and boredom. Like Lancaster herself, Captain Ames was less interested in the journey than he was the destination. The big difference between them, of course, was that while Lancaster became more interested in (and worried about) the trip if it involved space travel, Ames was indifferent to all forms of transport. They could be flying to another star system for all he cared.

Lancaster had never understood how he could be so blase, but she supposed it was because he had more time among the stars. Ames had done low-gravity combat training in GH's orbital training facilities, like all the President's Guard. Also like all the other members of Glorious Humanity's most elite bodyguard force, Ames had received shuttle training, and was fully checked out in piloting shuttlecraft.

As she looked at him, Ames turned his gaze from the window to her, and offered a friendly smile, which she returned. Ames was the kind of soldier that military recruitment posters liked to use. Extremely fit, firm jaw, strong face, and gray eyes. His black President's Guard uniform consisted of a short-sleeved shirt with the GH flag on his right shoulder, the unit insignia of the Guard on the left, a gray nameplate over the left breast pocket of the shirt, and his rank pinned on his lapels. Black trousers and combat boots finished the uniform on his body, and when he got out of the jet he would don the black beret that was currently held casually in one hand.

He also carried on his hip a loaded Lochlic P-20 .40 caliber pistol. That was new, the GH-made Lochlics having recently replaced the Glocks that had been the standard issue sidearms before. The piece was mostly for show, nobody expected him to need it in the middle of a friendly ally.

Lancaster herself was wearing her "nice clothes" as she termed them. Around the offices of the Ministry, she was famous (notorious?) for wearing simple, functional clothing that did not play to her figure. She only wore fancy things when she was going to diplomatic functions with other countries. Today, "nice clothes" consisted of a emerald green silk dress, cut conservatively with only a small dip in the front that revealed nothing, and no dip in the back. It did flatter her figure nicely though, even if it went all the way to her ankles. A light coating of makeup on her face covered a few imperfections without being overdone, although most people tended to be drawn to her hazel eyes before any other feature on her face. In her ears she wore two simple diamond studs. Lastly, her blonde hair, always done in a low maintenance style, was free, being allowed to spill in a wave down her back.

She was always careful to never draw too much attention to her physical looks. She hated being thought of as a "pretty person", preferring that people notice her keen mind rather than any physical attributes. People had, too, given her track record of negotiations.

Georgia Lancaster and Christopher Ames had been friends for a long time, but never anything more. Though he was technically a member of the President's Guard, quite a while back Lancaster had made a small deal that ensured that he would be assigned as her personal bodyguard whenever she went on a diplomatic mission. They had first met during the negotiations with the Federated Klatchian Coast that had ended GH's participation in the Emirates-Klatch conflict, where Georgia's negotiation of a peace treaty with the Klatch had been the achievement that put her on the diplomatic map.

Neither of them knew the third member of this special diplomatic mission very well, although both had heard of him. He was now eighteen, and in a matter of months would be going off to do his required term of military service that all citizens of Glorious Humanity had to fulfill around that age. Until then, however, he was getting in as much diplomatic time as he could. Thomas Pierce fully intended to follow in his father's footsteps in the diplomatic field, and since Thomas' father was Frank Pierce, the Minister of International Relations, those were big shoes to fill. Thomas was working at it, although to date his brief relationship with the Lavenrunzian Empress Aurora was better known than any of his diplomatic skills. He resented that sometimes, but he was still young. There was plenty of time to make other marks.

Thomas was dressed in a blue silk suit with polished black dress shoes, the standard dress of GH officials and functionaries. He had gotten his blonde hair from his mother rather than his dark-haired father, as well as his blue eyes. He filled out his suit nicely, and would definitely be considered handsome. Up until very recently, he had been assigned to Lavenrunz, his first and only posting since he had started his career at age sixteen, the GH age of majority. Once he and Aurora had ended their fling, however, he had quickly grown bored with the lack of diplomatic opportunities in the Lavenrunz posting, and requested to be transferred. His father had put him on this mission as an interim assignment until a more permanent new post could be found for him.

All three people watched the ground approach as the plane came down, then with a final bump, they were on the ground and taxiing. As they came to a stop, Pierce was the first out of his seat, unbuckling and stretching from the long trip. Ames and Lancaster got up as well, and the stewardess went to open the door.

As they made their way to the door, the pilot radioed from the loudspeakers. "Diplomats Lancaster and Pierce, I was just informed by the Drakonian authorities that the Aelosian delegation has already arrived, and in fact are in the process of leaving the airport now."

"Damn," Georgia muttered. She'd been hoping to stop by the Glorious Human embassy here in Drako Throne before having to go do any meeting and greeting, but it seemed that wouldn't be the case. Pierce and Ames both glanced at her, but she just shrugged in response to their unspoken question. All three stepped out of the plane to see what kind of welcome the Drakonians had prepared for them.

The Drakonians were clearly impressed by the form of the bow. Diana and Gaia followed suit with a muted bow, which would appear more like those common in Asian countries.

Diana Minerva was a bit concerned when Aveline began speaking in Quenyan. She was not an accomplished linguist like Gaia and her Quenyan was barely conversation. In Drakonia, students were taught multiple languages at an early age and were usual fluent in at least two languages and usually three by the time they finished their education. Diplomats usually received extra training in languages due to the nature of their jobs. Quenyan was however a language Diana had not spent much time study and thus her understanding of it was limited.

However, she was careful not let her feelings show and was able to follow most of what Aelosian Diplomat said. Fortunately, the conversation shifted to a language with which Diana was more familiar. The Director of the Diplomatic Corps. made a note that she would have to make time to work on her Quenyan.

"And may I say, how honored the Imperium is to have a representatives such as yourself." Gaia was quick to respond when Diana did. "We are aware of how elven cultures treasure one of your age and greatly honored that you would be send to our nation."

Lieutenant Titus Marius was caught off-guard by the Aelosian Captains sudden movement. Yet, he was quick to reciprocate the gesture. Sincerely, hoping he was getting replicating the gesture properly.

"Yes," Diana responded commenting on the weather. "You are lucky to arrive in the Wet Season. We get some of the most spectacular thunderstorms in the afternoons and evenings this time of year. Your room at the Palace should have a great view of them."

She led the Aelosians to the limousine. "If you will excuse me, I have some other diplomats to meet who are arriving here this morning. If it is alright, I will leave you in the expert care of Ms. Calpurnia and the Lieutenant" She smiled. "It has been an immense pleasure meeting you; I look forward to seeing you again at the Palace."

Gaia was quick to take on the role of host. "Yes," she replied to the request. "I believe we have a copy of the Imperial Gazette waiting the limousine."

As they entered the vehicle she touched on the topic of language. "English mostly. Drakonian is really a hybrid language. It incorporates Latin and English, and even a few words could even be considered Greek. Of course, Greek and Latin are just the best comparisons as there is evidence that Drakonian predates both languages. The dominance of English is primarily due to European influences over the last few centuries."

The Aelosians would note that despite complexity of the Drakonian language the Drakonians were only speaking English. This was deliberate. To ease foreign contact Drakonians, who were taught proper English was a young age, would revert to it as a common language. Normal conversation and the newspaper Aveline was handed would see more Latin influences.

"We also have the equivalent to a king, called instead the Praetor," Gaia continued, attempting to explain the complex Drakonian Monarchy. "Praetor Augustus Drake is technically more powerful than his wife, Queen Jolené Sutherland. As he was selected by his Grandfather to succeed him as Praetor. The title Queen of the Imperium is given to women who are appointed to the Praetorship, as well as to the wives of Praetors. Historical, power has been shared, as is the case with the current Royal Couple. We are lucky to have such a couple leading our country. The Praetorship is very much a relationship and theirs has been a strong one."

The limousine and its escorts drove on through the airport grounds and quickly passed into the outer limits of the city. The west bank suburbs near the airport were largely commercial. Hotels and Rentals car places closest to the airport, then warehouse and as the vehicles pass onto the primary east-west highway running into the heart of the Capital. They came into the more upscale business district. It was however a rather dull and uninteresting view of a commercial society, excepting perhaps for those who had never been through this part of the capital.

The weather in Drakonia would be no surprise to the Glorious Humans for it was much the same in their country in the southwest. There was a small Praetorian Honor Guard in position when they departed their aircraft.

However, the affair was not as formal as with the Aelosians. Because Glorious Humanity and the Imperium had a long and established relationship, Protocol dictated that such things as the playing of the National Anthem be reserved for visit of top-level state officials, like the President. Nevertheless a small party waited to greet the diplomats from Glorious Humanity and transportation had been arranged for by the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps. Much like for the Aelosians, a limousine flying the flag of Glorious Humanity waited behind the Drakonians. Along with the Praetorian Guard escort vehicles.

Aetius Cispius watched as Diana Minerva was dropped off by airport transport, which amounted to a glorified golf cart. The veteran diplomat was much older than Diana and before being Senate Speaker had been the Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps. However, that was well before Diana's time. He had returned to diplomatic service after his Senate term had expired, wishing to serve the people in a diplomatic fashion rather than a legislative one. Recently, he had served as the Drakonian Representative to Fyreheart working closely with local officials there to rebuild their country.

A distinguished figure, Aetius was tall and had silver curly hair that was cut short. He wore a dark oriental cut business suit that was trimmed in blue. His outfit blended nicely with his light black skin color.

"They are early," Diana commented as she reached Aetius' side. She did a quick once over of her outfit, straightening the ruffles and then stepped forward to meet the Glorious Humans.

"Georgia," she greeted Lancaster. "I am glad you are able to visit our nation under more pleasant circumstances." When Glorious Humanity's chief negotiator had last been in the Drakonian capital it had been during a tense situation. The Imperium had nearly gone to war with the Federated Klatchian Coast, due to Vrakian provocation. Lancaster had been part of the Glorious Human diplomatic team trying to ease the tensions.

"And this must be Thomas." She turned smiling to the young Pierce. "It is a pleasure to finally meet. Your father has told me so much about you."

Turning to Aetius Cispius and the other Drakonians she began introducing them. "This is Aetius Cispius, he will be serving as the representative of Drakonia to Glorious Humanity throughout your visit."

The senior diplomat bowed his head slightly in the traditional Drakonian show of respect. "It is an honor."

"And this is Lieutenant Sonya Ryan," she introduced the Praetorian Guard Officer who was standing beside Aetius. "She will be responsible for your needs while you are in Drakonia and see to your security."

The Lieutenant was also ebony-skinned, although she was slightly shorter and thinner than Aetius. She held herself in a controlled military manner. Her short black frizzy hair flowed out from under a black beret she wore, which bore the Dragon Signet of the Praetorship. "Ma'am, Sirs," she greeted politely in a terse military tone.

Diana paused for a moment after the introductions. "I am afraid I will not be able to see you to the Palace myself," she informed. "The Delegation from Xanthal will be arriving shortly and should greet them personally."

"Special Agent Kazei?"

The young Joran Kazei looked up from the entertainment magazine he had been browsing. There was not much more than the usual gossip, so he was glad for the interruption. The Drakonian entertainment industry was not as strong as in some countries and the degree of scandal was decidedly lower. He tossed it down on the table as he stood.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting, things are a bit hectic today," the man greeted. "Marcus Pontius, I am in charge of the Field Office here in Golan Heights." He looked like any other bureaucrat, cheap dress suit, loose tie, middle-age, and with a slightly bulging belly. No doubt he had a wife and kids at home. His skin was even lighter than the usual tan, showing he did not get a lot of sun despite living in the tropics.

"Then perhaps you can tell me why I am here," Joran prompted with the formalities concluded. He still wore the casual white t-shirt and jeans he had worn on the government flight to Shinzo Golanus. He was young, his hair cut short. And looked more like a construction worker than an agent of the Drakonian Intelligence Agency*.

"Surveillance," the manager replied, leading Joran back into his office, which looked antique, like if had come off the set of a bad detective movie. Old desks, bad lighting, Venetian blinds, and a flat-panel widescreen monitor that did not belong at all. Pontius grabbed a remote and flipped the monitor on.

A face appeared on the monitor. A male, tanned skin, close-cropped hair. It could be anyone in Drakonia. "This man is Matthew Messienus. He is a Drakonian National who enter the country this morning, through the Portland International Airport. We began following him there."

Marcus flipped the monitor to another image. This was of a younger Messienus. His hair was cut in a military fashion and he was wearing the Full Dress Uniform of the Imperial Drakonian Armed Forces, black trimmed in scarlet and gold. "He was honorable discharged from the military in 1996. Left the country for Bigtopia in 1997, returned in '99, committing acts of identity theft and laundering money probably for some South or Central American Cartel, most likely the Gomez's. He was tracked by the DIA in 2005 when he reentered the country, but was not arrested and he managed to lose our agents in Bigtopia before they could apprehend him."

The manager paused a moment. "He will be catching a connecting flight here, late this afternoon. We expect him to stay in the city and meet whatever connects he has here. You will be part of the investigation into his contacts here in the Imperium,” Marcus finished.

Joran waited for him to elaborate, but he did not. "And what will I be doing?"

Marcus did not immediately reply, but instead took a moment to collect his thought. "You need to understand why you were brought onto this mission, Special Agent. You may be called on to go under cover to find out what Messienus is doing in Drakonia. You should be prepared for that prospect."

