NationStates Jolt Archive

Global biodiversity in today under threat from a variety of sources, largely stemming from human encroachment on traditional ranges and the widespread political strife of the modern world. Recognizing this, the government of the Iansislean Republic is proud to announce that, in co-ordination with the Beshonshire County Zoological Organization and Adien University, it will be hosting on DATE an international conference on conservation.

The Republic is well aware that many individual nations have implemented far-reaching programs within their own borders to protect vital herds of endangered animals. However, conservation is not something that a single country can by itself achieve. To truly ensure that our children grow up with the same rich natural world we ourselves enjoy, a sense of international co-operation must be fostered.

We therefore humbly invite the Nations of the World to our table at Beshon Court in the hopes that this beautiful world may still be preserved.

All those who accept the invitation are directed that their aeroflyers -- common Iansislean slang for what are known as aircraft in the more sane world -- may land at NFC St. Martin, a former Flying Corps base in rural Pentonshire north of the capital now used primarily to handle international flights. St. Martin was chosen not necessarily for its convenience, but also because it avoided seeing too much of industrial Ianapalis, whose coal factories darkened the sky and had stained the land for miles. Picturesque St. Martin, with its gently rolling green hills and ruler-straight tree lines, was a much better starting point, although those more astute conservationists would notice that the land had been deforested centuries ago to make room for the pleasant agrarian landscape with which they were presented.

From NFC St. Martin, delegates would be driven through St. Martin village itself and another six miles over bumpy, ill-maintained Shieldian rural roads to the rail station at Upper Penbridge. Their vehicles were mostly of local production -- Westertons and Dunheath-Littles, for the most part, with an occasional Republic Motors or Flynn thrown in -- but there were also a few foreign models, including Stockleys, Wychwoods, and one older Peacock. Those from more modern countries might find cause to decry the large, petrol-guzzling engines which seemed to be favored by Iansislean engineers. It seemed that the Shieldians were eager to talk the talk, but were still learning to walk the walk.

At Upper Penbridge, a sleepy town of some three thousand, the delegates would be put on board a train -- which now consumed some 30% less coal, thanks to the new more efficient boilers! Shieldians enthusiastic to look like real conservationists would exclaim -- and packed off towards Beshon Court, which lay near the town of Oakens on the border of Shadoran and the Javian Foothills. The line wound through largely rural counties of Pentonshire, Dorchet, Furthinghamshire, Evanpass, Fick, and Dileot with only the small city of Furthingham to remind them that they were in (what called itself) an industrialized country.

At last they would arrive at Oakens, a small town on the edge of the St. Richard National Forestry Reserve in northern Shadoran. The only hotel in the town, the Assembly’s Inn (the sign bore testimony to its hasty change from the King’s Inn after the Revolution), had been commandeered for the use of the conference. Its rather mundane interior decoration had been stripped and the bar, rooms, and lobby had been redressed with pictures of wild scenes from across the world. There was a prominent panoramic matte painting of an idealized east African setting, with dozens of species from tiny Tommies to massive elephants and white rhinoceros mingling in with lions and cheetahs. There were also more specific (and less romantic) photographs, of enormous herds of springbok in the Walmingtonian Cape Colonies to the great mono-horned Gallagan rhinoceros to a soaring California condor to a buck Père David’s deer in rut laying in the grass of the Beshonshire County Zoo. Not all the pictured animals were in real danger of extinction, but rather seemed to have been assembled to give a general idea of the areas which the conference proposed to conserve.

Also at the hotel, the attendees would be given a copy of the conference’s vague agenda and an opportunity to mingle with the other delegates. The Beshonshire County Zoo, a decent-sized traditional facility with some fame for breeding Père David’s deer some two miles out of town, was also available for visit.

First Conference on International Conservation
Beshon Court, Iansisle

Setting the Terms
--What is considered ‘endangered’?
--What environments are considered at particular risk?
--How can we establish accurate counts of animals in destabilized areas?
--Is the culling of endangered species overpopulated in a particular area ever a reasonable option?
Captive Breeding Programs
--Can we better co-ordinate the efforts of breeding zoos around the world through the creation of an international oversight board?
--Should critically endangered species be removed from the wild to facilitate breeding?
--What standards can be agreed upon for the protection and dignity of animals in captive breeding programs?
Protection in the Wild
--How can industrialized states ensure that the burden of conservation does not fall exclusively on developing nations?
--What can be done to prevent the economic situations that cause poaching?
--How can we incentivize conservation to include the help of hitherto uncooperative nations?
--What is a reasonable accommodation between the space needed by humans and the space needed by animals?







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((OOC: Basically, the majority of this post is to avoid the ‘Asking for clearance to land’ sort of posts. I’m really looking forward to this; as you might be able to tell, conservation is an OOC passion of mine. Don’t worry if your background’s not in zoology; most of our background is not in international politics either and we manage to stumble through that pretty well ;-). If you have anything else that you would like to discuss but is not on the agenda, please mention it! Any questions can be TGed to me. All I ask are please, no silly terrorist attacks or the like. Also, conservation is a situation that affects us all, so this is COMPLETELY open to all ideologies, technology levels, governmental structures, etc.

And, most of all, let’s have fun!

Cheers, Ian))

The Speaker stood.

"Senators, next on the agenda today is the First Conference on International Conservation, to be held in Iansisle. The Right Honourable Prime Minister Mr Alex Canning has asked me to add this to today's agenda. Arguing for attending is Senatorial Secretary for the Environment, Green Ad'ihan Senator Ms Julia Owens, and arguing against is Nationalist Party Senator Mr Jérôme Sauvé."

Sauvé, a member of the former rebel Grand Island Independence Front (which became the Nationalist Party after independence), walked up and gave his arguments. Typical, Julia Owens thought, bloody rebels set forests on fire! Obviously they could care less.

Sauvé finished speaking, and Julia looked around the chamber. She saw many faces of disgust, although the Nationalists all looked pretty happy. Applause was, as a courtesy, granted to Senator Sauvé, and Julia immediately made a mental note to introduce an internal bill dispensing with the mandatory applause after speeches.

The Speaker's voice woke her from her now deep burning disgust at Sauvé and the Nationalists. "Arguing for attending the conference is the Senatorial Secretary (Minister) for the Environment. Senator Owens, please."

Julia got up and limbered down the flight of stairs from her seat to the stand.

"Thank you. Mr Speaker of the Senate, Mr Prime Minister, fellow Senators," she began. "This party, Green Ad'ihan, has been in the governing coalition since the first elections in 2144. The Rt. Hon. Prime Minister, Mr Canning, has always been Chief Minister or Prime Minister in that time, and has pursued and continues to pursue his aim as the leader of Green Ad'ihan, to improve the quality of, and to protect, our environment.

"Our environment, of course, serves as a natural habitat for many ..."

Sauvé, in his seat, looked at Owens and sighed. He was actually for attending the conference, but when you're chosen by your party to defend the indefensible, well, you'd better do it at risk of expulsion. He looked around and noticed two of his Nationalist colleagues walking out of the hall, leaving only him and the party leader. How rude, he thought.

Owens finished speaking to a rapturous round of applause from a majority of the chamber, and retook her seat.

Speaker of the Senate Evan Bell retook the podium. "Will the Honourable leader of the Nationalist Party please explain to this Senate why members of your party vacated their seats during Senator Owens' speech? I did not see any such action during Senator Sauvé's speech and I expect equal treatment here in the Senate." The Nationalist leader Isaac Lemelin, clearly flustered, could only manage a meek "uh..." before Speaker Bell continued.

"The chamber doors will now be locked, and the Senators who chose to vacate their seats will be considered to have abstained from the vote." Lemelin looked on helplessly, silently cursing the members of his party who just dealt the oppose camp a blow.

"Remember, the issue at hand is whether or not to attend the First Conference on International Conservation in Iansisle. Senators, please cast your votes."