It was an answer he had expected from the beginning and yet he could not help but sigh. He had spent his whole life trying to get away from the Golanus Mountains and now he was back. "That all?"

"Mostly." Marcus shrugged. "You can expect to do a little surveillance of Messienus, but other than that you will not be call on to go under cover until your needed to flush out his associates."

Joran knew Marcus was not saying something. This was not some simple investigation. There was more going on than he was being told and he did not like that. "If I am going to do this, I need to know what is being held back. Why is Messienus so important?"

"Because he managed to elude justice in Bigtopia." Marcus frowned, trying not to shrug in answer to the question. "Messienus is not to be allowed to leave the country and escape justice again, and he definitely can not be allowed to set up a criminal network in the Imperium." Organized Crime in the Imperium was unheard of, it just did not exist. Crime in general was practically unknown. And the Police and Drakonian Intelligence Agency worked hard to keep it that way.

"There is more to it than that," Joran prodded. "He could have just as easily been arrested in Oregius when his plane landed."

"Well," Marcus admitted. "If there is, no one has told me anything."

Thinking everything over Joran continued, "There were Praetorian Guards on my flight here. I doubt their here for the weather or a simple surveillance operation."

Marcus did not look convinced. "I am sure they are simply here to make sure he does not make it out of the country again."

"There is more to it than that and you know it. We can easily intercept him before he leaves again and we could to begin with. No, they could only be here if he more than just a cartel middle manager." He pressed onward with his logic. "The Bigtopia Team was simply overconfident. They failed. Someone's not telling us something and its big."

__________________

* Commonly abbreviated to the acronym: DIA.

The Greatest Loss...

The world seemed so distant, so cold and colorless. Everything warm in the world turned to bitter ice. A fridgid hand, shadowy and sleak, tore a bloody hole in Anya Kazimirez's heart as she fell into a dark shadow, watching everything she ever loved...fall. A torrent of tears and multiple shouts and cries of agony were muffled inside her office as a group of concerned and awkward feeling friends and co-workers awaited outside, quietly muttering to one another.

She choked out unintelligable words of sorrow, of unimaginable heartache that no one should ever endure. Her teary yet still ebautiful blue eyes fixed upon a picture on her desk. A simple black frame, containing a happy and joyous couple. His arm wrapped tenderly around her shoulders, tucking her in, a warm and safe blanket of trust, love, and an eternal bond. It was the happiest time of her life, after years spent in the wake of a long and fruitless relationship, it ended suddenly and violently. Then, like a breath of fresh air, he came, the man of her dreams. The man that completed her life and appily married. That man, a giver, a lover, a husband was now dead.

The door jarred open slightly, Chief Editor Yuri Ularski appeared in the opening slit, a look of awkwardness upon his face, "Anya?" he dared "Do you need to go home?"

Finally, Anya managed to hold back the tide long enough to say "No" and resumed her bout of endless depression.

Sensing he deep desire to be left alone, he quickly retreated and quietly closed the door behind him and backed away, passing the onlookers who asked questions such as "What happened?" and "Is she alright?", none of which he could answer nor wanted to answer.

Back in the office, Anya rocked back in forth, her arms snug around her stomach which tore and gnashed in pain from her exhausted exhales and endless tears. "St-Stanislav?!" she choked out as her eyes fixed on the picture once more. A fire began to burn deep in her, a need...a need to know, to find and answer to her burning question: Why? Why was such a caring and kind person such as her husband have to die needlesly? This question plagued her and she hungered for an answer.

A Problem

Chancellor Rhinehardt came back from round his desk and entered the basking light of the large window behind his desk which looked out over a section of the Boulevard of the Proletariat in the Government Sector of the capital, Jonensberg. It was a cool morning as the leaves began to turn into a cascade of autumn colors, tantalizing to the eyes. He smiled and cupped his hands behind his back.

It was a slow paced dat, much to his suprise. The Worker's State always needed maintenance and keeping after. Its' affairs were many and some even troublesome. Today Rhinehardt needed only to attend one meeting, review two proposed bills which are entering the endless fire circles in the Senate, and make a phone call or a few about the bills. Afterwards, he intended to take a nap and meet with his wife for lunch and call it a day.

The buzzer on the chestnut desk startled him as a young females voice emitted from the small box. "Mr.Chancellor, I'm sorry to disturb you but there is a man here to meet with you"

Rhinehardt shot a hand out to depress the button "It's no problem, Lydia. What is the gentleman's name?"

There was a pause, "Adrian Kolokov" she said it slowly as she red it off of his ID. "Shall I send him away?"

"No, that's quite alright, send him in now." Rhinehardt replied.

"What of you appointment? The Minister for Economics and Trade will be here any-" she was cut off.

"Please send him in" Rhinehardt said in an authorative ton and let go of the button, moving now to his seat which he groaned into, that damn back was acting up again.

The door opened and closed quietly as an older man in his late fifties with white hair, a fine suit, and steel eyes entered the main part of the office. He was average height, looked like anyone else, but he was not just anyone. Kolokov took a seat without asking and crossed his legs.

"Adrian, what brings you here?" Rhinehardt inquired as he poured a glass of brandy, one glass.

"Gunther" Kolokov coughed and readjusted his tie "There is a situation in Drakonian Imperium which pertains to not only the State but us as well."

Rhinehardt swallowed the whole thing

"Yesterday there was an explosion in the restless area of Shinzo Golanus, a semi-auntonomous region cxontrolled by the Imperium. It has a history of violence and anti-Imperium beliefs. Economics stemmed this violence for some years now but this threatens much more than just a hick-up. This little act of domestic terrorism is far more reaching than it seems." Kolokov babbled.

"How does this pertain to us?" Rhinehardt asked, sliding the empty glass away and folding his arms.

"There is a discrepancy with one of our operation cells in the area. A Red Cell has gone off the radar." Kolokov's tone became grim in tone, both knew what he meant. A Red Cell was a cloak and dagger arm of the Ministry of Foreign Security. A precious and secretive few knew of its' existence and activities. They recruited members from the branches of the military. Applicants were forced to resign their post and wisked away to a secret training camp deep within the Urals where they endured extensive and mind numbing training evolutions. Each cell was a small cohesive unit of no more than six operators. The number of teams are unknown. The Department of Clandestine Operations is said to be the cover for this shadow arm of the MFS. Political assacinations, surveillance, information gathering, espionage, torture, all these were implemented. They worked independent of any other cell and had little contact with the MFS. Each member went by a codename and reported directly to Kolokov, and no one else. These operations had to be kept under tight controll, less the public discover.

"What do you mean: Gone off the radar?" Rhinehardt felt his heart tighten a little.

"We've lost contact with them, Mr.Chancellor. And we don't know the circumstances either" Kolokov said calmly. He was a sceretive man who had an expert poker face.

"Does the explosion have anything to do with this?" Rhinehardt asked, leaning forward, his voice low.

"Possibly, we're not ruling anything out at this time. Sources indicate that their safehouse in the city was scrubbed just hours before the explosion, no traces."

"Could they have been responsible?" Rhinehardt began to fume "Did you make an authorization that I was not privy to?!" he exploded finally, angered and shot with fear.

"A recovery team is being assembled for an investigation." Kolokov remained calm, "There's a solution to every problem, and we'll find it" he reassured the Chancellor.

"As always, Drakonian hospitality is excellent, Diana," Georgia Lancaster returned, going along with the friendly informality of the greetings. "It's a pity you won't be joining us, though I suppose you'll be coming by later once the Xanthalans are tucked in?"

She gestured to Captain Ames, the only person who was apparantly unknown to the Drakonians. "This is Captain Christopher Ames, President's Guard. He is serving as my personal bodyguard for this trip, and I would prefer if he be accomodated as a member of the diplomatic mission." One corner of her mouth turned up a little. "He's cleared to read, see, and hear everything I do or Mr. Pierce does. In fact, I'm not entirely sure he's not cleared for more than we are."

Ames smiled a little at that, and nodded to Diana, then looked at Lieutenant Ryan, apparantly his opposite number on the security detail. Although she had more people than he did. He decided she could handle herself, and then another smile briefly flitted across his face as he remembered an Alconan soldier who had shown him just how tough women in uniform could be. Not to mention how nice. Then his face returned to a military poker face.

Lancaster continued. "I am definitely looking forward to seeing Drakonia in a more peaceful time. I would feel much better about this trip if the words 'gun', 'tank', 'warship', 'tension', and 'intercontinental ballistic missile' were not in any way involved in it."

Thomas Pierce chuckled at that. "Can we also exclude 'winter', 'snow', 'cold', and make a condition that the word 'ice' can only be mentioned in reference to cold drinks?" he asked jokingly. "I just came from Lavenrunz, and you have no idea how much I've missed weather that didn't require a heavy coat in winter, and at least a jacket in summer."

"Prep for entry. All hands, all hands, the Red Light is ON!"

The shuttle seemed little different from every other shuttle in use by the Revenian government in the Sol System -- which said more about the Revenian views of the safety of the Sol system than it did about any particular standardization -- the shuttle in question was, like those other shuttles, derived from the RSN Assault Shuttle.

The end result was that the atmospheric entry was a little bumpier than it would have been with a more refined, dedicated 'diplomatic' craft, but the trade-off was worthwhile in Revenian eyes, which always tended to look for potential 'situations.' When things went pear-shaped, the refined diplomatic shuttle was a refined diplomatic shuttle...and the assault shuttle was an assault shuttle.

If the resulting ride was a little bit rougher on tender diplomatic backsides, well, that was quite simply too bad. Not that there was an abundance of tender diplomatic backside aboard the shuttle in question.

'Tender' was not the kind of descriptor generally used when Dysaryn Stark was concerned. He'd lost any claim to that word long, long ago, which was sometimes hard to remember when one considered that, physically, he looked to be in his 'late twenties, early thirties.'

At any rate, by his count, he should be touched down in Derallia shortly, giving him a good hour to prep, the 'business' in question shouldn't take more than three hours itself...but duration was meaningless -- he'd be done when he was done.

He made his hand relax, lay his fingers out upon his thigh, maintained even breathing. Simply existed for a few moments -- he could do that, now. The beginnings of a grin were just beginning to form when his meditations were interrupted by his intel officer, Lt. Salray.

"Sir, I think you should take a look at this."

Dysaryn frowned and flipped the visor of his commo helmet down, "Alright, Katie. Show me."

It was a news report...from Drakonia...and it wasn't exactly the kind of thing he liked to see. In fact...

"Thank you, Katie. Could you call up Bren and tell him to re-direct to Drako Throne? Also, tell Sev to carry on without me. He'll manage just fine."

Dysaryn flipped up his visor and turned to another of his aides, one Karl Wrothgort.

"Care to phone ahead and smooth out the entry, Karl?"

The dark, black-haired man nodded, "Cert, Commander."

The ever-efficient Karl would manage things in his usual manner -- directly, precisely, and with absolute contempt for any obstacles in his path.

http://www.freewebs.com/unitedemirates/The%20Imperial%20Gazette%2010-25-07.PNG

EXPLOSION IN GOLAN HEIGHTS

The early morning calm in Golan Heights was shattered when an explosion destroyed much of a city block. Among the ruins was a Red Cross Health Center that largely survived the blast by being across the street from the epicenter of the explosion. All that is left of the buildings across from the Health Center was rubble and a blast crater.

Emergency workers have been working throughout the morning to put out fires started by the blast and find survivors. Most of the victims of the explosion were in the Health Center, as many people were still on their way to work at the time of the blast. However, Ambulances have taken a number of people to nearby hospitals.

The source of the blast is unknown. Investigators have declined comment to reporters. Witnesses of the explosion described a streak of light in the air before the explosion. Some voiced concerns that this was a terrorist attack, something Shinzo Golanus is not unfamiliar with.

Nearly twenty years ago the region was a hot bed of violence where Golan Rebels fought Drakonian soldiers. In the latter part of the forty year struggle, desperate Golan fighters increasing resorted to terrorism. Golan Heights being the largest population center in the region saw some of the work attacks.

However, city officials were careful to state the explosion was not being considered an attack and that there was no evidence yet for it to be viewed as anything other than an accident.


MORE TROUBLE FOR THE PRAETORIANS

Senate Speaker Valintinian Flavius was again dogged by criticism from the National Conservative Alliance (NCA) candidate and former General Martin Lucius. Lucius criticized Flavius on his lack of a solution to the recession stating that the answer was simple. The economy should be protected from the predations of foreign markets and competitors. Martin has been repeatedly attacking the Imperial Praetorian Faction (IDF) incumbant since he declared his intentions to run for the Senate.

In Shinzo Golanus newly the newly declared Senate Candidate Kaylen Taure gave competition to Praetorian Incumbent Pane Baxtin. Taure, an accomplished businessman, made the Taure Mining Conglomerate one of the largest corporations to be centered in the Golanus Mountains. However, after the Drakonian Government cut back its purchases of refined metals used in military projects, Taure was forced to cut a number of jobs. Tuare stated when he declared his intentions to run for Senate that his primary motivation was to help those out of work. Taure has been campaigning since then on a platform of bringing jobs to Shinzo Golanus and building a successful and independent economy in the Mountains.