As the names started appearing on the screen at the side of the front of the chamber, it was clear that the Ad'ihan Senate had overwhelmingly approved Ad'ihan's attendance.

"Thank you, Senators. The results. Of the sixty-two Senators, two were not present. Of the remaining sixty, there were fifty-four ayes and two nays. Four Senators abstained. Therefore, the motion is passed."

Lemelin looked at Sauvé, who had – at risk to his party membership – voted for the motion. He stared blankly back, waiting for the inevitable. "Senator Lemelin?" Lemelin just nodded at him, and left the chamber.

So it was decided. The Senatorial Secretary for the Environment, Julia Owens, would attend the conference for Ad'ihan, and she would be joined in the later days of the conference by the Prime Minister. As she got ready to leave, Canning stopped her.

"Good job, Senator."

Julia grinned. "Thank you, Alex."

"Well done. I'll see you in Iansisle."

"Definitely." She nodded. "Look, I've got to go pack. We'll talk at the Conference."

Councilor John Lingle frowned slightly to himself as the plane jolted to a stop. The rather specific arrival protocols had been a source of some embarrassment to Lingle, who would have preferred to set a good environmental example by flying on an ordinary commercial flight instead of adding to the world's carbon emissions by using one of the personal jets available to the Confederal Council. Putting that aside, the head of the Department of Environment rose from his seat, smiling to his advisors, "Well, here we are."

A few minutes later, the Councilor disembarked with his staff, making his way towards the waiting car. President Sacker and Vice President Palmer were known simply because they were the President and Vice President. Paraha was known because he headed Foreign Affairs. Lingle was one of the other eight Councilors, the ones no one outside the Confederated Peoples had ever heard of. The first impression he made was, frankly, a rather nerdish one. He was a thin man in his late forties, already balding and wearing a pair of wire spectacles. His four aids couldn't have been a sharper contrast. Not one of them was over thirty. Both the women and one of the two men could even be described as attractive.

The car ride was rather uneventful, mostly spent going over material. When they arrived at the hotel, all four aids immediately went to rest while the Councilor turned immediately to the waiting agenda, his expression one of grim concentration.

((ooc: Welcome, Ad'ihan! Nice to see some political intrigue at play already ;). Feel free to post your arrival at the hotel; I'm going to give a couple days before we move into any serious stuff to make sure everyone who wants to come gets a chance to see this and post.))

Resurgent Dream

Doubtlessly, after several hours by car and train across the devastatingly banal Shieldian landscape, Lingle was ready to be rid, for a short time at least, of his overly anxious and polite hosts. This was not to be the case, however, as an older, gray-bearded man in a tweed jacket noticed Lingle's devout attention to the agenda.

"I notice they don't specify a break for our own natural requirements in there," he said, coming up to the Confederal Councilor. He held out a hand for shaking. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Frank Waltham, curator for mammals with the local zoo. I'm assuming that you're here for the conference?"

Though the Stockley Adansonia, rare governmental transport derivative of the Baobab heavy bomber, was supposedly hurled along by the power of fourteen thousand horses, newly sworn-in Deputy Prime Minister Colin Sponge could not have described his ride as swift, nor stately. The American-designed piston engines had found their way to Walmington via Calarca, and merely knowing their origin made Sponge believe that they were absolutely the loudest, dirtiest, and most violent powerplants he could ever imagine. He was, consequently, quite crumpled and wearied as he arrived in the North Pacific, the first Tory Minister to pay the Republic an official visit.

After landing, DPM Sponge, previously most noted in Walmington as loser of a career-long battle for prestiege in the Royal Army, in which his rival became one General Sir Jack Jones, was initially delighted to see that his car was driven by a pure Walmingtonian engine, and it was with some relief that he slumped into the back of the Wychwood Brackspear. His delight vanished, however, on noticing that a far classier Stockley Cruiser remained on the apron for somebody else's use. The Minister bit his tongue lest he be caught switching cars and accused of disparaging the good name of Wychwood Automation, a firm tied to the Walmy working class that would need little provocation to turn on a new Conservative government such as his.

He had no idea, of course, but someone more clued-up on emissions from motor vehicles might think that he'd chosen the Wychwood for its far less beastly powerplant.

Arriving at Oakens, Sponge did a good bit of tugging on the trim of his jacket and rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet as he regarded the images of the Cape with satisfaction, proud to have his totally-not-at-all-in-imminent-danger-of-collapse Empire on display in this slightly shifty Republic. Ah, they do appreciate what we've got, after all!

Colin does have a brief senior moment, however, but covers by adding, "Yes, a picture just like that!" to the preceeding, "Ah, fine springbok, terrific horns! I've one just like it on my study wall!"

(OOC: Yes, indeed. You probably know me better as Liverpool England. Just for some background, the Grand Island Independence Front was a pro-independence insurgency on Grand Island, part of the Outer Islands region of Liverpool England. Ad'ihan was a protectorate on the island. Following the abolition of federated states in LE for a centralised government, the Outer Islands and Ad'ihan were allowed to gain full independence from LE in a peace deal which saw the rebels take up the four seats in the Senate that had been reserved for the ruling federal party in LE. Here's that thread. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=541385))

Senator Owens hated flying. Not because she was environment minister and thought she was hurting the planet, mind, but rather because she suffered from travel sickness. As the plane prepared to descend for arrival in Iansisle, Julia felt a sudden urge to – for the fourth time during the flight – vomit.

"I wish one of you had reminded me to take my flight sickness pills before we boarded," she complained to no-one in particular. She was on a private government jet, of course, so her seven bodyguards could afford to sleep en route – there were only the eight of them as passengers. It was probably a good thing that they were asleep, too, as the number of used airplane sickness bags piled in a larger bin bag was growing, and becoming more unsightly. It was a wonder the smell hadn't woken any of them up.

As the plane made a bumppy landing, Julia failed to control herself, and, forgetting about the barf bag in her hand, threw up over one of her unfortunate bodyguards slouched in deep sleep next to her. He, of course, promptly woke up.

"Eeurgh! What the?"

Julia looked at him sheepishly. "Uh, sorry about that. Forgot to take my air sickness medication. Look, we're here. You can wash up in the airport." The tall, slim brunette stood up. "Come on then." The smell became overpowering, waking the rest of her security detail up.

One by one, the debarked the aircraft onto the runway; the sole dirty bodyguard ran quickly off into the main terminal building. As an armoured limousine drove up, he returned, still smelling bad. "Ian, I think you'd best have a change of clothes. Don't want the limo smelling like vomit," the senator said, pointing to the plane.

Ian, a bulky but fit young man in his mid twenties at most, nodded and dashed up into the plane. Returning what seemed like ages later, blushing red, he apologised for the delay. "Sorry about that, pilot walked in on me changing," he started, to peals of laughter from the other seven. "Uh, let's get in, shall we?"

Julia nodded.

Upon arriving at the hotel, she paused before getting out. "You know... since I took this position I've not had the time to leave Ad'ihan," she mused. "It's really great to finally be in a different country, even if on work." Ian, the one whom she had accidentally vomitted on, got out first and opened her door. "After you, Senator. And you're forgiven for the earlier... mishap," he said, chuckling.

Walking into the hotel, she walked by two men talking. Must be some of the other delegates, she thought, before admiring the hotel out loud. "This sure is some hotel. Can't wait."

It had only been a short memo, but it was the most important message he'd ever received in his fairly long life. It had been so important, in fact, that the original copy was now set behind the purest sheet of crystal, framed by the finest cuts of runewood taken from the personal grove of the Dwarven King, Galhim Khazum-Kharad, himself.



Dear Niri,

Please can you attend the International Conservation Conf in Beshon Court, Iansisle, on behalf of our nation. It will be a prelude to an extremely important strategy I am soon to unveil, and I feel the Woodshapers Guild will want to be at its heart.