Baxtin meanwhile has found himself also under fire from conservatives who claim he has not done enough to protect the Golan and Drakonian economy. Angela Naevia who enjoys wide support among low income Golans has suggested the promoting subsidies to businesses that are struggling to maintain their workforce. Kaylen Taure, however criticized her suggestions and her promotion of implementing taxes to protect local business, saying it would only hurt those Golan business trying to expand their markets beyond the Imperium.

The IDF has found itself embattled as opinion polls show greater numbers of voters unsure of who they will be voting for the in the coming elections. Also suffering in the polls, the liberal Coalition of Environmental Protection (CEP) has found itself losing voters. The CEP has been losing public support since it swept the 2004 Senate Elections securing a total of six seats in the Senate. Conservatives meanwhile have been attacking its environmental policies as impractical and as only serving to further weaken a fragile economy.


BUSINESS - MAJOR CRUISE LINE MERGER, BIGGEST IN DRAKONIAN HISTORY

In what is set to be the largest merger of our time, the Drakonian tourist magnet Royal Trinidadian Cruise Lines is set to merge with the growing Imperial Caribbean Cruise Lines. What does this mean for the cruise line industry in the Imperium? It could mean profit. Even with the recent recession, which has hit the tourism industry the hardest, Imperial Caribbean is looking forward. Using a long-term plan toward expansion and growth, it is encouraging investors to bring their money to the Imperium.

And what of that future? Imperial Caribbean CEO Randolph Claudius has stated that he wants his company’s cruises to be more available to the average family. Therefore Imperial Caribbean is working toward that end, to provide a low rate cruise available to families. But that’s not all. Imperial Caribbean is also looking to provide cruises to more exotic locales such as the Andaman and Nicobar Islands in the Indian Ocean and the small island of Drako Sava in the Pacific. Randolph also revealed his most ambitious plan yet. He said, that Imperial Caribbean is looking to acquire the cruise line giant Royal Caribbean Cruise Lines.

Well that is a big step and it is going to take some negotiating, as well as investment, but Claudius isn't worried, he says, "The future is a bright spot Imperial Caribbean is striving for, even if the present looks bleak, we know it will get better." It’s optimistic thinking, but it is clearly shared with Imperial Caribbean investors otherwise this merger would not have been possible.


INTERNATIONAL - 2nd EXPEDITIONARY LEGION DEPLOYED

Officials of the Imperial Drakonian Armed Forces and the Emirate Humanitarian Organization announced a joint humanitarian mission to Crimmond yesterday. Colonel Norman Lionheart stated that the ten thousand soldiers of the 2nd Expeditionary Legion would be deploying with over a thousand civilian and military medical and humanitarian workers.

The deployment is intended to help contain and treat the people of Crimmond affected by a biological weapon attack committed by the nation of Vetalia. Crimmond has reported rioting in a number of its cities following the attacks and attempts to maintain order have been ineffective.

The Drakonian Troops are expected to be required to maintain peace and order while attempting to treat those suffering from the artificial disease, as well as preventing its spread. Officials said the deployment would last as long as medical and military personnel were needed to help the people and government of Crimmond.

Copyright © 2007 The Imperial Gazette Publications

"Thank you," Diana Minerva responded, more than happy to offer the gratitude of the Imperium on such kind words. "Yes, I plan to travel back to the Palace with the Xanthalians, circumstances permitting.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain," she continued, greeting Christopher Ames. "Of course, we will extent our full courtesy to the Mr. Ames, as well."

Lieutenant Sonya Ryan was careful to keep her face professional, but she could not help but raise an eyebrow at Christopher's smile. Was he hitting on her, she wondered. No! He is just being diplomatic, she decided. There just seemed to me more behind that smile than politeness.

Aetius Cispius and Diana smiled. "I am sure that will be possible," Aetius commented on the exclusion of certain words during the Glorious Humans visit.

Distracted by a vibration in her pocket, Diana realized her cell phone was ringing. "Mr. Cispius, will see you to your vehicles and the Palace."

"Yes, of course," Aetius said, catching the queue. "I believe we have a few copies of the Imperial Gazette if any of you are interested." The man stood just as to hint at heading toward the limousine as Diana smiled and pulled out her phone politely excusing herself.

The Revenians had been cleared without any trouble or hesitation. And the news of Dysaryn's arrival reported to the Diplomatic Service. Diana was quick to act once she recieved the news. "Yes, send a transport out here immediately," she said into her cell phone. "Have the Palace Chamberlain prepare rooms for another party."

The First Move

Ashira Konovski jogged through Jonensberg Central Park. It was a large area full of what you'd expect from a park. It was a brisk morning but that never deterred the regular joggers and nature addicts. She wore a gray zipper sweatshirt and blue gyms shorts. The cold didn't bother her, she'd been in worse climates for longer periods of time. After a good run she stopped at a park bench to rest. She sat there, her eyes scanning the scenery around her. An older couple ran past her, going strong. Gee, it must be nice to have a man to stay with you that long After resting and reminicing about her personal life she stood back up and continued her jog. A man jogged past her and nearly ran into a bench as he rubbernecked to get a better look of her behind. She was on a break for a few weeks after a lengthy and dangerous operation abroad. A week ago she was offered a job by Adrian Kolokov, a man she'd worked for in the past. The salary and benefits seemed alot more appeasing so she accepted. But for now she was enjoying her time off. She smirked after thinking about the male jogger nearly hitting a bench, it wasn't the first time her looked nearly killed, or in some cases actually helped to kill. But, none of that bothered her. All of a sudden her cell phone rang, a familiar sound, she'd forgotten to leave it in her apartment.

"Hello" she said in a cold, almost irritated tone. Hearing him at this time caused her to invision his impending death at the hands of her behind a semi-truck.

"Ms.Konovski, it's-" Kolokov was cut short. He didn't want to bother her at this time but felt she was needed.

"I've heard your tone far too much. What do you want?" she demanded, cutting off Kolokov.

"Sorry to cut your vacation short but...we need you" he replied, sounding a bit sheepish. Ashira was a strong woman and not meant to be tested.

"What happened?" she asked, more calm this time. She walked over to a tree and scanned her surroundings.

"One of the Red Cells has gone missing in Drakonian Imperium just prior to an attack. " Kolokov answered.

"Which Cell was it? Were they on an operation?" she was puzzled, eyes scanning once again.

"Red Cell 5..." Kolokov finally choked out. What they were discussing was classified beyond anyone's pay grade or level in the intelligence community, "No, they were ot on any assignment. They haven't reported in in over three weeks but these things are normal, as you know. But we are nonetheless troubled."

"Where do I come in? I'm not in the Red Cell Program anymore, I've got another position" Ashira reminded her former handler..

"I know, Ashira" Kolokov replied, feeling embarrassed. "BUt you're the only person who was on the inside. You were a Cell Leader, there's no one else"

"Alright" she sighed "I'll be there by tomorrow" and she hung up. Ashira prided herself in being a patient woman and managed to hide the idea that he wanted to strangle Kolokov.

In her apartment Ashira gathered what she would need on the trip. The woman learned to pack light because situations would arise where she'd need different clothes, like possing as a secretary for the Kulikovian Ambassador at an international banquet and stealing away to an office to collect information. She was good at disguise and had a plethera of alternate identities and passports. But this time she would so as Ashira Konovski, not one of her other names. She packed her duffle bag, called Kolokov who in turn called in a few favors. A car pulled up to her building and she quickly shuffled into it and a man in a black suit closed the door. The black BMW sped off to Battle Roads Air Base which was a major Kulikovian Air Force base. The guards didn't even stop her car as he drove through the base and towards the flight line with all the hangars. Next to a hangar was a fueled and ready to go private jet, one which appeared to be a corporate jet. A Security Force soldier accompanied her to the jet and she walked up the stairs and into the luxurious exterior. The seats were leather and spacious on the inside. In one of the seats was Kolokov, sipping on a brandy.

"You sure know how to travel first class" she remarked as she made her way to the back and took a seat opposite her boss.

"We're heading to another base, Base 1 as I'm sure you're familiar with" Kolokov answered, bringing the glass to his lips "Want anything to drink?"

"No thanks, I don't drink...it clouds the mind" she replied, looking out the window to see the jet beginning to take off. The only occupants of the plane were Kolokov, Ashira, and the pilot who had top secret clearence.

"At Base 1 you'll be briefed on the current situation and meet your team members. This is highly sensitive material we're discussing" Kolokov briefed.

"My team?" Ashira asked, leaning forward in her seat, he predatory eyes fixated on his neck but he rgaze quickly lifted back to his eyes. "Wouldn't you want just one person? I've done those operations before."

"If our worst fears are correct, that being a Red Cell gone rouge, then you'll need help. I know you're a tough woman and resiliant but their leader is no recent graduate. He's seasoned, as they all are." Kolokov took another sip of brandy and set the glass down.

"What will I be doing?" Ashira inquired.

"Gathering as much information as possible. Seeing how Kulikovian citizens were killed in this explosion. There were about six killed in a Health Clinic which was affected by the blast. The government will be sending in an investigation and recovery team, that'w how you and the others will get in." Kolokov finished.

"Sounds simple enough" she replied with a smirk and sat back in the seat, crossing her long slender legs.

The Widow Reporter

Ularski ushered Anya home later that day were she spent a sad and lonely time in her apartment...their apartment. As she entered the hallway, everything seemed so distant. The inside of their apartment appeared to be an alien landscape. It was empty without him. She last saw him a month ago when he was reassigned to the Health Center in The Heights. They both knew it was a dangerous move but Stanislav was determined to go, regardless the harm. He was a staunch giver, believing that examples must be made for people to follow. She admired him greatly. Anya collapsed into the spacious bed were they spent many familiar nights together. She hardly slept without him occupying the other side. The next day she awoke and took a long shower, her fingers wrapping around the ring, depserate to see him in her mind again. There were several calls from her father and Stanislav's parents. They were difficult conversations, painful.

Desperate to get out, Anya returned to work, despite the awkward glances of her coworkers. Work always gave her an outlet to escape the troubles of her life. Anya was dedicated and an almost workoholic.

"Anya, what are you doing back?" Ularski asked in an exhausted tone as he entered the frame of her door.

"I just-I just need to do this, it helps" Anya replied without looking up. She was working on an investigative story about Yalta Energy's recent buy out of Greystone Co., a gas and coal company in the southern provinces. It was an interesting piece which she was nearly complete with.

Ularski struggled for words and decided it was just best to leave her be and walked out into the open office space. Anya shed a tear and went back to fixing any errors in the report. She intended to forward the piece to Ularski by midday and it was sure to happen.

Lancaster nodded. "Certainly. I try to keep up on local events." In fact, she had been brought up to speed on the current situation in Drakonia before she had even left GH. When the explosion in the Golan Heights had happened, she was already in the air, and so had received word of it via an emergency message while they were in flight. Nonetheless, accepting the paper seemed the nice thing to do.

"Yes, newspaper sounds good," Pierce agreed. Ames said nothing, just waited for an order. The Captain had been around these kinds of meetings long enough to know that at this moment, he was just background scenery.

The three of them fell into step slightly behind Aetius Cispius, letting him lead them to the vehicles. As the senior diplomat, Lancaster was in the lead, with Pierce slightly behind and to her right, and Ames slightly behind him and to the left.

Once they were all in the limousine, they divided up the offered paper. Lancaster took the Political section, Pierce got the International News, and Ames got the funnies. Lancaster scanned her chosen section while the men played a quick game of rock-paper-scissors for the Sports, which Ames won. Lancaster took only a couple minutes to read the first couple of short articles in her chosen section, then she looked up at Cispius, setting the paper in her lap as she picked up conversation again.

"How fares the election?" she asked him. "Do you have any personal preference for the winners? Our own is still anyone's game, though if I had to choose between Frank Pierce and Tixric Bauman, I'm afraid I would have to pick my boss, and not just because I know him. Bauman gives me the willies with his extremism."

The Limousine made it way out of the large airport and into the edge of the city that had grown up to it. Slowly moving toward the highway into the capital proper as the Glorious Humans went through the newspaper.

"I am a Praetorian by trade," Aetius replied. "Or I was. I was the Speaker of the Imperial Senate during my term as Senator in 1984 to 1996. It is a trying job, which is why I returned to diplomacy.

"I support my party. However, I understand the importance of a diverse Senate," the old Senator confided. "Still the Conservatives worry me, Marcus Livius, in particular. What he says seems rational on the surface, but the consequences of his policies could be devastating to the nation. He is smart and he is shrewd. And that is what worries me, because I do not think he is being totally honest."

He shrugged. "But those are the opinions of an old washed out politician. But what of the campaign is Bauman a strong candidate or can we expect a less radical candidate announce themselves and gain broad conservative support?"

The limousines transporting the diplomats from Aelosia and Glorious Humanity turned out of the commercial district surrounding the airport and eastward onto the Imperial Highway. As they did, they slowly moved into the suburb of Westside.

In the Aelosian transport, Gaia Calpurnia slipped into tour mode. "We are now entering Westside, named because this suburb lies on the western side of the Sapphire River, which separates it from the capital proper." The city was not terribly remarkable, except it being quite clean and lush with vegetation. It appeared as any other modern city, smaller building gave way into large ones, until they could be seen to be rising skyward.

And as the skyscrapers of Westside became apparent so too did the fact that the highway was rising with them. "We will be going over the Grand Union Bridge in a moment," Gaia announced explaining matters. "From there you will be able to see the Sapphire River and the capital, Drako Throne, on its opposite bank."

Sure enough, the massive deep blue river appeared as the highway gave way to the immense bridge. The blue waters of the Sapphire River stretched north and south and appeared both out the right and left side windows of the limousines. To the south the river could be seen to have forked, a section of it defining the southern end of Westside and running back westward to the airport. Port facilities rested along the tributary.

The Grand Union Bridge lived up to it name. The old bridge supported four full lanes of traffic and on either side pedestrian walkways. It spanned the river, leaving plenty of room for large ships to slip effortlessly beneath. "The Bridge itself has been rebuilt several times during its history. The bridge we now are going over, began its life in 1708 as it was completed on the eve of the Second Millennial Celebration of the Imperium's birth. More recently, the bridge suffered minor damage during the Emiratus War in 1944 when the capital was bombed."

The bridge’s age could be seen in its magnificent red brickwork. There was also more modern steelwork, which shone like obsidian as it emphasized the bridges strong metal support system. Tall pylons jutted skyward as the limousine moved along the bridge, strongly holding great suspension cables which distributed the weight of the massive structure.

Beyond the bridge and the great river below the first views of the capital appeared. The modern city stretched out far along the banks of the river on either side of the bridge. The bridge itself however, descended into the older city, laid out before them in a circular pattern. The inner city of Drako Throne was encircled by a wide ring of old ornate red stone walls. Inside the old stone and brick-worked walls, was an amazing amalgamation of modern and ancient buildings melded together with lush greenery.

"Drako Throne," Gaia continued. "Was established in 292 B.C. as the capital of the newly formed Imperium. It was built upon Throne Hill, which was significant because at Throne Hill the combined armies of the City-States of Drakonia and the Queendom of Trinidad had been able to defeat the invading Golan Tribes, who were then united under a warlord. The victory made it possible for the two nations to unite and thus the hill was chosen by their leaders as a site of their capital. Only once during its history has it been threatened by foreign aggression. During the Emiratus War it was bombed and shelled when the Sanctuary Valley was penetrated by Tersanctan Troops. Although, it has also seen it share of disasters as well, floods, fires, and riots and the like, the city has survived to serve a jewel showing the greatness of this nation and her people."

The inner city was subdivided into four equal quarters define by two perfectly straight and perpendicular highways. They intersected in the city's center in a great traffic circle ringing a lush park. "The Old City," Gaia explained. "Is divided into four quarters. Each defined by the two major highways that run through the center of the city; the Imperial Highway, which we are traveling along now, and the Royal Highway, which runs perpendicular to it.

"The quarter closest to us on the right is Senatorial Sector." She pointed out to the right, where a great classical dome rose up out of the foliage and city. "The Imperial Government is largely located in this part of the city. You can see the Great Dome of the Grand Capitol Building from here. The Capitol Building houses the highest levels of our government. Both the Imperial Senate and the Grand Parliament meet there, as well as the highest court in Drakonia, the Imperial Supreme Court.

"Beyond that is the Diplomatic Sector of the capital. That is where most international embassies in the capital are located, and the sector also houses a large number of international residents. The most prominent building there however is the International Relations Complex. In fact," she said gesturing to a building rising about that part of the city. "You can see hotel Unity, which is part of the complex. The Complex mall also houses conference areas, information centers, a museum, and many small national embassies."

She looked to the north. "If you look out to your left you will see the Commercial Sector and its most visible feature from here: Fort McClean." Visible along the northern section of wall was a small fortified harbor. Antique Cannons could be seen cresting the fortifications and more tall towers overlooked the river in that section of the wall than in the rest.

The only real skyscrapers in the Old City could be seen rising from the Commercial Sector. "Housed with the Commercial Sector are some of the Imperium's most influential businesses." Some of them could be named by their logos on the buildings, like Info-Tec and Royal Trinidad Energy. "The Greater Drakonian Economy has it headquarters and exchanges there.

"Beyond that," she continued still looking to the northern part of the city. "Is the Praetorian Sector of the city. Our destination is the Grand Praetorian Palace near the center of the city and located in that portion of the city. Also of note in that quarter are the Hanging Gardens of Drakonia and the ancient Dragon Palace, some of the oldest buildings in the capital."

As the limousine descended down off the bridge and toward the Old City, Gaia got herself a bottle of water, being sure to offer drinks to those interested. There was a variety, including a bottle of wine marked as being from Imperial Drako Vineyards in 1557 A.D., no doubt from the Praetor's personal collection.

Meanwhile, in the Glorious Human limousine a similar scene played itself out. Taking note that Georgia Lancaster had been to capital before, Aetius offered a tour nonetheless as a polite gesture to Thomas and Ames on their first visit. As they descended into the capital, he too offered the guests drinks.

RIOT IN NORTHERN GOLANUS

CITADEL, Shinzo Golanus - A protest turned violent today, when protesters yelling "Work or Freedom" broke through a police line and into the Mayor's Offices in the small city of Citadel in northern Shinzo Golanus. Protesting the lack of jobs and high unemployment, protesters had hoped to win political support and notice for their problems, instead their protest became a riot.

Police responded quickly and eighteen protesters were arrested while the rioters driven from the government building and dispersed. Among those arrested was Cane Tan, a former leader of the Golan Liberation Army.

The forty three year old, was arrested in 1987 for his role in the Golan Resistance and was sent to Colonial Commonwealth of Baradossia to do hard labor after receiving a life sentence. Tan was pardoned in 1997 by Praetor Augustus Drake, along with one hundred and sixty eight former resistance fighters, following a visit with imprisoned former resistance leaders.

Tan, and the eighteen other arrested protesters were charged with Riotous Behavior and Vandalism. Those crimes usually carry a fine of one thousand Drakonian Doubloons or six months hard labor.

Copyright © 2007 The Imperial Gazette Publications

"TD in five...four...three...two...DOWN! RAMP DOWN! CLEAR! GO, GO, GO!"

Drakonia was a friendly country, but Dysaryn's entourage consisted primarily of his students, at the moment, and the Swordsworn didn't understand the meaning of the word 'friendly.' So they treated it like any other country, meaning they came down muzzles out.

's just the way they do things, ya?

Ya.

And in the wake of a fireteam of five Swordsworn, AR-36's at low-ready, came His Highness Sir Dysaryn Stark, Prince Stargard, Crown Prince of Revenia, Commander of Special Forces...looking very much his usual self: silver-blonde hair, quicksilver eyes, tall, regal, black duster. The customary warblade at his side.

He stretched, then let a little smile form on his lips, then looked about for the inevitable greeting party. As he was so doing, the shuttle's vehicle bay was opened and a pair of Puma gunjeeps wheeled out to either side of the assault shuttle, swinging around to pick up four members of the vanguard, leaving Dysaryn with only his two aides and the fifth Swordsworn.

Tricksy.

Slightly behind schedule due to a failed first landing attempt, the Xanthalian shuttle arrives without further incident on its assigned pad at the airport. Perhaps against his best judgment, Reynold Wright has decided to make the trip himself. To say the International Mars Colony is a boring place to work would be to sell it short; in fact it's his nearly endless and interesting responsibilities that keep him there so much of the time, but one begins to yearn for a change of scenery after spending so much time in one place. This is Wright's first time off the station in over a year.

No more than a minute after the boxlike shuttle comes to rest, the rear door opens and extends a ramp down to the tarmac. Reynold steps outside and takes a deep breath of the fresh air, surveying his surroundings. The airport is a jungle of concrete and metal, but out beyond it he can see a beautiful hilly landscape. It's an odd contrast, but not unpleasant. A bit of wind rustles his gray hair as he steps down to the ground. Wright is not an attractive man, though his appearance hints he might once have been. He is Caucasian, of average height and slightly overweight. His wrinkles more than anything betray his advanced years, and a somewhat gaunt face is the result of many long days and sleepless nights spent working at the task of managing Xanthalian affairs in the politically volatile region of Mars. He wears a diplomatic uniform one size too large, which gives the jumpsuit a looser appearance than normal dark gray jumpsuit with light gray-blue shoulders, and a golden trim and buckle in the front.

Despite everything, his mood is light and his face cheery. Wright is well known among his staff for his unbreakable optimism and mild temperament. He's doing the job he loves, and he seems to enjoy every minute of it, however much it abuses him.

The Museum of History in Golan Heights was not particularly big nor was it particularly impressive. Instead, it was of moderate size and moderate interest. It was tucked away in a quiet corner of the regional capital. Yet, the museum was a testament to the mountain people.

No one quite knew how the Golans had come to be in the Golanus Mountains. However, it is clear that thousands of years in the past they had arisen as a tribal society there. It was also clear that they shared a common ancestry with Drakonians to the east, and the Tersanctans to the west. And even possibly some heredity from the native jungle tribes to the south in what was now Glorious Humanity.

Living as a tribal society, the Golans had a peaceful and secluded life. However, the independent tribes were eventually united under one warlord, who amassed am army with the promised of plunder. At the time Drakonia was a divided group of bickering and rich City-States. The Golan army set out to conquer them and loot the cities.

Fearing their destruction the City-States united and allied with the Queendom of Trinidad. After a struggle, the seemingly undefeatable Golan army met the allies at Throne Hill. The warlord was killed in the battle and the Golans defeated. With their leader dead the Golan army was dispersed by the Drakonian and Trinidadian armies. And soon Drakonia and Trinidad united as the Drakonian Imperium.

The Imperium kept the aggression of the tribes in check and forced them back into the mountains. But when the Sanctus Empire and Drakonia went to war, the Golanus Mountains and the passes leading between Drakonia and Forangentu beyond became battlegrounds. Periods of peace and war extended for centuries until in 1883 A.D. a treaty granted the Imperium, Shinzo Golanus as its territory.

The Golan Tribes, however resisted and eventually were able to drive the Imperium from their territory. Yet, when Drakonia fell into an internal power struggle and brief civil war, they supported the Sanctus Empire as it launched yet another war against its rival.

The Emiratus War nearly saw the destruction of the Imperium. But, as the Sanctan troops shelled the capital, a rebellion broke out in their homeland against the repressive regime. The war reversed itself and soon Drakonian troops were again marching into the Golanus Mountains and the Empire beyond. A peace was reached between the new government, which renamed the nation the Republic of Tersanctus, and Drakonia. The two nations became close allies. Shinzo Golanus was again occupied by Drakonia.

Rebels fought a forty year war. But the strength of the newfound alliance between Tersanctus and Drakonia brought economic prosperity to the mountains and eventually the rebels dogged by Drakonian troops lost support and were defeated. As a show of good faith, Drakonian troops were withdraw five years after the conflict had been declared over.

"JORAN!" Arms wide a woman threw herself into a hug of the intelligence agent.

"Kara," he greeted his younger sister's embrace. Still barely a teenager, Kara Kazei was ten years younger than her brother, and a bit shorter. She had his same dark, nearly black hair, and had a smile enough to melt any man, which she was showing now.

Pulling back, but still holding him tight, she asked. "What are you doing here?"

Joran was definitely melted, his mood lightening. "Some work in the area," he responded, redirecting the conversation. "You work at the museum now? Where Mom worked."

"Yes." She replied, finally letting him go. She looked away from her brother for the first looking at the museum around them. "I barely remember her. I wanted to know what she was like. So I thought by working here that maybe I could get to know what it was like for her. Get to know who she was."

Sobered by the moment, Joran glanced again at the old museum. "I remember playing here," he said, pushing aside thoughts of his childhood. "I am glad you are working here."

"Have you seen Dad," she asked.

Joran looked away from her. "You know we do not get along."

"You should see him Joran," she prompted. "He is your father. He loves you."

"Well, he sure had a funny way of showing it," he shot back, letting his voice seep with more venom than he would have liked.

His sister looked at him for a moment. Kara could not keep the disappointment and hurt from her face and it pained Joran to see it there. "How long are you going to be here for?"

"Not long," he sighed.

"Well, if you change your mind," she persisted. "He will be leaving town in a day to do some work out in Karas."

The Heralder

Was it safe still? Am I being followed? Heh, I don't care anymore. I am always looking over my shoulder but not anymore. A tall man with salt and pepper hair, of strong physique and a neat trimmed beard paced down a nameless alley in the capital. He stopped looking back. His life was full of uncertainty. The trash can up ahead could conceal a bomb, a gunman could be awaiting in the open window above. These were his dangers, his cross the bear. A life of fear, and coping with it. He learned to embrace the numbness of his life. To not give anyone or anything much value because it will not be there in the end. All you have is yourself.

The alley narrowed, becoming darker as the roof tops loomed overhead. It was a poor section of the city, full of crime, and nameless people who did not wish to be found, such as himself. The man entered a paint-chipped door and up a case of darkened stairs, and down a lonely corridor before arriving to a door. He knocked and it quickly opened and shut behind him.

"Gerard, where were you?" asked a man as he adjusted his glasses. Gerard moved past him and into the living room of a shabby apartment.

"I just needed to take a walk, that's all" Gerard answered. He reached inside his long shirt and took out a pistol, setting it on the table in the kitchen and walked over to get a glass of water. "Where are the others, Felix?"