Many thanks,

Tiberius

It was written entirely in the flowing, measured script of the Lord-Protector of Starblaydia, Tiberius Starblayde. Formerly dictator but now constitutional monarch of the country, the majority of Starblaydi Dwarves had huge respect for Starblayde, and knew him as a Dwarf-Friend. His reputation was on a par with that of the Dwarven King himself, and a Praetoran request from this man was taken with the same importance as a Royal commandment. So, all in all, for Niri Drolgorbizm, this was a momentous occasion and was the reason why he was a passenger of a brightly-coloured royal blue Gyrocopter as it seemed to skim across the surface of the great oceans.

For some reason he was sat in the front seat, the insane pilots always sat in the back, and was not daring to poke his head out of the cockpit and over the side in order to guess how high above the waves they were. The last time he'd done that, shortly after take-off, the wind turbulence had promptly choked him on his own beard. No wonder pilots were always visiting the Beardbraiders' Emporia so often. Niri, however, was a Woodshaper. Fairly uncommon in Dwarven society, a Woodshaper, but essential nonetheless. Trees rarely grew underground, of course, and the Woodshapers were one of the few guilds based above ground. Not a Miner, Smith or Beardbraider, nor a master of Electrickery, Runes, Engineering or even a member of the highly-valued Brewers Guild. Niri Drolgorbizim was a cutter of trees, keeper of lawns, carpenter, joiner and everything else related to trees. The young Dwarf - of course 'young' is a relative term - had somewhat of a talent for it, hence his access to the King's own grove of Runetrees.

Woodshapers were usually overlooked in the grand scheme of Guilds, Associations and Co-Operatives, but no brewer can distill without a barrel, or miner work without a handle to his pick. Furniture and firewood, too, were always required, and the Woodshapers Guild provided the timber to keep Karak D'Rragh running smoothly, of which Niri was fairly proud. Not as proud, of course, as representing all of the eight-point-summat-billion humans and Dwarves in Starblaydia.

"A Conv'sation Confurrnce?" His father, a died in the wool Miner, had said, "Ye dunnae talk enough, Niri! Mebbe it be a way fer ye t'learn, that Starblayde's got 'is noggin screwed on reet, aye.'

'Conservation, dad.' Niri didn't say. It was unlikely that a Dwarf used to battling nature underground with nothing but a pick and a candle on his hardhat would understand the conservation process, to try and protect what still exists before it is wiped out, never to be found again. Niri would have retrieved the neatly-folded agenda from inside his pocket to have a quick reminder of what was going to be discussed, but decided he could barely see through the flight goggles as it was, and would have no chance with the wind flapping the paper around, or with it blowing his eyes into the back of his skull if he took the goggles off.

He took the opportunity to inspect the vehicle he was traveling in. One large propeller span above him, probably holding the craft in the sky. Two more, one on either wing, were there to pull it through the air. Three engines, he'd thought at first, think if the pollution! But, no, said Bombar the pilot, his craft was just like him: Fueled by Alcohol.

That hadn't inspired confidence, but he hadn't died in a watery grave quite yet.

It was a long time, of course, before Iansisle spread out below them, but when it did Niri could smell the fires of home in the air. Coal, factories, smouldering metals and ores, it smelled just like the inside of Karak D'ragh - but outside, without the heavy humidity. and closeness of a tunnel or ancient hall.

"Why are ye nae takin' me to the airport?" Niri yelled over his shoulder.

"B... afo... tit!" Came a shout from behind him. Niri was about to yell 'What?' when the earpieces on his googles crackled into life.

<Make use of t'intertalk,> the crackly voice said, <Ah nay be tekkin ye t'aerodrome, coz ah found t'otel on t'interweb.>

"Ah see," Niri replied, he had remarkable diction for a Dwarf, almost comprehensible for human ears. Probably why he was chosen, he hadn't thought, to really get a message across.

Dwarves were known to be direct, too, as well as headstrong. Going straight to land outside the hotel was 'obviously' the best way of doing things, so the pilot had just decided to do that. 'Like it or lump it' was a common Dwarf saying. The Gyrocopter, in aviation parlance, was a VTOL aircraft when required, part plane, part helicopter. Fairly small and light, it would only take up a couple of parking spaces, Niri assumed. Besides, there would always be a lawn or something they could use if need be.

<Brace yeself!> Bombar yelled over the intertalk system, far too loudly for Niri's ears.

The craft swooped in low over the hotel, rattling a few windows and then, it seemed to Niri, dropping like an anvil the last fifty feet to the gravel driveway below. The craft bounced once on its large rubber wheels and came to a stop, with the engines already off and the propeller spinning itself to an eventual halt.

"Smooth," Niri said with his tongue firmly in his cheek, thankful that he hadn't bitten it off.

<Aye, t'wer nae bad, dat wun.> With the engine off, Niri heard Bombar clearly.

The two clambered out of the cockpits and down the side of the Gyrocopter - not a fine demonstration of agility, it has to be said - planting their boots firmly on the ground for the first time in hours.

"Ssabit..." Bombar began, searching for a word.

"Open," Niri finished for him. Agoraphobia was common among Dwarves. Even the hotel, for all its size, didn't look solid to them. Windows too large, doors to high, it looked like it might blow away compared to their original dormant volcano home. Niri looked around some more, seeing for himself that they'd certainly been noticed themselves. Bombar, of course, was oblivious.

The escort for the Menelmacari Prefect of Science was surprisingly large, though most of it but for a few squadrons of fighter craft stayed outside Iansisle. This was because, as well as this task, he was also a senior member of the royal family. However, he arrived in a standard Tercáno shuttle, its interior configured in a five-seat arrangement against a large confrence table, on which he had a number of notes regarding likely concerns and comments of other groups.

Technically, there was no need for him to go to such a thing, but then, the prefecture’s actual permanent staff, ignoring the sizeable crews of hundreds of various multi-role ships, was quite small, and he tended to enjoy travelling anyway.

The security detachment that came with him was carried by a larger dropship, consisting of some nineteen soldiers, including a number of ‘greyscale’ armoured Mornahossë and the moderately famous Ítanér nos Alalmë of the fifth army, who was always keen to travel, but unfortunately, when he did so, events usually conspired to be life endangering, much to his distress.

Menelmacari policy regarding the environment was, it had been said, non-existent. This was in fact, sorely wrong, but it had never been a major part of foreign policy, which was, in fact, why Celebrimbor had chosen to use his own notoriety with the Menelmacari presence…

Iansisle

Lingle extended his own hand, shaking Waltham's politely, "I assume that we'll be entitled to the same points of personal privilege allowed by most versions of the Rules of Order. I'm John Lingle, Confederal Councilor and head of the Department of Environment. You can just call me the Environment Minister though, much easier than the somewhat idiosyncratic Confederal wording. So I'm afraid that I'm not completely up on Iansislean mammals. I'd be interested in hearing about your work."

Resurgent Dream and Walmington on Sea

((ooc: I see what you did there, Walmy. Post right after I did to try and make me introduce a whole new character to deal with you. Well, nice try, but I'm not falling for it! =P))

"Well, Minister, I'm afraid that my specialty is large ungulates, something which we are sadly lacking here in Iansisle. We get some elk up in Noropia that occasionally wander across the gap to the Foothills. Down here, we get mostly Avadin and Red-tailed deer. The Avadins do have a rather impressive set of antlers, as you may see."

Waltham pointed over the bar, where a set of large, shovel-shaped antlers were displayed.

"Found that pair myself along the path when I was on a hike in St. Richard's," said Waltham. "Nothing quite as unusual at the Thamin or large as the Père David, but they do make a nice display on an older stag. My work usually takes me to the Walmy colonies -- or at least it did, before all the troubles they've been having in Waynesia -- so..."

"Ah, fine springbok, terrific horns! I've one just like it on my study wall! ... Yes, a picture just like that!"

"Speaking of which, I know a Walmy accent when I hear one. May I beg your pardon for just a moment?"

Assuming Lingle acquiesced, Waltham went up to DPM Sponge.

"Good afternoon, sir, Frank Waltham's the name, and welcome to the Republic," he said, extending a hand while gently trying to direct Sponge back to where Lingle was standing. "Please come and join us; we were just about to discuss my work in the Cape Colonies. Are you from Port Mavis yourself?"

((ooc: I remembered Port Mavis' name all by myself, although I did have to go back through the 'On the Wayne' thread to make sure I was right. I win esoteric other-countries-geograpghy-prize!))

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Ad’ihan

((Ah, LE -- nice to see you again. If anyone in your party (or Star’s, for that matter) cares to notice, there is a large (old, and tattered) “Cherry Cup VII Champion Gulls!” sign posted behind the hotel’s bar.))

Ian’s close encounter with the contents of his boss’s stomach might be at least a little mollified by the fact that he was visiting a country that was for all intents and purposes named after him. In the meantime, Julia walked right by Waltham, but the Iansislean was then too preoccupied with gesticulating wildly and attempting to get Sponge’s attention to notice her and her escort. Instead, it was the somewhat overweight man washing a glass behind the bar who eyed Julia up and down.

“Welcome to Iansisle, ma’am. Get you anything to drink?”

----------

Starblaydia

The Dwarven arrival, spectacular though it was, probably did not cause overmuch consternation within the Assembly’s Inn. The hotel was of traditional Shieldian construction, whose foibles included an absolute refusal to build anything with walls less than two feet thick with red bricks. The hotel, like most of the small town of Oakens, belonged to another generation of Shieldians, the one before steamships and aerocraft and railways. A few guests whose rooms were on the side of the gyrocopter’s landing doubtlessly looked on in shock as the craft dropped out of the sky and bounced to a landing neatly between a parked Westerton Jackrabbit and Sponge’s Brackspear.

“All right, you miniscule miscreants, I know who you are!” shouted a rather puffy, elderly security officer who came panting up a hill from behind the hotel. “And you’ll be keeping your behinds right in your pants, thank you! We don’t take as kindly to those sort of fly-by antics here as they do in Greenland!”

---------

C’tan

((Yep, I certainly did say all tech levels. That’s part of the beauty of living on a rift in the space-time continuum!))

The size of some security detachments being more than one thick-armed-and-headed surly man would probably surprise the Iansisleans. When traveling abroad, agents of the Gull Flag Republic usually trusted more to anonymity than to well-protected escorts. After all, the population of the Republic came to just about one hundred and fifteen million, and that was including Dianatran. Small fish in a world filled with multi-billion-person nations.

Another thing learned by small, technologically-primitive nations, however, was not to fuss too much over the enormous security forces other nations required. Doing as such had led to diplomatic disaster with Imitora, which was not an experience the young Republic wished to repeat. With luck, there should be no major threats to world stability in Oakens, a tiny hamlet in rural Beshonshire with little other than a nearby formerly-royal palace and a high-class zoo to its name.

As they traveled to the inn, the Menelmacari would notice that most Shieldians they encountered were, if not rude or undiplomatic, somewhat cool. Ever since the introduction of the Reproducible Technologies Act some thirty years ago, when the revelation of the nature of the multi-verse had engulfed the Shield in its first golden age of internationalism, Iansislean experience with futuristic technology -- you know, things like liquid crystal displays and the self-cleaning oven -- had been a mixed bag. On the positive side was Larkinia, but the negatives were a much more noteworthy bag, including Beth Gellert -- the first high-technology terror of the Shield -- Imitora, and most recently Valinon. While most Shieldians were well enough versed with the outside world not to recoil in fear from things like cybernetic implants and digital watches, there was still at least some undercurrent of suspicion mixed with jealousy at the marvels of the spacedy world.

Lingle smiled slightly, "We have some interesting species in that area. Donaconna has moose, reindeer, caribou, things of that nature. In Ambara, we have zebras, rhinoceroses, warthogs, hippopotamuses...I think it might really be worth a trip for a man with your interests. Unfortunately, I'm not especially familiar with Way..."

Lingle just smiled and nodded as Waltham took his leave, adjusting his glasses as he watched the man head up to Sponge. Lingle was sure that he had been briefed on Sponge's identity but he couldn't, for the life of his, remember who he was. Shrugging slightly, he turned his gaze back to the agenda, furrowing his brow in concentration.

Sponge, a fairly unremarkable character so far as anybody knew, was on the tall side for a Walmingtonian, which is to say that he was at least 5'8". As might be expected he wore a black suit topped with a bowler hat, but he looked far less... right in it than most of his countrymen. In any event, Lingle was unlikely to be cost much by an inability to place the new Deputy Prime Minister of the Constitutional Monarchy of Walmington on Sea, which, after all, was just another North Atlantic nation of little under fifty million mainly Protestant souls battling to avoid a recession while subsisting off cod, tea, and family-oriented wireless shows.

Sponge shook Waltham's hand firmly enough and introducing himself while putting up no resistance to the Ian's suggestion and shuffling in Lingle's direction.

"No, not really, I've spent most of my life in the home islands, but I have seen a lot of the Empire. I had a command in the Eastern Cape, once, after the second conflict there." He said, refering to his Army posting in the part of the Cape Colonies in which Port Mavis may be found, and to the aftermath of the Second Cape War (1919-27) in which the native majority launched a bush war against expanding colonial interests, and in which a certain Henry made his name.

(OOC: Curses, I have to dash. I am far too slow when it comes to posting... it seems that I took a minimum of eleven minutes to post my introduction, since I'm sure your post wasn't there when I started!)

To say that Finlay was happy to be appointed the Unione of Capitalizt States' representative to an international conference on the environment would have been much of an overstatement, with what the government not having actually held much a policy ever since the economy had been declared emissions free in $month, $year. Nevertheless, the government had not felt to defend its decision to send someone, much less a junior recruit who had just come out from the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade's 'First Diplomatic Academy'.

It was true in the meanwhile that he had been appointed on the basis of his ability--once every so often the training group managed to procure someone with a truly 'natural talent', with such and such individuals receiving more than their lion's share of events and appointments available. Even still, even the best were reserved for the most capable and experienced officers, with the Conference on International Conservation making for an 'opportune' time to test Finlay's talents and abilities.

Stepping off-of the craft and onto, for the first time in an Austarian diplomatic officer's history, Iansislean soil, Finlay was instantly joined by the presence of a contingent from the UCS Secret Service. Designated to provide general security to high ranking members of the Austarian government and diplomatic service, they were in this case instructed to coordinate with the Iansislean organization of the same, but not to completely abdicate of their responsibilities to the central government.

Spotting an official designated to him by the Iansislean government, Finlay smiled warmly. Dressed in what was largely normal business attire, he carried a black briefcase in the left hand and extended his right.

TRD and Walmy

Waltham either didn't notice or didn't care that Lingle had gone back to reading the agenda in his haste to acquaint two new ... well, 'friends' would perhaps be the wrong term. His haste to socialize was in part explained by the private, non-profit nature of the BCZO; his zoo's financial future was entirely dependent on the goodwill of donors and with the conference there was an unprecedented chance to talk up all the good work that the BCZO did in the world.

"Ambara does sound lovely, Minister," Waltham said. "And the zebra in particular. I've always tried to make wild equids a hobby of mine; I was most deeply saddened when we had to ship out our herd of Grevy's zebra to Mansmouth two years ago. I know that the zoo has been trying to acquire a breeding herd of Przewalski's horse, but of yet to no avail."