"Claude and Damien are making some new ID's. Isabelle is of on an errand." Felix recited, bring his memory to bear as he leaned against the frame of the entrance.

"Good, things are going smooth. Soon enough, we'll be free from this hell." Gerard nodded.

"What of The Cardinal?" Felix asked, straightening up. The Cardinal was the most important part of their plans. Everything hinged on him.

"The message is out there." Gerard replied simply, "We just need him to send one back." he placed an encrypted cell phone on the table. Hopefully, The Cardinal could use some Heralders to spread his message.

The Beautiful Specter Moves

Ashira casted her gaze out of the plane and nothing but darkness looked back. The overcast skies blotted out the moon and the stars. She always enjoyed watching them. Glowing dots in the sky, an illuminating face, grinning down at her. She enjoyed the silence which accompanied the night as well. It was peaceful and serene.

"We'll be landing shortly" The pilot's voice bursted the low drum of the engines outside. She snapped back to the world and straightened herself in the chair.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Kolokov smiled.

Yes, yes it does. The days where her name meant nothing, where her name ceased to exist in the eyes of anyone who knew her. She disappeared from the world she once knew, answering the call to serve The State in the most secretive fashion. Ashira's name became nothing more than a blotted out space on a record. Those were the days of unbelieveable conditioning, training, malnutrition, malice. Base 1 was the nickname for the spec ops center for Kulikovian Intelligence. It was a spring board for operations, a training ground for operatives. The best of times, the worst of times. The plan tpuched down, shocking her thoughts again as the plane bashed hard against the ground. Ashira took several hesitant steps off, remembering her first flight from Battle Roads to this place all those years ago.

The thing about the Dyellians was that at the end of the day they were about as trustworthy as a live anaconda given to a newborn baby in place of a soft toy...

And right now they were subtley looking for a way to give the Drako Throne a gentle shove in the direction of anarchy, preferably without anyone knowing it was them. As such nobody even tried to set foot in the Drakonian Imperium, and the Dyellian Foreign Minister even made a quick statement on KTV about the bomb blast.

"...We are moved with empathy towards the people of the Drakonian Imperium. Regretfully the Glorious Kingdom has in the past had it's part to play towards the demise of many innocent Drakonian civilians. As such this act of terrorism strikes like a dagger in the heart of all decent Dyellians, we a people who still bear the burden of guilt..."


... However behind the scenes the Cheka were scouring Klatch for representatives of the Golan Liberation Army. The Cheka knew that most terrorist organisations relied on funding supplied from overseas, usually through a complex network of charity organisations. The Cheka had been significantly downsized and divided into numerous smaller departments, but at their core they remained an extremely efficient Intelligence Network. They would search Dyelli Beybi, then Port Olympus then the rest of Klatch, and if that turned up nothing they would keep on searching until eventually they found someone...

"Thunderstorms, lovely thought", said Aveline, now finally focused on Gaia as she spoke, the initial surprise of being for the first time in Drakonia over. "I hope you understand, for us that were born in an artificial environment, thunderstorms are an oddity, and a highly priced one I would add. In the Craftworld where I was born, you have to pay a huge amount of money if you ever want to see or be under a thunderstorm, and even if you are able gain access to the storm dome, it is not the same thing as the natural ones. I have waited all my life to see a real lightning bolt crossing the sky", she commented, her gaze starting to get lost in the thought.

"That is the best gift you could give me, to be able to watch a thunderstorm", she ended her comment as she grabbed the Imperial gazette and started reading the first pages, although she raised her stare each second to see Gaia as she spoke. "Oh, greek. I should have taken more greek, I understand the english and latin parts, but the greek confuses me. Lovely mixture of a language, you have here", she winced a bit when she read the headlines regarding the incidents of Golan Heights, for sure not pleased at the thought of unrestrained violence.

"So, king and queen, no? We haven't had a married couple as leaders for centuries, if not millenia. The official title of our male ruler is Greycloak King, although the seat have been empty for so long that noone else uses it anymore. It predates even the term Empire, so if ever our queen marries, he would be called Greycloak Emperor. The royal bloodline is continued through the women these days, so we are already used to the title of Everqueen. Our late male rulers weren't from the royal family, so they were called Lord Protectors or ShadowPrinces", said Aveline, her attention caught in more shallow affairs of the gazette, as social events, comics and sports news. "a rule shared by a couple, such as your Praetor and Queen, would be an interesting novelty to us indeed. I hope they do not have problems of jurisdiction".

As they entered the Westside of Drako Throne, Aveline shifted her gaze towards the window, to follow Gaia's explanations about their surroundings. Placing her hands on the glass, with her stare lost in the view, she looked like a 5 years old human girl, exiting her house for the first time. She interrumpted Gaia several times, to place her own comments about the tour.

"So many trees, wow!"

"Sapphire river. Nice name for a river. Can you find sapphires in its riverbed? Or it is just the color?"

"Big bridge, although it damages the lovely view of the river. I'm sad to hear you suffered a bombing. Bombings are hell unleashed against those below. Were you a little kid back then?" (here she shivers and tremble a bit)

"Why would people riot and destroy their own city?", said Aveline, not displaying a single drop of diplomatic sense. "It's like hitting yourself in the face with a mallet"

"I love that dome. So different from ours"

"This is for sure a nice neighbourhood. Do you think that if I am appointed ambassador I'd live here in this sector? I would like to know how it is living in those petty beautiful brick houses. So traditional"

"Is that Fort MecLin a museum? I hope you don't need a fortified post this deep inside the city"

"Dragon Palace...I see. What's your inclination about dragons? I suppose Drakonia was named after the Great Scaled Ones, no?"

Gaia for sure noted that the skycrapers and big infrastructures didn't capture the attetion of Aveline, who was more interested in the petty details and the lushful environment than in the grandiose architecture. After all, she already had a show of massive buildings in her motherland. She accepted the wine offered by the drakonian representative, although Galon refused to take his helmet off and accept any beverages.

"This drink is as better as any I've tasted before", the elven woman said, as she palated the liquid with extremely delicate and exquisite gestures. "I will as soon as we reach our destination this courtesy, Miss Gaia. Just as a side question, do you like jewelry?".

"No!" Ularski bellowed, but quickly retracted his rage in the wake of looking over and seeing Anya's soft and somber face.

An awkward silence followed as Ularski stood up from the top of his desk and paced around the room. Anya remained in the chair, hands clamped together, head down in thought. She knew this would be a fight. Some days have past and her normally bright demeanour turn grave and finite.

"Please" Anya said, amost a whisper, "I have to do this, I need to do this. Something's not right about this. There's a larger, looming matter above it."

"I can't in my right mind allow you to go to The Heights" Ularski began to crack in the wake of her steel resolve. Anya's eyes were dull, without fire. Of course, there was a fire within.

He pulled down an area of the blinds to survey the work stations then they snapped shut "What's going on? Is there a conspiracy or something?" he asked gently. The subject was so terribly sensitive that to ask such questions pained him greatly.

"I think Yalta Energy is involved" Anya blurted.

"What?!" Ularski snapped. "That's insane, their an energy company, not a terrorist organization. "What proof do yuo have? Give me some evidence" he demanded.

"I can't discuss it now, but Stanislav was collecting some evidence about a health hazard in the region that is connected to Yalt in a way. I want to go to the Heights, find his journal and dsicover the truth" she paused, then stood up and walked over to him "Please, there's more at stake than even I know" she pleaded.

Ularski's head dropped in thought...

Jonensberg International Airport was a sprawling, modern airport that can handle some of the largest planes in the air. It rests just outside the city limits where engines roar and jets uplift towards the heavens. Anya traveled down Route 3 which led directly past the airport, taking the off ramp which headed straight towards the pick-up/drop off terminal. She packed light. A backpack and a duffle bag. Naturally, she brought a small video recorder and a camera, the tools of the trade. She exited the taxi cab and lugging her belongings to the check-in area, weaving in and out of the serpentine rows of passengers. Then traveled through the layered security check points. Revolutionary Guard components conducted regular security duties at the national airport. They donned camoflauge, vests, and assault rifles. They were intimidating, feverous in their dedication to the Worker's State. They were the best troops in Kulikovia. They eyed her suspiciously as she passed through the metal detector.

Anya browsed through the books at the book store in the Air Mall, dully flipping through pages from nameless magazines. At the newstand, she picked up a fresh paper with her most recent work. A cover story on Yalta Energy's buy-out of Greystone Oil. A huge money transaction and several thousand jobs lost. It detailed money transfers, political handouts to allow this to happen. Investigative Journalism was her life, especially now that Stanislav was gone. His journal contained some very interesting information he gathered while in Citadel. Her sole mission was to retrieve that journal and investigate whatever information it contained.

"Anya Kazimirez?" a male's voice asked from behind. She whipped around, startled. In front stood a man in a suit with blue tie. His hair was cropped, a bit older.

"Y-Yes?" she replied. The two of them were alone in a book aisle, Classical Section. It was cramped, and secluded from the rest of the store, her heart picked up speed, "What do you want?"

"I am Commissar Sergei Tokov with the Special Investigative Services" Tokov said as he quickly flashed a badge of authority.

"What do you want?" Anya demanded now, flicking several locks of blonde hair back behind her ear.

"Where do you travel?" he asked in an authoritive tone.

"The Drakonian Imperium. I'm sure you knew that already" she quipped.

"Of course" Tokov chuckled. "You are indeed smart. It is my duty to inform you of the dangers of traveling to the Shinzo Golanus."

The fact that he mentioned it before she said her true destination revealed a very scary truth about this man, he knew too much.

"Thank you for your concern but I am on assignment" she reaffirmed her position. "Now, I must go. Good day to you comrade" Anya said as she began to edge along the book case, moving pass Tokov who seized her arm.

"You'd do well to stay safe, comrade" and he released her as she moved quickly out of the book store, shaken.

To their credit, the Praetorian Guards around the Revenian shuttle did not react violently to the Revenians’ disembarkment. In fact, they did not seem to react much at all. A few eyes darted up, but mostly they just carried on with their duties.

Unlike the honor guard meeting the other diplomats those on duty around the landing pad were standard airport security. They wore plain color black working uniforms. These were more utilitarian than their dress uniforms, but provided more visibility than camouflaged combat uniforms. They were almost entirely black, khaki cargo pants and a button up shirt. They were all armed with side arms and Gladius Short Swords, and the occasional Praetorian carried a submachine gun or battle rifle.

Diana Minerva was glad she had got to the landing pad before the Revenians had arrived. Their militant disembarkment might have caused a scene in the high security zone of the airport, if she had not warned those on duty about what to expect. She was disappointed to not have been able to personally welcome the Xanthalian Representatives, but it was better than having a potentially violent incident at the airport.

She was well experience with diplomatic dealings with the Revenians and in fact had personally arranged much of their relations. However, it had been the Praetor who had cultured such a close relationship with the Crown Prince of the Star Supremacy and because of the two had a developed a close friendship.

"Your Highness," she greeted as Dysaryn Stark departed the craft. "It is an unexpected honor you show the Imperium. I assumed you wished to meet with the Praetor and have arranged for transport to the Palace, or wherever you wish." She gestured to the limousine, bearing the flag of Revenia, and the Praetorian Guard escort vehicles in line with it.

Despite being disappointed by not being able to personally greet the Xanthalian Representatives, Diana Minerva knew they would be given the absolute best possible greeting and treatment by whom she had appointed to accompany their party.

"Greetings and Welcome to the Imperium," Aelus Spurius says smiling. He had just recently returned to the capital from an assignment in the northwestern mountains of Drakonia at Talon Military Base, where he had represented Drakonia through an unmanned mission to Mars (http://z4.invisionfree.com/The_Planet_Mars/index.php?showtopic=1254). In fact, Reynolds and Aelus had spoken through video communications as a result of that mission. And it had been because of that mission that Xanthal had been invited to send representatives to Drakonia. "I am Aelus Spurius. I believe we spoke to each other through the Synodita I Spacecraft. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance in person."

Like with the Aelosians, a full honor guard was in position around the shuttle. The Praetorian Guards in their full dress uniforms stood stiff at attention, the honor guard's band began playing the national anthem of Xanthal. Their crisp black uniform's gold buttons sparkled with the light of the Caribbean Sun.

"I will be responsible with representing Drakonia to you and sharing our culture and history with you," Aelus Spurius continued. He was an older Drakonia, his skin long tanned dark by the sun. His hair was graying and he held himself as any Drakonian gentlemen, tall with a look of authority.

He gestured to the Praetorian Guard officer at his side, identifiable by his rank insignia and the rapier that was sheathed at his hip. The man was young, his skin a tone of ebony brown, nearly black. He had no hair, his head shaved smooth and bald. He had a friendly look to his face, which he tried to mask behind the appearance of military professionalism. "This is Lieutenant Martin Falk. He will be responsible for your security. If there is anything you need, either we are at your service."

"It is an honor, sir." The Lieutenant inclined his head slight in a traditional Drakonian show of respect.

Behind the Drakonians a limousine waited, proudly flying the flag of Xanthal. A Praetorian Guard marked Police Car in front of it and behind the Guard SUV behind the limousine. The escort waited to take them into the capital.