"I dare say, then, that your time on the Cape was not a pleasant one?" Waltham said, turning to Sponge, whose attention had perhaps begun to wander slightly. "I'll admit, I've had my share of conflicts down there as well. There was a time --"

And, before anything could be done to stop him, Waltham had launched into a long-winded story about the time, when searching for blesbok ("They had been much rarer back then, you see, and it was important to document every herd") his inexperienced driver had spooked a herd of Cape Buffalo. One calf, having for some reason been lamed slightly, lagged behind the rest and the rear animals turned to defend it against Waltham's vehicle. ("Big bugger, you know, and positively fearless. He came within a yard, maybe less, of completely crumpling the passenger's side before our young man at the wheel managed to extract us.") Waltham did not give a precise time-frame, but it was presumably some time between the Second Cape War and the Second World War.

If Lingle were to go back to studying his documents, it was unlikely that Waltham would notice or to in any way serve to shorten his impassioned monologue.

Austar Union

Diplomatic 'first contact' was always a touchy situation for the Iansislean diplomats, who had never been renowned for its competence. With so many nations that were new to the Shield in attendance at the Conference, the Foreign Office was straining every nerve to provide officials who represented not only the Republic's (somewhat skin-) deep commitment to conservation but also its respect for the new powers gracing its shore.

Perhaps it will never be known, then, why they chose Subdirector for Environmental Affairs Thomas Ule-Daran to represent them to the Austarians. The Subdirector, really just a minor functionary in the Environmental Affairs Office, was also five-foot-four tall and about that same distance wide and sported a great mustache a-la-Tarriff under thick glasses.

"Ah, Mr Finlay, Mr Finlay!" he cried in greeting as the Austarian stepped off his aerocraft. "Welcome, I say, welcome to the Gull Flag Republic! Positively thrilled, I say thrilled to have you! Please step into my car!" It seemed obvious that Ule-Daran would be speaking in exclamation marks and random italization for the rest of the conference.

A Dunheath-Little Belle, the V-12 powered several-tons-of-good-Shieldian-steel gas guzzling monster that it was, had been set aside for their use. The majority of Finlay's guards were to ride following in the back of a military-issue Westerton lorry, whose khaki-clad driver and bolt-action-rifle-carrying escort must have seemed particularly shabby in comparison to the Austarian guards.

Ule-Daran used the trip to make himself as annoying as possible to Finlay and any guards who had come in the Belle rather than follow behind in an open vehicle on a rather chilly Shieldian afternoon. He blathered incessantly about the goals of the conference, politics in the Republic, and this-or-that he saw out the window. Unless they were men of infinite patience, the Austarians would doubtlessly be ready to roll the stubby little man right out of the car as soon as it arrived at the hotel in Oakens -- right about the same time the Starblaydian gyrocopter was landing.*

((ooc: * -- just to try and get some of y'all interacting with each other ;). Also, I had to slap my hand several times in this post to keep from typing 'Austrians'. A common problem, I'm sure!

In slightly more relevant news, I'm very happy with the attendance so far. The more the merrier, of course, but I think we ought to be ready to start the meat and potatoes of the conference fairly soon. I was thinking Friday for the introduction et al. Too soon for anyone? too late?))

"Ee be lookin' at'dat," Bombar said, pointing, "be thar a long-shank'd, beardyless Khazim*?"

Niri looked over at the large, noisy car that had just pulled up, and the being that had just practically thrown himself out of the door in order to hold it open for his guests, bowing, lowering his eyes and generally being as obsequious as possible.

"No," Niri said after a moment watching him, "he just be a short, fat human. Admirable moustache, though, humans rarely get them right. And pull yer troosers up."

Bombar, who had flashed far more of a Dwarven builder's cleavage than Niri when climbing out of the Gyrocopter, grabbed his belt - covered in small leather utility pockets, doubtless filled with all kinds of tools, food and assorted trinkets and junk - and pulled up his trousers. It completely failed to cover up his rather enormous belly, so he pulled down his leather flight jacket - tan and royal blue - along with his undershirt, a grubby white and purple sports shirt in order to compensate. The ginger flame-haired pilot was a complete mess, all in all, covered in grease, dirt, booze and Gods-knew what else, while the dark-haired Niri, on the other hand, was much better turned out in what passed for a suit in Dwarven society. He even had a pressed white shirt on underneath - open-necked, of course, as even the youngest of Dwarves have little use for ties under their great, thick beards.

"They must be t'UCS Delegates," Niri said, after a short brainwave, "it looks like all sorts o'nations are interested in conser..."

"CAP'TALIZTS?!" Bombar yelled, reaching for his personal melee weapon, stowed on the side of his Gyrocopter, "Bloody Commerce 'Ights bastids! Ah'll kill 'em!"

"Woah, woah-woah!" Niri flung himself at Bombar, who dropped the Ice Hockey stick he'd been carrying onto the gravel. "Not Commerce Heights, ye fool, the Austar Union."

"Aust?" He had said it as much a question as a statement. Bombar considered this for a moment before speaking, "Dem bloody Rugby Union cheating bastids, ah'll stuff dis oop they jumpers..."

"Krekki zrumbar nup barzaz!**" Niri shouted, "Ye great eejit. Austar Union, they're a completely different country. Completely. Now get our bags out of t'hold and let's book in. At least t'walls look thick."

Niri smiled and offered a little half-wave to the occupants of the car as they got out. Bombar retrieved the suitcases and rucksacks they had brought and, along with his hockey stick and Niri's axe, made for the entrance of the Hotel.





* Khazim: Dwarf-speak for, er, Dwarf.

** Krekki zrumbar nup barzaz: Essentially meaning 'shut your cake hole', only somewhat (i.e. vastly) ruder.

Finlay was somewhat taken aback by Thomas' enthusiasm. He did nonetheless manage to feign non-surprise by means of his 'professional' demeanor.

" Well thank you, " he replied. " I'm glad to have the opportunity to come actually. Not to mention that it makes for a refreshing holiday from what some of my peers from the Academy are doing right now. "

During the course of the trip Finlay nodded and gave gestured responses appropriately. Making use of the opportunity to familiarize himself with the Iansislean, the conversation would largely make for a helpful reminder of the research he had already undertaken about the Gull Flag Republic. Admittedly brief, he had even the opportunity to learn a thing or two including policies internal to this nation--information that would prove helpful in any future dealings that the UCSAU and Iansislean governments could possibly have.

Arriving at the Hotel, the Austarian delegation, particularly officers of the UCS Secret Service, had noticed much of the ruckus that had been going on between and around the Starblaydians. Making a note of a seemingly hostile member among them, they positioned themselves accordingly around Finlay as inconspicuously as possible. Finlay in the meantime acknowledged Niri's gesture with a polite nod, and then focused his efforts on getting inside the hotel with Thomas' deliberate guidance.

The dwarven row was enough to even attract the attention to the two Iansislean soldiers, who had been wrestling over who got the last cigarette out of their ration pack. It was not quite enough, however, to distract Mr Ule-Daran, who was currently explaining how the Environmental Office’s mandate included looking after national forests, such as St Richard’s, but not protected wetland regions, such as the Del, which was instead handled by the Interior Office, despite his numerous memos to Environmental-Affairs-Director-so-and-so urging the matter to be brought up in the National Assembly and how it was simply such a waste of resources to have two different offices responsible for the same essential function and how it was even more ridiculous that the Revenue Office – whose supposed job was merely to levy duties – was responsible for the protection of coastal regions such as the reefs off Insula Modesta, which were vital to his department’s mandate to protect endangered species because they contained this rare form of yellow-scaled fish that was most peculiar because…

And so on he went without ever seeming to take a breath, his great billowing mustache puffing out with every word. If Finlay was hoping to extract useful information about the running of the Iansislean government, he was likely to find out a great deal of detail – which office was responsible for which protected habitat, for instance – but very little in the matter of useful data. Useful facts such as the quiet coup d’etat which had overthrown the substantive power of the National Assembly to concentrate it in the person of Nicodemo Ranalte, leaving Iansisle a dictatorship in all but name, or the subtle ways that the Gull Flag Republic was flexing its muscle on the regional stage.