Once the introductions were over, Aelus and the Lieutenant would lead them to the vehicle where the latest edition of The Imperial Gazette waited. As they progressed into the capital, Aelus would offer the Xanthalians drinks, including a bottle of Imperial Drako Vineyards best wine of the year 1562 A.D. also from the personal stash of the Praetor, and provide a tour much as Gaia Calpurnia had for the Aelosians and Aetius Cispius had for the Glorious Humans.

There were actually very few Golans outside the Imperium and even fewer outside Tersanctus, though a thorough search would turn up a few in the Federated Klatchian Coast. Most had arrived well before the incident that had prompted Drakonia to declare war on Klatch. Most also would turn away those looking for them saying that the rebellion was over or that they had no involvement with it. They would then make a quick exit before anyone tried to convince them otherwise.

However, in a dark pub in Port Olympus there was a rather unsavory figure. He was as tall most Dyelli Beybians, or rather as short, and had dark tanned skin. Stockily built, he had thick solid muscles that would remind people of tree trunks. His face looked pleasantly like someone had run him over with piece of industrial equipment in both its craggy appearance and the look of emotion it conveyed.

When asked after this short rough character would call over, looking like he was ready to pound someone in the bar. "What do y'want?"

Dysaryn nodded slowly, "Yes, yes, the palace would be quite fine."

He allowed himself to be ushered into the limousine, looking quite regal and proper, and if his left hand never strayed terrifically far from his hip, so what? He was a Prince. Of course, those who knew him knew that the hand-at-the-hip thing was actually a good sign. If he'd have been worried, he wouldn't have been doing anything offensive at all...and it wouldn't have slowed his draw in the slightest. As it was, his hand was more there to hide his pistol from view than anything else -- he hadn't been expecting a public appearance and thus hadn't bothered with a shoulder holster, thus the pistol was still in its usual place...

Once within the limousine, he waited a few moments until his aides and the last Swordsworn 'guard' were seated, then nodded at Katie Salray, who looked about the limousine for a moments, then nodded -- hard to guess that the interior had just been exhaustively swept for bugs, and in the 'quick' manner, in which destruction immediately followed detection.

That done, Dysaryn let his eyes go blank as he received a data dump from the local Revenian embassy -- the others received the electronic equivalent of a brief from the same source, but Dysaryn was...different. He got the whole, exhaustive thing, and the unfocused, vacant gaze was more an affectation to let others know not to disturb him than a necessity...because his implants and his mind could handle the mass of information...

Maybe a minute later he shook himself out of his pseudo-trance and nodded sharply.

"Lot going on, lately..."

Which was about all he was going to volunteer without prompting for the moment.

The Golan Heights International Airport barely qualified as anything more than a backwater plane stop, however in the last ten years both the Drakonia government and private corporations had invested money into making it an operable International-class Airport. The improvements had greatly benefited the regional capital and had proven to be necessary with the amount of trade passing through the region.

Matthew Messienus was not unused to such airports, however. In fact, when you worked for the people he did, you became accustom to such facilities and indeed many in much worse condition. As he stepped from the baggage claim area and out into the Caribbean humidity he felt confident in the business he would be conducting in Shinzo Golanus.

The criminal was well dressed compared to most in the airport, excepting some of the business traffic. He wore a black dress suit over a red button-up dress shirt and black tie, all very expensive. In one hand he held a briefcase and in the other his suitcase.

"Matthew," someone called as a large short man walk quickly up to him. The man was dress light in a loose and pale button-up shirt and light tan slacks. His tanned face had a large black mustache that almost matched his combed black hair.

"Talik Karas," Messienus greeted back, pleasantly. "It is good to see you again."

A rough looking man accepted Messienus' luggage as the two man spoke. "Yes, and you. I hope your trip was uneventful," Talik Karas said back. Karas was the leader of the Karas Tribe and perhaps the only major resistance leader not to have been arrested or killed during the rebellion. He was also probably also the only leader of an organized criminal organization anywhere on mainland Drakonia.

Messienus followed Karas and his men to their transportation, an old beat up Land Rover. "Has there been any word after my offer," he asked.

"Some," Karas replied. "I put the word out as soon as I received your message. Had a few interested since then, nothing too serious as there are not very many international professional hitman that dare come here. There was one man however, said he represented a small team. I left message with them to come back today."

"Good." Messienus looked satisfied. "I put word out among the safer circles before coming here. So we should have more than enough help, when we need it."

They traveled to a compound in one of the more dangerous neighborhoods, perched on the foothills that bordered the city. The compound was well secured and guarded, but in a casual way so to not draw too much unwanted attention. It would be here that those interested in work were to come for their interviews.

Once the Revenians were all settled into the limousine (and the SUV providing there was not enough seating), the convoy left the airport following the same route as the last three diplomatic convoys eastward toward the capital proper. Diana Minerva was glad everything went without incident such was not always the case. The last time she had met Prince Dysaryn Stark a gun had been thrust in her face when she had arrived at his hotel suite.

While Crown Prince was in his trance, the Director of the Drakonian Diplomatic Corps. was quickly reviewing all the preparation she had made to receive the Revenians. She had contacted the Palace and made sure they were aware of the new arrivals arranged for transportation. She realized need to assign a liaison if Dysaryn wished to remain in Drakonia for the period of the other diplomatic visits. She ran her mind over the possibilities. Then a thought struck her, she was not sure if she had told the Praetor that Dysaryn was coming. She hoped she had.

At the Crown Prince's comment Diana returned her attention to the moment. "Yes, quite a lot," she confided. "Just this morning representatives from Aelosia and Xanthal arrived for their first visit here in the Imperium. There was also a Glorious Human delegation. And they are all staying in the Palace."

There were actually very few Golans outside the Imperium and even fewer outside Tersanctus, though a thorough search would turn up a few in the Federated Klatchian Coast. Most had arrived well before the incident that had prompted Drakonia to declare war on Klatch. Most also would turn away those looking for them saying that the rebellion was over or that they had no involvement with it. They would then make a quick exit before anyone tried to convince them otherwise.

However, in a dark pub in Port Olympus there was a rather unsavory figure. He was as tall most Dyelli Beybians, or rather as short, and had dark tanned skin. Stockily built, he had thick solid muscles that would remind people of tree trunks. His face looked pleasantly like someone had run him over with piece of industrial equipment in both its craggy appearance and the look of emotion it conveyed.

When asked after this short rough character would call over, looking like he was ready to pound someone in the bar. "What do y'want?"

OOC: Please excuse my Godmod. I wanted to speed things up a little and also get a feel for just how ruthless the Dyellian Secret Service is. If you don't like it just let me know and I'll redo it.


The man who sat down opposite was a fairly typical Dyellian, salt and pepper hair and fine, slightly effeminate features. He sqeezed the bridge of his nose, screwing his eyes shut as if experiencing an exquisite headache, "You people are very hard to track down. I want a lot of things, but right now I want you."

There was something shifty about the Dyellian, "May I buy you a drink?" he offered.

A fraction of a second later there was a click from somewhere behind the man, then blinding pain as the unknown assailant pumped 50,000 volts of electricity through him.

The man at the table was standing up now, holding a police badge, "Klatchian National Gendarmerie, this man is being aprehended in accordance with the Counter Terrorism Act, please remain calm."

Someone stepped forward, the man would get a glimpse of a dark skinned Benjian with a needle, (perhaps it was the man who had tasered him?). The man knelt on his chest, stabbing the needle into shoulder muscle with careful deliberation. "Goodnight Mr."

----------

... He would awake in a cell. He was sitting, movement would reveal the Dyellians had chained him quite thoroughly to the chair which seemed to have been set into the concrete of the floor.

"First of all..." came a sophisticated male voice from the darkness, the accent was the pseudo-Irish one that immediately picked the speaker as Dyellian. As the man's vision began to adjust he would see first a desk, then the vague outline of someone wearing a peaked cap sitting behind it, "... I must apologise for how we brought you here. We are friends to the cause of Golan Independence, although you people are very hard to track down Mr...?"

He wanted a name there, although didn't waste time if one wasn't supplied, "Secondly what we have done to you is of course highly illegal and likely to land me in hot water if it ever gets out. So if I think you're going to reveal me I'll kill you. If you give me answers which are untrue, I'll break all your fingers and toes until you tell me the true ones, then I'll kill you. If you give me answers I don't like I'll also kill you, and yes I acknowledge the underlying flaw in my logic, what can I say, violence makes me happy. And if I don't like you I'll kill you just for the satisfaction."

There was a pause, fingers drummed on the table, slightly muffled, the man was wearing gloves, "You may call me Commisaar David, although David is not my real name just in case you think you have 'one over me'. Now are you or are you not from or affiliated to the Golan Liberation Army? If so, would you like 1 million Kronors, that's $12 million US in hard currency, access to a 'no questions' small arms market, and 'Contactor' to train your troops in tactics and the correct utilisation of the weapons the market we are refering to is offering to sell you at a very reasonable price?"

"If you are thinking of refusing on grounds of our behaviour towards you." the man added almost as an afterthought, "I ask you to think of it as evidence of what useful friends we will make to you."

Lancaster considered Cispius' question about Bauman. "Stronger than the Progressives would prefer, that's certain, she said. "He is a very charismatic leader."

"He's also an idiot," Thomas Pierce's voice drifted out from behind the section of the newspaper he was perusing, then the young diplomat folded up his section of paper and set it aside, joining the conversation. "He's out of touch with reality."

"Actually, Thomas, he is very intelligent," Lancaster disagreed. "He truly believes that Glorious Humanity's interests will be better served by relying only on humans in our dealings. He has plenty of cases to cite too, if you listen to what he says."

"Which I don't," Pierce replied.

"Very shortsighted of you," Lancaster chided gently. "A good diplomat stays on top of political situations. They're going to influence what negotiations you may be involved in next." She looked back at Cispius. "Whether you agree with his policies or not - and before you get any ideas, I don't - Bauman could make a good run for the Presidency. He appeals to an older block of people, those old enough to remember the time before all of President Albert's policies."

"If you're not a conservative," Pierce asked her. "What are you?"

"Not a very polite question to ask, you know," Lancaster chided again. "I suppose I left myself open to it though, and there's no real harm in saying. I am unaffiliated with any idealogical camps, but I suppose if I had to come down in one, I would support the neutral viewpoint. I think you are correct, in that Bauman is not in touch with reality. He fails to realize that if we are to be an interstellar power, we are going to have to do a great deal of negotiation and trade with nonhuman races. He and his supporters are the remains of the old guard, the people who were comfortable in isolationism and are scared of change. He fails to see the future."

"Now you sound progressive," Pierce commented.

"Progressives are too far the other way," Lancaster continued. "They want everything to happen too quickly, and fail to see that changing a culture takes time. They want us to be a great space power, they want equal citizenship for all, and they want it all to happen in the next week. Which is impossible."

"Depends on how much you work on it," Pierce countered.

"It is impossible," Lancaster said. "Certainly, legislation could be passed, official changes made, but culturally we would still be the same, which means new laws would face opposition. You cannot force people to change overnight. Think how long it took Mason to get society to accept his teachings. Years, almost a generation. Such is the nature of major cultural changes."

Pierce shrugged, then looked over at Cispius, realizing that they had left the Drakonian out of the conversation. "Oh, heh, our apologies. We're an opinionated bunch."

Lancaster chuckled softly, also turning her attention back to Cispius. "Yes, my apologies. Though I hope our discussion was enlightening to you."

The politics over, Pierce now looked out the window, taking in the sights. While Lancaster had been here before, as had Pierce Sr., this was the younger Pierce's first trip to Drako Throne.

The heat only seemed to intensify as the muggy sky loomed off in the distance. Gerard wiped several beads of sweat from his brow and moved away from the window, there was no breeze. He was used to such extreme temperatures, as well as extreme lows. It didn't bother him much, but preferred not to have to endure it unless needed. Gerard recently set down his phone after talking with a man named "Karas". The Cardinal heard The Heralder, which was Gerard's nickname. He always thought of it has funny. His codename had a nickname.

"What is it, Gerard?" Felix inquired from the kitchen table. He was cleaning a pistol, scrubbing the inside f the barrel.

"We were heard. I must go to a compound in the city today." Gerard replied.

"Where is it?" Felix set down the barrel and inspected the spring.

"I cannot tell anyone, these things are most secret. I will leave shortly, these are equally skilled and dangerous men we are dealing with, no tricks." he emphasized.

"I understand." Felix reluctantly said as he wiped his forehead.

Gerard walked into the small bedroom to retrieve some items. He changed his shirt which was now soaked with sweat. He loaded a small revolver and placed it on an ankle holster. After which he left the apartment without saying anything to Felix who continued to work. They had a small car parked a block down and Gerard got in and drove to the location...

"Likewise, Mister Spurius," Reynold replies with that ever-present smile, shaking his hand. "I bring greetings on behalf of the Triumvirate and the Federation." He looks amused as the anthem kicks in. He's never much cared for ceremony and protocol. It's always easier to get things done when he doesn't have to worry about procedure. Still, he's not so rude as to object; they obviously mean well.

Wright nods politely as Aelus explains his function. He can't quite decide whether it would be appropriate to shake the guard's hand, but in his typical style airs on the side of boldness and does so anyway. "Thank you for your service today, Lieutenant."

Spreading his arms, the Trasnian tries out a joke to loosen the mood. "Such an eleborate reception, and here I am in this old, loose uniform. I suppose I'd best get in the car before anyone else sees me and thinks Xanthal is a nation of slouches!" Following their lead, Reynold climbs into the limousine.

Dysaryn nodded offhandedly in response to Diana's comments -- as she mentioned the delegations, his implants' intel subsystems had supplied him with the information available on said delegations, much of it acquired 'on the fly,' as it were -- significance having been achieved by their arrival in country...but. But Drakonia was one of Revenia's oldest allies, and Derallia itself was only a short flight away, so it was rather unsurprising that the Directorate had a significant presence within the nation.

Which meant that the information wasn't at all scant. It also wasn't terrifically exciting reading, nor important -- he wasn't a diplomat, thus he wasn't expected to be diplomatic. The disembarkment was an example of that: true, it was good training for the Swordsworn cadets, but it was also reinforcement of a constructed image: Revenians were militaristic, uncouth, harsh...

The cadets had had the faceplates of their commo helmets down to hide the fact that they were all grinning like fools. Dysaryn was far too good an actor to let emotions get in his way, which wasn't so great for his mental stability but was, nonetheless, a useful tool.

It was about then that Karl leaned forward and murmured something into Dysaryn's ear. Dys' eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then he nodded sharply, which got a nod from Karl. So much said with so little done...

As the convoys descended down off the bridge they were met by a mighty monumental archway,* its marble facing sparkling white in the late morning sunlight. One great triumphal arch spanning the highway, was mimicked by two flanking much smaller, yet still impressive, arches which allowed pedestrian access to the city. The white arch is built into red stone walls, providing a stark contrast in not just color but also design. Statues of ancient warriors were sculpted into the gateway, barely clothed they held great oval shields and spears or short swords and seemed to be forming a last line of defense at the city's entrance. Atop the monumental structure a statue-like head of a dragon and its two front paws look down upon those daring to pass under the statues and through the entryway. Further relieves and statues visible to the keen eye depicted other mythical creatures such as griffons, centaur, and great eagles, as well as humans and many wild animals. An inscription on the gate read:

Dedicated to those who gave their lives, at Centaurus, at Caesaria, at
Alexos, and especially here at Throne Hill, so that Drakonia might know
peace and safety, and so that it might be possible to united to form this
Grand Dominion, the Drakonian Imperium, and that it might rise to eclipse
the very sun itself, lasting for millennia.

Completed in the twelfth year of the Imperium, and in the reign of the
first Praetor of the Imperium, Thomas Drake, and Queen of the Imperium
and Trinidad, Jolené Sutherland.

And then they passed into the city and the highway became a great colonnaded street. Ancient stone columns lining the great Imperial highway as it stretched onward to the city's core. And beyond those delicately carved columns on either side of the highway was the city, a glory of color. Vibrant green foliage marked the well-kept landscaping, alongside the ancient gray ashlar-faced stone buildings thousands of years old, which in turn stood beside the red brick buildings only centuries old showing the heights of the Imperial Era, and all shown back in the vivid palate of the reflexive glass and steel of the city's modern constructions. The many colors matched by changing styles of architecture, influences of the ancient Greco-Roman traditions, the Victorian European traditions, and the modern Western traditions, all melded together by nature's own tradition.

Meanwhile, in the Aelosian-flagged limousine Gaia Calpurnia attempts to answer, to the best of her ability, the barrage of questions that Aveline is asking. She cannot help but admire the youthful curiosity of her guest.

"Jurisdictional Problems are quite rare, especially with our current monarchs. They have a rare close relationship," Gaia explained, adding, “Our current Queen also holds the title of Queen of Trinidad, a Realm of the Imperium. The title predates the Imperium as it was the matriarchal Queendom of Trinidad that helped form the Imperium when their Queen married the Praetor of Drakonia creating the first monarchy."

Her eyes trailed down to the shining blue river. "As I understand it, occasionally sapphires do come down the river from the Golanus Mountains." She looked across the river to the Fort. "It is kept as both a museum and as a headquarters for the Praetorian Guard, the city's defenders. Her ancient cannon are even kept in working order and are still fired during celebrations and on holidays.

"It is said," she continued, working to answer several more questions. "That humans were first brought to this continent by Dragons and that the Dragons helped them build the first civilization here. The Dragons blessed some of the humans with Dragon blood in their veins and they were called the Draconigena, the Dragon-born. The Dragons left the land to their human heirs, their legacy living on in the blood of their descendents. Drakonia, land of Dragons, is said to be a derivation of Draconigena.

"The bombings and riots were long before I was born," she continued her history lesson. "Nearly six decades ago the Imperium was for the first time weakened by internal strife to the point of civil war. There was a power struggle. It pitted the Praetor John Drake and his brother, William, against each other. When his brother was killed by an angry mob, William became Praetor and was able to restore order.

"But the nation was weakened, and our neighbor to the west, the Sanctus Empire invaded. They nearly destroyed the Imperium. Never before had the capital been threatened, yet it was bombed and shelled and nearly lost. The Imperium would have been destroyed, if the oppressive Sanctus Empire had not been overthrown by its people. A peace was established between the new nation, the Republic of Tersanctus. Drakonia and Tersanctus became close allies as they worked together to rebuild each other.

"It was a trying time in our history," Gaia concluded. "But the benefit of having our oldest rivals as our greatest allies allowed our nations to flourish and has been well worth price."

As they passed deeper into the city, Gaia confirmed. "I am sure you could live wherever you wished. Although, a home here in the Old City would be the most convenient location for a diplomat to live."

The young blond Drakonian representative nodded at the comment about jewelry. She wore only two small jeweled studs in her ears, as wearing something too bold or too gaudy would be inappropriate for diplomatic affairs. "I enjoy wearing jewelry when the occasion warrants it." She flashed a warm smiled.

The limousines passed deeper into the city, the view changing as they moved toward it center. Now the landmarks they had seen from the bridge seemed to rise in the distance on all sides of them. To the north, the spires of modern commerce rose, skyscrapers. To the south, they would see the great dome of the Grand Capitol Building and it tall halls on either side of the central building below the dome, it was a massive and impressive building. If they were to look ahead to the south they would see the hotel Unity rising, another great glass building towering over the trees and other smaller building of the inner city. And onward toward the north a new landmark rose up in the distance. It looked like a squat ziggurat or step pyramid with plants of all kinds and colors overflowing its structure. If anyone asked after this building they would be informed that it was the Hanging Gardens of Drakonia, an ancient wonder of the Imperium.

In the limousine transporting the Glorious Humans, Aetius Cispius listened intently to the political conversation. "No need for apologies, I did find it quite enlightening. I like to keep abreast of politics here and abroad even if it is not my job anymore."

He followed Thomas' gaze outside the vehicle. "How impolite of me." He switched back to a glorified tour guide. "If there are any landmarks you have any questions about, please do ask, the city has quite the history."

By this time the first limousines and their escort had reached the heart of the city. A massive roundabout intersection lay at the city's core, surrounding and surrounded by parks and gardens. It was here where the Imperial Highway traveling east and west, met the Royal Highway traveling north and south, dividing the Old City into its four quadrants**. Here that the great parades and carnivals met on their jaunts throughout the ancient city.

By now the limousine carry the Xanthalian Representative had begun to catch up to the others. Aelus Spurius had not neglected his responsibilities and had provided Reynold Wright with a detailed tour of the major landmarks they passed, much the same as the one given to the Glorious Humans and Aelosians.

Their limousine turned northeasterly onto the roundabout as it arrived and they soon found themselves, as had the others before them, crossing the Royal Highway. It was here that they entered the northeastern quarter of the city, the Praetorian Section. At the middle point of that part of the roundabout they turned off into an area marked by landscaped trees standing as sentinels before a tall stone fence, topped with jet black iron bars. At the gate was a guard station, manned by the Praetorian Guard, where, the escorts left them. The presence of security was clear; each limousine was stopped briefly and then cleared through the gate by the Praetorian Guardsmen.

Inside, they entered the Grand Praetorian Palace grounds. These shared the natural beauty and order of the city. Gardens and flowerbeds provided an array of natural greens and bright flowers of all shades. Kept a vibrant radiant green by the tropical climate, the gardens were luxurious. Grass, tree, and flower all flowed together as one organism incorporated with flowing tracks of waters and the studious care of a company of professional gardeners. The area was clearly cared for as closely, if not better than, the rest of the city. There was however, also the muted presence of security on the grounds. Visible to the sharpest eye were security cameras and fully armed Praetorian Guardsmen.

As the vehicles sped onward, they finally approach the Grand Praetorian Palace, and were greeted by a grand old building. It was large, soaring three stories in the sky, made up of galleries of great tall windows, with a fourth story tucked back into the central design. It stood apparent from the rest of the grounds through it dominant colors, gold leaf marked the intricately hand carved features of the building and royal purple was also visible alongside obsidian black and scarlet red. The Palace had a personal elegance to it, afforded by its years under the Imperialistic Drakonian Monarchy. It was a simple of achievement and pride to the Drakonian people and the artistry was clear in the detailed elements of its construction.

There were two visible wings on either side of the main structure each connected to the main front of the building by a short thin annex. At each of the far outer corners of these wings there was minaret, of sorts; a tower-like structure build into the two upper levels, just above the ground floor. And all orderly along the floors of this massive, ornate, and breathtaking building were great tall windows, which stood easily higher then a man and had amazing had carved frames.

And there they turned and drove into a wide circular drive, which surrounded a smaller garden, with a great sparkling fountain as its centerpiece. They were at the entrance. At the center of the towering building stood a great entrance portico, with tall towering columned pillars holding up an ornate arched canopy. And it all stood in front of two tall great door opening into the Palace itself. There were as well on either sides of this entryway, two short sets of stairs that slipped down to the below ground-level floors.

The building was an impressively large example of the Age of Imperialism. Styled like the mighty European palaces, it possessed intricate carvings and vibrant colors. The architecture of an time when empires were the unchallenged height of human achievement could be seen in the Palace. A mighty and old nation had built this as a testament to its people and power, to house those who guided and ruled it.

Praetorian Guards were scattered about in an orderly fashion, all in full-dress ceremonial uniforms and all fully armed with the classic short swords and bayoneted rifles and a grouping of figures stood waiting to greet the diplomats as the limousines came to a halt lining up on in front of the great building. Predominant in the group was a man and a woman. The man stood straight and tall, and was dressed in a crimson silk dress shirt and black slacks. His tanned face a mask of formality. The woman was dressed in a simple, yet elegant, violet dress that set off her ebony skin and features.

As the diplomats and their escort departed their transports, Aetius Cispius realized Diana had yet to arrive. "May I present," he said, stepping forward and taking on the role as senior diplomat. "Their Imperial and Royal Majesties, Praetor Augustus Drake and Queen Jolené Sutherland."

The man, Augustus Drake, stepped forward. His eyes immediately electrically drew a person into his face, they were a vibrant purple. Even though he was middle age, he still looked young. Yet, his face seemed prematurely aged; there was a hidden sorrow there. The stress of leadership and responsibility hid behind a smiling greeting. "Hello and welcome to our home. I hope your trips were all uneventful."

Turning to the Aelosian Representative, he added. "Miss Aveline Paelisi, may I say that it is a pleasure to meet you. I know how much your people value their youth and if you will pardon me asking, I would be greatly honored to treat you as a daughter of Drakonia."

Standing near him, the woman flinched almost imperceptibly at the word: "daughter." She understood the subtle request he made. Though, her unease was not in regard to the Aelosian however, who she greeted genuinely. Some painful memory was hidden within the Queen and behind her rich amber eyes.

"Welcome Miss Paelisi," she said. "It is indeed an honor to have you with us." The woman was only slightly younger than the Praetor and still an elegant exotic beauty appearing as like one of the queens of ancient Africa.

She turned to the Glorious Humans. "Miss Lancaster, welcome to our home, again. I am glad that you will be able to enjoy our hospitality at a time where we are not beset by crisis." She eyed the young Pierce, favoring him with a knowing smile. "And this must be Mr. Thomas Pierce. I have heard much about your diplomatic career."

"Greetings and welcome." Augustus met the Glorious Humans, moving down to the last limousine to arrive. "Mr. Reynold Wright, it is an honor to have you as our guest. I look forward to showing you the Imperium. In the hope that someday, your people might show the same honor to mine as we join you in exploring the stars."

His wife followed greeting the Xanthalian Representative as Augustus addressed the group. "Please, come partake of our hospitality. My chamberlain," he introduced an older pale man with white hair and a professional manner. "Mr. Appius Sergius will see you to your rooms, where you can freshen up after your journeys." He looked past the group to the fourth limousine now arriving, it flew the Revenian Flag. "We can meet in the Griffon Room for a light lunch in an hour and discuss the day's plans. In the meantime you will have to excuse me; I have a matter to attend to. Thank you all for coming." And with that he marched out to the Revenian Limousine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you will follow me." The Chamberlain and Queen led the way in through the towering double doors to the Palace, nearly fifteen feet in height, while the Palace’s Staff rushed to gather their luggage.