Once inside, Finlay would notice most of the other Iansisleans shying away from eye contact with Ule-Daran, probably for obvious reasons, and would also notice, given the keys to the rooms set aside of his party, a chance to escape.

((Conference post coming tomorrow!))

Lingle smiled politely, setting the documents down once more. He rose and offered his hand to Sponge, "Good afternoon, Deputy Prime Minister. It's a pleasure to meet you. I don't believe our governments have had much prior contact, although I think President Sacker has made an overture to your Prime Minister. I'm John Lingle, the Confederal Councilor heading the Department of Environment, although you can just say Environment Minister. Everyone does." Lingle, although by no means a diplomat, hardly considered the Walmingtonians unimportant. Unknown, yes. Potentially hostile, yes. Unimportant, no. As he resumed his seat and allowed Waltham to continue his exposition about his experiences in the Cape. If Lingle knew anything about the history of colonialism and wars involved in Cape politics, he neither mentioned nor gave the slightest sign of his own opinions.

"We believe that, either through some trick of fractal reality or through normal tectonic processes, Ambara and Africa were once one continent. There's no other way to explain the similarities in flora and fauna. At least, there's no other plausible way."

The elf frowned slightly as he stepped out of the car; he wasn’t the type of elf popularised by many clichés, who was only interested in forests, or indeed, excessively interested in the welfare of wildlife. He was in fact, somewhat surprised at the relatively low profile of the hotel, apparently finding it lacking according to some internal measure of appropriate hotel-size.

The first thing, however, that he took notice of inside, and which improved his opinion of the matter and place, was the dwarves. Celebrimbor was well known for liking and being liked by (Menelmacari at least, a surprisingly large number these days) dwarves.

He also took notice, as he walked over to the dwarves, of the ‘Confedral’ and Austar Union delegations. But aside from personal interest, he didn’t wish to immediately go and talk to one or the other; he knew, in general terms, what their policies were in most things.

“Greetings,” he said, walking over to Niri, “I’m Celebimbor nos Fëanor, of Menelmacar. Pleasant flight I hope?”

The Walmingtonian wasn't really unhappy at having Waltham take the conversation away without giving him chance to talk about his tour on the Cape, since it was ultimately so anticlimactic and followed with Jack Jones beating him to promotion. It had taken the better part of a quarter century for Sponge to upstage that old codger by becoming Deputy Prime Minister.

"I'm sure that some of our adventurers and researchers would be interested to hear that." said Sponge in response to Lingle's suggestion of Ambara's prehistoric relationship to Africa, "It was once the habit of many top minds in the Empire to spend their time -and fortunes- hopping between Madagascar and the mainland, trying to better understand evolution and what it means for us to be an island race. The biggest fad, I'd have to say, in relation to this was a fruitless search for giant flightless birds thought to have been resident in Madagascar until very shortly before our arrival. Many theorised that they may still exist in the interior, or that relatives may be found inland from the Cape, but we never found any, though there were plenty of impressive hoaxes. Giant eggs and what not."

Just as the DPM seemed to be getting his Walmingtonian waffle on, he stopped talking as if it were natural to fire out so many thoughts in four seconds and then halt dead.

"Can't imagine what might have killed them, these birds in Madagascar," said Waltham, quite unable to control himself. The development and testing of the Antananarivo Device had wreaked untold devastation on the jungle island (even if it had not, presumably, been related to the supposed elephant bird's extinction). Fortunately, he remembered just before he could say anything explicitly insulting about irradiated seaboards that Iansisle (and more specifically the Beshonshire County Zoo) needed the goodwill of Great Walmington, and turned the subject back to the matter of Ambara.

"I've heard those same reports, Minister, or at least ones similar to them regarding the divergence of Igovian India and our own Gallaga. This multi-verse of ours can keep things interesting, can it not?" He vaguely waved a hand at the room filled with steampunk dwarves, ubertech elves, and vanilla humans.

"It certainly can," Lingle commented. "No one even knows what year it really is and sometimes you here people talk about the Solar markets or galactic trade. I remember one nation that we excluded economically commented on how we'd broken away from galactic trade, as though that were something we were interested in."

Lingle shrugged slightly, "This is off topic but, speaking of Gallaga, is there a representative of Mr. Dhawan's government here today? The Confederal people couldn't be more excited about Gallagan home rule after so long."

Lingle smiled as he surveyed the room briefly. "I hope this conference won't be limited to the land animals we've been discussing so far. All of the interesting one in the Confederated Peoples aren't shared with any other nations, at least not any other nations represented here. Sea life, on the other hand, especially the humpback whale, seems to be a particularly important area for international action."

Upon entering the hotel, Bombar's keen eyes had spotted the tablecloth-sized Hockey-related flag draped behind the bar, and had immediately vaulted up onto a barstool - the high seat presented no difficultly for the pilot to leap and place his rather large backside onto - and stripped off his flight jacket. The white and purple sports shirt underneath proved to be a Rayzors (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/rayzors.html) celebratory shirt, obviously produced just after the 18th Cherry Cup (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/cherry_cup.html), as five stars and the words 'Starblaydia, 5-Time Cherry Cup Champions' were emblazoned for all to see.

"Roight, laddie," Bombar said, "Ah'll be avin' a pint'o yer finest fer every Gull Championship, an'a pack'o pork scratchins fer every Starblaydi title!"

For the uninformed, of which the barman was not, that would be one pint of beer served with five packets of savoury, fattening, pig-based snacks. Niri simply hoped that Bombar wouldn't antagonise everybody at this Conference. Particularly the elves, one of which had just caught his attention as he walked over. References to 'skinnies', 'pointy-ears' and 'poofs' would probably spout from Bombar's ill-considered mouth, Niri thought, but luckily he was distracted by Hockey at the moment.

“Greetings,” the elf said as he walked over, “I’m Celebimbor nos Fëanor, of Menelmacar. Pleasant flight I hope?”

"Niri Drolgorbizim, o'the Woodshapers Guild," he replied, offering his hand, "representing Starblaydia. Me flight was..." he searched for a word, "interesting, t'say the least. First time ah've flown, actually. Seem t'me like it was t'pilot's first attempt, too, but he says otherwise." Niri gestured over to Bombar at the bar, recreating one of star winger Thorin Nibin's many goals with a cocktail stick, peanut and overturned shot glass. The barman was simply cleaning some glasses and showing remarkable patience. "Have ye much experience of these sort'o conferences? Ah feel like a simple gardener oo's walked in t'wrong room, ye ken?"

Without missing a beat, Julia shot straight back at the bartender, "I'll have a chocolate martini," to stifled sniggers from some others in the bar. Julia looked around for a possible source and just glared in everyone's general direction.

"Here you go, ma'am, one chocolate martini." Julia wasn't really a heavy drinker, certainly not by Ad'ihani standards. In fact, a chocolate martini – just one – was probably all she would be able to handle before she passed out.

Her security detail having all gone up to check out their rooms, Julia was left alone for the first time since leaving Ad'ihan. She'd not been overseas in years; even then her last trip was to see her aging parents in Liverpool England – back when it was still Liverpool England, that is.

Scanning her surroundings, she noticed Niri and Celebimbor speaking. It was a bit of a culture shock to her; despite the fact that Ad'ihan had hosted nations of all species during World Cup 37, she still hadn't gotten used to the idea of non-humans living in the future on other planets. Then again, some people weren't used to Ad'ihan being in the year 2147.

Downing her drink, she failed to see anyone who seemed willing to strike up a conversation. She shrugged, and left the bar, looking around the lobby once again.

((ooc: if you have any bar RPs you’d like to carry on, go ahead. Just want to make sure that we get some conservation work done. Also, it’s not too late to attend if you’d still like. I’ve no problem at all with retroactively assuming your environmental minister / whatever has been here the whole time.))

Beshon Court itself, some five miles outside the town of Oakens proper, was a tribute to the fortresses of the sixteenth-century Shield. Originally build as a fortress to extend royal authority into the northern reaches of Shadoran and intimidate the Javian Kingdom, it had been sacked in the late seventeenth century and the battlements still stood in ruin. The royal quarters, on the other hand, had been restored to a degree. Painstakingly maintained gardens spoke to the bored generations of Iansisle’s nobility, mostly disgraced members of the royal family who needed a break from the pressures of Ianapalis, who had languished at the quiet way post.

Inside Beshon Court was, somewhat interestingly, more luxurious and lavish than the actual royal court at Dun Adien had ever been. Its early retirement as a place of military importance let the architects incorporate wide halls and open rooms. Security, though not overwhelming, could be seen in the khaki-clad soldiers standing at various doors and checking guests against a list of those known to be in attendance.

One of these rooms, King Michael’s Ballroom (although guests would never hear the republicans now in charge of the Shield refer to it by such a reactionary name), had been recruited to hold the First Conference on International Conservation. Tables had been set up for every delegation arranged in a semicircle around a central stage. The Iansislean table was, naturally, at the center, flanked by the Walmingtonian and Ad’ihanian tables. Whether this was a sign of attempting to gain favor would never be known; Shieldian organizers insisted that the table organization was randomized.

Once all the delegates had taken their seat, a clear voice rang out:

“Ladies and gentlemen, assembled dignitaries! I give you the President of the Republic!”

A man of middling-build with extremely handsome olive features and a pure white smile strode out onto the stage. Nicodemo Ranalte, the president of the Iansislean Republic, waved out over the crowd. He seemed very young for such an accomplished politician, being only in his mid-30s, until one remembered that he had all but seized power in a quiet coup ‘legitimized’ by a referendum.

“I wanted to thank everyone for coming all the way out to Beshon Court,” he said. “We are currently faced with an crisis of such enormity that I would not trivialize it by the mere words of an amateur. It is, however, a crisis that I feel can be averted by international solidarity. We’ve a lot of work to do, and I wouldn’t want to stand in my own way. If anyone would like to make an opening remark, I leave the floor to them; if not, I will invite my friend and colleague Dr Howard Summers of Adien University to begin ‘setting the terms’.”

---------

Bombar might notice that he only received four ‘packs’o pork scratchins’ from the bar. If he inquired further, he would be reminded that “Ain’t never been no Cherry Cup Five, son. That was a myth.”

Lingle's reference to Gallagan independence caused an involuntary twitch in the Walmingtonian, who had to look away, searching for a distraction. "Hockey!" He suddenly exclaimed to the likely bewilderment of his partners in totally unrelated conversation. "Yeboba was my favourite Red Bear" he added, speaking of the only non-white person ever to represent Walmington on Sea in a sporting event, a Togolese national, whose most notable achievement was probably in the scoring of a consolation goal in a 3-1 drubbing against some bloody Quebecois outfit in Cherry Cup III. No doubt a really awkward attempt to prove that the Deputy Prime Minister in the Walmingtonian Empire was no racist!

In any case it certainly helped Sponge's confidence a little as he recalled that the Walmingtonians had made the play-offs that year, losing in over-time to the eventual runners-up, who ended up adopting a nickname coined by a Walmingtonian fan (The Red and White Iceberg). If only the initial tables had been right and the Ians had failed to qualify that year. Now, if Kaze Progressa were represented here the Walmingtonian could really feel good about his nation.

"Prime Minister Rain was the man who first sponsored the Red Bears so they could buy hockey gear. They beat Tanah Burung on home-made skates the first time we competed, you know." He went on, hoping to avoid talk of Empire until the conference got under way and he could hide behind protocol and the like.

Sponge was amongst the first to take a seat at the conference tables...

((And the internet cafe closes. Damn.))

<snip>

Having noticed and set himself a course to introduce himself to Julia, to say that it was only slightly annoying to be interrupted would have been somewhat of an understatement. Finlay had, set himself a goal to mingle with some of the other delegates present, working on the basis that relationships were key to building on the foundation of international cooperation on the various issues presented or not. Nevertheless at the call of the Conference's beginning he adjusted himself and headed for Beshon Court, where most or all of the other delegates would be meeting for the actual purpose of this visit.

Sighing inwardly, he told himself that he'd have the opportunity to mingle later.

Entering Beshon Court, Finlay paused as he took in the room. Spotting a place card marked with his name and country, he took up the position assigned to him by Shieldian staff, acknowledged the Walmingtonian who was already seated, and waited patiently.

Niri had been mightily impressed by the gardens on the way in to Beshon Court, obviously crafted over many years with a singular purpose. Much like a Dwarf's garden, fence, hearth, workshop, hall, or whatever. Intricate, some say obsessive, attention to detail on an unimaginably vast scale was their hallmark. He and Bombar - Gods only knew why the pilot was here too, or what non sequitur he'd come out with in the middle of the meeting - made their way to the Conference hall and took their seats. Starblaydia's table, with accompanying small flag stuck in some hard green foam attempting to look like a grass plant pot, was on the left-most end of the semi-circle. Thankfully, some keen-eyed individual had provided high, sturdy chairs for the Dwarven delegates. Whether this had been planned in advance, or hastily done at the last minute after Bombar broke a chair in the hotel lobby was not known to Niri.

He looked across at the ansisle, Ad'ihan, Walmington and Austar Union delegates already seated, then sat back and smiled. He was representing his country at an international conference - things like that just didn't happen to Niri. Bombar, however, took it all in his stride, sniffing at the jug of water on the table.

"Watta?" he said, "cannae be doin' wi'thaat."

Bombar withdrew a flat, clear bottle from the inside of his jacket and emptied some of the contents into the jug. The killer whale on the purple label gave it away immediately. Starblaydia's not-quite finest export (http://ns.goobergunch.net/wiki/orcinus.html). Purple-label, mid-price and mid-proof, Orcinus.

"Vokda?" Niri whispered, "ye can't put that in there!"

"Ah jus' did," said Bombar with a smile, decanting some of the jug into his and Niri's glasses.

Lingle would have been more appeased by the comments of the Walmingtonian if he'd had the slightest clue who any of those people were. It wasn't just that the Confederated Peoples rarely participated in international sporting events. It was also that Lingle personally knew nothing of sport, even regarding domestic teams. He was happy when the awkward conversation was over and the group moved to the conference proper. He had no opening remarks to volunteer so he simply took his seat and waited.

After it became clear that there was no desire for opening remarks, President Ranalte took his seat at the Iansislean table alongside the Director of the Environment and two members of the Beshonshire County Zoo’s Board of Supervisors. A fifth man, a full-chested, heavily-bearded fellow wearing a tacky suit with poise like a former footballer gone slightly to seed, came to the forefront.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice somewhat gravelly. “My name is Summers, and I work primarily in conservation with Adien University’s zoological program. We all know why we’re here – the threat to global biodiversity and all that. But it is at its essence a problem for practical concern, not just an opportunity for rhetorical jabbering. That is why I’ve come here: we must define fully the exact nature of what makes a species ‘endangered’.

“There are a few distinct schools of thought on this. One defines the animal’s habitat as paramount: without anywhere to live, of course, the viability of the species is entirely limited. Others point to the overall population of the species or its ability to cope with human-influenced changes in its environment and invasive species.

“Therefore, I propose that it should be amongst the highest goals of this meeting to come up with a body of independent arbitrators to rule on the status of selected flora, fauna, and habitats so that conservation need not be impeded by differing definitions or geo-political convenience. I now open the floor to debate on this matter and to suggestions of how such a board might be funded, whom it might comprise, and what standards need be applied to ensure neutrality.”