They entered a large antechamber, its floors a smooth white marble, a purple-black dragon design was laid out in a circular pattern with darker marble. At the back of the room twin staircase curved up and away from each other to a second level gallery that split off into hallways that ran both to the east and west wings of palace. Another set of double doors on the ground floor opened back into another antechamber, while doors along the west and east walls guarded further rooms of the Palace.

The Chamberlain led the way up the staircase along the left/west wall and into a hallway to the west wing of the Palace, while the Drakonian Diplomats shared information about the Palace's history. "The Grand Praetorian Palace was built in 1172 A.D. during the Pax Drakana, a period of long peace and a golden age in Drakonian history. The Palace was built by Queen Lyanda Sutherland, following her father, Praetor Veranus' plans. It was constructed to fulfill the needs of the time and to replace the smaller ancient Dragon Palace, which is now a historical museum, dedicated to the early monarchy. The Palace has undergone extensive remodeling and changes throughout the centuries, including the recent incorporation of modern technology unobtrusively into the building."

They continued walking for a while, until they turned off onto another passageway and were presented with a row of suites. Each were large, including a number of rooms with large windows and a view of the gardens and the some of the city and the river valley beyond. They were luxuriously apportioned, paintings and ancient statues served as decoration and the furniture was old and plush, yet in excellent condition, finely stranded, it all shown of the best hand craftsmanship that would have been available at the height of the Imperial Age. The Drakonian Diplomats and Praetorian Guard Escorts each remained in the lobby of the suites to see to their charges needs.

__________________

* Monumental Structures (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monument) and Triumphal Archs (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triumphal_arch)
** Map of Drako Throne (http://www.freewebs.com/unitedemirates/Drako%20Throne%20Map%20-%20City%20Map.PNG), Capital of the Drakonian Imperium, depicting the city and its major landmarks.

Meanwhile, Diana Minerva had lapsed into silence. In the Revenian-flagged Limousine, Dysaryn Stark and his companions did not seem to be in talkative moods. And Diana supposed neither was she. It had been a hectic morning and a quiet drive through the capital was nice. Beside there would be plenty of talking to do throughout the rest of the day. But for the interim she enjoyed the silence.

As their limousine pulled up to the Grand Praetorian Palace, she began to wonder what had prompted the Revenian visit. She was surprised the question had not occurred to her sooner, no doubt, a byproduct of the busy morning preparations and meetings.

The limousine parked behind the three others still waiting outside, as the diplomat prepared to head inside, attendants rushed to gather their luggage. Praetor Augustus Drake finished saying something and then headed to meet them.

"It has been too long, Dysaryn," he welcomed, as they exited the vehicle. "It is an unexpected surprise to see you. To what do I owe the honor?"

Dysaryn grinned in that disarming manner of his, the most pleasant expression of which he was honestly capable, but there was indeed the very slightest amount of bounce in his step as he went to greet Augustus -- it had been a long time, by the Praetor's standards, and by Dysaryn's standards -- time didn't pass differently for Ascended. It just didn't stop passing, was all.

Because it was apparently the thing to do, he offered Augustus his right hand, because that was custom, and because he hadn't gotten over a certain amount of shyness about his prosthetic left hand in the...many...years that had passed between when he'd lost the hand and the present time, and it was thus unlikely he would ever get over it.

"It has been a while, Augustus, and it is very good to see you. As for why I'm here...I was in the neighborhood. My new position, or, rather, the lack thereof, allows me the freedom to indulge my whims. Of course, I don't mean to impose..."

Which was much more than the nicety that it sounded. His reasons for being in Drakonia were his own, and entirely different from what his aides thought. He seldom bothered to explain himself -- people would assume what they assumed, and the only thing he could do about it was kill them, which would only end with a sore sword arm and a lot of bodies to get rid of.

The truth was entangled in a web of complexities that could only exist in the mind of a truly ancient being, which Dysaryn was by just about anyone's standards...though he looked, by human standards, to be in his early thirties at most.

Which didn't mean he was lying, he wasn't. Everything he'd said was entirely true. He just hadn't said much of anything, was all. Very diplomatic of him, but explaining that his presence in Drakonia was as much a result of actions he'd taken half-way across the galaxy, long before Augustus Drake had been born, long before Drakonia was a nation, long before humanity was a significant force on the third planet of the Sol system...as it was of anything...wasn't doing anyone any favors, in the long run.

The long run, of course, was all that really mattered.

Wright takes a brief tour of his suite, taking the opportunity to use the bathroom before returning to the lobby. "Wow, what a place!" He exclaims. "I gotta tell you, it feels good to have some space. There's just something liberating about being on a planet. Really though, all this..." he gestures around the room. "Surely there's someone more deserving than I?"

TRADE INCENTIVES FOR GHOLGOTH

DRAKO THRONE, Drakonia - Senators were recalled from the campaign trail today when Senator Valentinian Flavius of Drakonia introduced a measure to give trade incentives to Gholgoth-based corporations doing business in the Imperium.

The controversial bill, designed to encourage trade from nations of Gholgoth and boost the ailing economy, would offer encouragement by lifting restrictions and providing subsidies for a limited time.

Despite supporting laissez-faire free trade policies, the Greater Drakonian Economy finds itself limited in the amount of foreign trade it receives. Many attribute that as the primary factor behind economic decline the Imperium is experiencing.

Still the bill is seen as a political maneuver by Senate Speaker Flavius who finds himself beleaguered by criticism over his lack of strong economic policies and lack of action to bring about economic reform in the Senate.

Copyright © 2007 The Imperial Gazette Publications

"Hello and welcome to this edition of Politic Drakonia," says a respectable looking middle age man, well-groomed with tanned skin and short black hair. "I am your host, Samir Hameed, and today I have with me here as guest former General and current Senatorial Candidate for the Realm of Drakonia, Martin Lucius." He gestures to a man sitting next to him.

"Thank you, Mr. Hameed." Martin Lucius is a distinguish gentlemen, looking to be in his late forties. His hair is short brown and salted with white. His manner is reserved, appearing as one would expect from a disciplined military man. Yet, there is a certain friendly charisma to him. His face is rugged, tanned, and looks as if this man has seen ages, heartache, and great triumphs.

"Now, Mr. Lucius." Samir starts the interview. "You have a long record of service of your country. You served as an officer in the Oregian Colonial Militia before Oregius became a Realm of the Imperium and afterwards you served in the Imperial Drakonian Armed Forces, achieving the rank of General. Could you tell our audience why you have chosen to run for a political office?"

"It would be my honor," Lucius replies, smiling in a friendly fashion. "It is really because of my wife. When she died in the Nuclear Attack on Eugene/Springfield, we had been married for almost twenty years. The mismanagement of our peace negotiations and the resulting lack of a resolution of the situation with the Federated Klatchian Coast greatly upset many of the victims of the Dyelli Beybian Tzar's violence. Rather than being embittered by my grief and anger, I felt compelled to follow my duty and serve my nation by running for Senate. It seemed to me that as the conflict is not truly violent that I could better serve through the Senate and Civilian Office, than to continue the mundane responsibilities of my military post."

"You have lived much of your life in Oregius," Samir continues after a moments pause. "Why not run for Senate there rather than Drakonia?"

"Well, when I joined the Drakonian Military," Lucius promptly informs. "I was assigned to a posting in city of Veii. Besides my service in East Turkestan that is where I have spent almost my entire Drakonian military career. It bacome a home for my wife and myself, and as such I elected to run for office for my adopted home."

"You speak of your wife," Samir prompts politely. "She had a strong influence on your decision to run for office?"

"Very much so." Lucius smile is riddled with memory. If the subtly of his face is any indication there is hidden pain in her loss. "She believed very strongly in Oregius' return to the Imperium and it was because of her I decided to continue my military service in Drakonia. She is…was my inspiration."

"On to more political matter," the host continues. "You have made some serious allegations against the current government. Can you elaborate on your economic positions?"

"Well, it is quite simply." Martin Lucius face is set. This is something he is prepared for, and he is more than ready to offer his opinions in this area. "I blame the Praetor and current Senate for our economic problems. And, also for our international problems, I do not believe the Senate has done enough to protect the average Drakonian from the dangers of the world market. And the nation is facing a serious and lasting economic crisis because of it."

Samir nodded thoughtfully, whatever his views he remained a polite host.

"We must protect our businesses so that we can protect the jobs of the average citizen," Lucius continues with conviction strong. "In Shinzo Golanus up to nearly five percent of the population is unemployed; in Oregius it is nearly three percent and Drakonia is rushing to follow. These unemployment rates and their continuing rise is unacceptable. We must do whatever we can to counteract them and it is my opinion that unless we protect our economy rather than making it vulnerable to nuances of the international market, we are facing something even more severe than our current economic slump. The current government espouses increased trade and economic freedom, but I believe those policies will only lead to a total economic collapse. We face the total collapse of our civilization and unless we act to protect our economy and our people thing can only get worse. Through protection and support of local businesses we can reinforce our economy and rebuilt our economic stability."

He paused. "That is my stand on the economy."

"I told you!" Joran Kazei was irate and tired of being played. He was not a pawn. "You want me to go undercover? Then you had better tell me what this is really about."

Marcus Pontius was a bureaucrat, but that did not mean he liked getting pushed around by a field agent. "I can't tell you what I don't know!"

"And I can't do my job, if I don't know," Joran stated plainly, ending with an ultimatum. "And I won't."

The bureaucrat frowned. Joran blinked, relenting, but not giving much ground. "We know who he is in contact with. We can grab him right now. There is no need for undercover work."

Pontius sighed, looked to his office window and the closed Venetian blinds blocking it. Yellow light slipped past them. "Messenius is important, but there is more to this mission than just him." He paused collecting his thoughts.

Joran did not wait. His mind had already been working ahead; trying to fill in the gaps in the information he had been given. "He is just the tip of the iceberg, the part out of the water that we can see?"

"More than that," the older man replied. "He is the link. Between the Cartel and whoever he is involved with here, in Drakonia. To take him, we need to know that the link is destroyed."

Now it was Joran turn to sigh. "And I'm supposed to find out just how far that chain runs."

"Pretty much," Pontius confirmed.

For a long moment, Joran considered his options. There was still more to this, he knew that. But whatever else that was going on, Pontius did not appear to know about it. The only why to find out exactly what was happening, seemed to be the thing he least wanted to do: stay in Shinzo Golanus.

The young man looked up. "How?"

The rough looking Golan looked none to happy at where he found himself. And the look he sent the Commisaar was nothing but hatred. "You're a bastard, y'know that," he slurred angrily.

For a long moment he just stared, hatred burning in his eyes. "I can tell y'what y'want to know," he said finally.

After all, this was how affairs were often handled in Klatch with intimidation and manipulation. He knew the methods well. He had been living here long enough to learn his way around the backdoor politics of the region. However, that did not mean he would kill the Commisaar without a second thought, if he happened upon him in a dark alley.

"There is a man in Knootoss..."

"Why thank you, I do rather pride myself on that quality." the Commisaar seemed genuinely amused at being called a bastard.

As the room became clearer, the Golan would begin to see a long aquiline face, "This man in Knootoss?" he prompted, paused then added, "By the way I assume you will be speaking to this man from Knootoss to assure him of our seriousness and trustworthiness."

There was a certain hint in the Commisaar's tone...

OOC: Bump. Unless I'm mistaken, I'm still awaiting a reply.

Aveline Paelisi heard with all her attention to the asnwers of Gaia Calpurnia during the ride, not unlike a human child would hear an interesting class by a charismatic teacher, perhaps for Gaia it was clear that the minds of young elves like Aveline were too similar to the ones of human kids, even although their lives were measured in decades, and the development of their adult bodies was complete.

Before leaving the limousine, Aveline smiled broadly, and patted the leg of her companion with enthusiasm, directing some words at him. As he opened a small leather briefcase, the girl clapped several times with her hands, as waiting for something really funny to happen. After the military officer handled the teen diplomat a little black velvet bag, she gave it to Gaia Calpurnia, clapping her hands again afterwards. "If you like jewelry, you are going to like it. It's a mithril bauble, a simple thing of elven silver, but it is my gift to you, and I hope you like it, Mistress Gaia". Inside the bag was a delicate penchant shaped into the form of a rising drake, made of the most expensive and valuable metal of the elves, as the chain that came with it, the small dragon figure holding a small ruby between its mandibles.

A few minutes afterwards, when she met the drakonians rulers, Aveline bowed low, the amazing flexible capability of her young and fit elven body allowing her to bend her back to impressive standards. As faint and childish she was, Aveline still retained in no small measure the excellent emotional empathy of the elves, and the reaction of the Queen to the word daughter didn't go unnoticed to her. Pain, longing, grief?, she wondered, her mind racing to stay focused on her duties as diplomat.

"You honor me far beyond my status, Sire", she answered to the kind words of the Praetor, "I can ask no further, and the title of Daughter of Drakonia is one I'll bear proudly until I depart this existence, against all odds, because for me it is one of the highest rewards I could ever get".

Afterwards, when they entered the palace, she remained silent, just letting out a few "Ooohhs!" of awe after watching the marvelous architecture and design of the royal place, each one followed by the single gesture of placing the palm of her hand over her mouth, trying to respect protocol as best as she could. finally, alonside her only companion, she entered her suite, prepared to have some rest after such a busy day.

OOC: I'm going to stop monitoring this thread due to the host's inactivity. If things get moving again, TG or IM me.