Lingle rose when the floor was opened. "I'd like to make a proposal as to all of these matters. The nations gathered here, or those among them who might choose to do so, form an International Conservation Council. Each nation undertakes to provide funding for the Council through a formula, to be decided upon, which takes into account both the nation's GDP, defining their ability to contribute, and the nation's population, defining their proportion of responsibility for our planet. The Council itself is initially appointed by a joint meeting of the relevant ministers from all states involved. Each state appoints one member of the council, subject to the acceptance of a majority of the concerned ministers. Members of the council maintain their position indefinitely during good behavior. When vacancies should arise, the nation which initially suggested that member shall submit a list of five candidates to the Council and the remaining members shall select which of the five is best fit to join them in their work. It's just a preliminary suggestion and a lot of details such as the specific formula to be used and the means of determining good behavior remain to be worked out but I think it might be a legitimate starting place if others feel the same."

As Lingle retook his seat, Julia stood up to make her remarks.

"I represent the Green Ad'ihan party, currently the largest party in the Ad'ihani Senate and the ruling party in Ad'ihan. I have had the chance, as Senatorial Secretary for the Environment, to see first-hand for myself the damage we are doing to our animals' habitats, and the subsequent effect on these animals, the population of some of which have dropped to dangerously low levels in Ad'ihan.

"The honourable representative from The Resurgent Dream, Mr Lingle, makes a proposal worth considering. We would, however, prefer each nation to contribute equally to the funding of such a council. Furthermore, I would suggest that to start off, each minister attending this conference should be part of the council.

"It is imperative that we all work closely together to battle the problem we face. With our efforts, we can take conservation a step further. I would very much welcome any proposal that helps us in our fight to save our flora, our fauna and their habitats."

Lingle rose again, smiling warmly at Julia. "Senator, I think you for your comments and your efforts on behalf of the environment. I will respond to the substance of your comments in a moment but, first, I must express a point of concern. You identified yourself as a representative of the Green Party, the current governing party, rather than of your government as such. I will not pretend to be an expert on electoral politics in Ad'ihan but, in democracies, governments come and go and elections are sometimes won and sometimes lost. Are we to understand that Ad'ihan's policy on this matter is to last only as long as the Greens remain in Government or can we expect continuity on this matter as governments come and go?"

<snip>

An aide passed Julia a glass of water. Taking a quick sip, she once again stood to answer Lingle's query. "Mr Lingle, the Senate almost unanimously passed the resolution calling for us to attend this summit. I have utmost confidence in my colleagues in the Senate and if it is of any reassurance, any agreement here would have to be ratified by the Senate, which I would fully expect it to. Indeed, your point about your knowledge of Ad'ihani electoral politics is valid. Once ratified, any such international agreement would, indeed, require a unanimous vote to repeal. And, I can assure you, Mr Lingle, that as long as Green Ad'ihan has even one seat in the Senate, this will not happen.

"As the Environment Senatorial Secretary I will ensure that whatever is agreed upon will be enacted to the best of the Government's, and in future if such a case occurs, to the best of the party's abilities. We will always remain committed to any agreement reached here. I hope that answers your concerns."

"Thank you for clarifying, Senator," Lingle said. "As to the substance of your proposal, I don't necessarily think that the proposed changes represent an improvement on my original proposal. I don't think that it's reasonable to expect a nation of five million people with a weak economy and covering a small area of land can reasonably expected to contribute as generously as a nation nearing a population of ten billion with a thriving economy and spanning continents. I also don't think that it's practical to have a council consisting of the ministers here simply because many of us have large government programs to run which go far beyond any agreement here and which impose enormous requirements on our time and energy. I could not and would not accept any position on a Council, except one designed to meet very infrequently, while still holding my current post. I'm sure many others feel the same. Perhaps we might compliment the council with an annual ministerial meeting?"

"I do tend to agree with Minister Lingle's assessment," chimed in President Ranalte. Summers seemed a little irked at having the head of state steal his thunder. "It seems to me that very often the states most interested in conservation are amongst the richest in the world, but the states that often have the greatest amount of threatened biodiversity are amongst the poorest. If we want to have those countries to support our initiatives, having them pay the same duties as a first-world nation would appear unfair. We also must remember that most of these nations see the destruction of wildlife and habitats are a necessary evil to attain the same status that more developed states already have."

" May I interject? " added Finlay, the Austarian representative to the conference. " May it be worthwhile considering the idea of each state taking responsibility of its own jurisdiction, whatever the costs be? "

" The Unione of Capitalizt States already engages in what it views as conservation on the basis of what is and what isn't considered 'endangered'. Our methods in the meantime may be considerably different to those that somebody else may propose, and therefore incorporate more or less cost. For example, while we aren't particularly in the habit of maintaining natural habitats we have constructed a variety of biospheres capable of housing otherwise natural or unnatural species. We also practice the collection of DNA from species as a matter of not only research, but preservation should we need to revive a species from some sort of catastrophe. How then could our efforts be compared to say, a government that outlaws deforestation? "

Finlay shrugged his shoulders, " Maybe one of you have an answer to this. "

“We should determine the extent of our undertaking, before we consider cost; we must only pay for what the organisation actually needs to spend, after all,” Celebrimbor said.

"Well said, sir," Summers interjected after Celebrimbor's comment. "After all, we are only discussing a committee to determine what standards must be in place for the naming of endangered species. I would further go to say that it is imperative such a committee be de-politicized. I would propose that it be composed of academics from all nations, rather than political figures such as environmental ministers -- no offense intended, of course, to this august gathering."

Celebrimbor nodded at their host, "Few are those without their own politics," he said, "and I would not be too eager to dismiss office holders, for thier offices bring power to make change with them."

" May I ask? " queried Finlay. " Exactly what nature would this committee take on? Would it be for example, just an advisory to various governments on how to tackle the issue of climate change or would it be somewhat of an authoritative? "

"Close your mouth," Niri whispered to Bombar, who sat in complete and utter shock. Neither of them had expected a situation like this, and the pair of them felt totally out of their depth: Academics, Government advisory bodies, committees, clarifications and Gods-knew what else. Niri decided to throw in his two'penneth, responding quickly to Finlay.

"Ah doubt a committee could set legally-bindin' targets'n'boundaries," Niri said, simply opening his mouth and letting his speech run until he was out of thoughts, "nae without major talks, governments signin' up an' the like. We all be here 'cos we want to set t'agenda fer conservation, we ken that much, but we cannae impose our committee on everyone else.

"Ah suggest that whatever organisation we end up settin' up could publish it's guidelines, rules, advice, etcetera, as general Dwarfsense*, with the option an' benefits to sign-up to it's charter."

Niri closed his mouth, wondering if he'd just made some sort of etiquette blunder, or started an international incident. Bombar slugged back some more vodka and tonic.



*By 'Dwarfsense', Niri means something along the lines of 'good practice guidelines'. Dwarves are, of course, known for their common sense. Or their intense stubbornness, depending on where you come from.

"I apologize if I gave the impression that this committee was to have sweeping powers," said Summers. "Of course they would not be able to introduce binding legislation -- it is merely my suggestion that they are able to give guidelines to standardize endangerment -- determining which animals are endangered and which are not. I believe, as I assume does most of this gathering, that actual agreements should only be between representatives of their nations, especially if the decisions are to have financial ramifications."

" No apology necessary, " replied Finlay, shaking his head.

" Would it then be appropriate- " he continued making sure to acknowledge both the Iansislean and Starblaydian representatives in his response. " -to begin discussing exactly what will be encompassed in the role of this committee? Presuming it will be considered especially knowledgeable on such and such issues pertaining to the environment, would it then be worthwhile using a majority of its funding to make certain that some of the best and recognized members of the scientific community are involved in this through paid contribution? "

" Also, on the subject of information gathering and research do you think it would be better for the committee to conduct its own or to make use of findings by other community and government-led initiatives? "