NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: This is a follow up thread to "Matters Of Trade..." please see the link below before continuing.

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=419799

Also, sorry I'm lazy, I'm just copying the last bits of some posts on the other thread. You guys (the ones involved) know where to begin.]

Novikovian Airspace - 48 km from Novikov’s East Coast
Inbound towards Tolstoy International, Poldi’sk
6 – 19 – 1605 [Novikovian Calendar] / 2:30 pm NST [Novikov Standard Time]

The Imperial Emmitian jet now neared range of the Novikovian coast. For almost an hour, its progress had been tracked by Radar pickets on the islands east of the mainland, but now, as she neared the coast, the decision was made to give the Emmitian airliner a more formal welcome.

Coinciding with a radio broadcast alerting the aircraft of their intentions, a pair of sleek Mirage III interceptors, painted robin’s-egg blue and bearing the red and blue stars of the People’s Air Force of Novikov, broke from the lower cloud cover and moved within visual range of the jetliner. The gave a salutatory flip of their wings and came alongside the passenger flight, escorting it towards a runway already filled with diplomats and members of the press awaiting the arrival of these new diplomats…

6-21-2005
Office of the Prime Minister, the Citadel
Imperium, Republic of New Britain

Tetley read the list once more. Somewhat impressive, for such short notice a few key industry leaders were joining him on the flight to Novikov. Mind you they had their own personal/corporate motives, but they would serve as an important link between the governments of Novikov and the Kingdom, and would certainly be the ones to which the real questions would be asked – especially since at least in the Kingdom the mining was an entirely private affair.

There were of course, other matters to attend to. “Blake,” Tetley called to his young aide, “what sort of suits do I have available?”

“Nothing fancy, sir. Since you’re still single—“

“Would you give it a rest,” Tetley responded in mock anger. Indeed, being single left him without the need to attend fancy balls requiring elaborate and sophisticated dress, but his taste in formal dress fit well with the current style of the people. He also knew Blake would continue to pry into his private life, which was of no real concern so long as it remained between the two. “Just bring the three piece, and several different ties. Oh, the striped one, the blue and gold one, I like that one.”

Regardless of the outcome, wished he sincerely wished to be beneficial for both parties, it was a rare occasion to visit a foreign country. And that was worth celebrating in and of itself. Especially since he could expect no less than a formal diplomatic welcome. At that Tetley smiled, it was almost a vacation. He’d just have to be working.

The Emmitian Imperial jet came closer and closer to the actual Novikovian landscape. The pilot tipped his wings in recognition of the friendly Novikovian escorts. Oddly enough, the pilot had tipped his wings a tad too much, and sent the papers on top of the emissaries' table flying off to the ground. Quickly, the men scurried to grab the papers and put them in presentable order on the desks, so that inspectors or dignitaries from the Novikovian state wouldn't board the plane and see that the embassadors were completely unorganized at the moment.

They were finally over Novikovian soil. The pilot followed the course determined earlier in Emmitia by directing his flight towards the Novikovian Trotsky Airport. It was not long afterward that the Emmitian jet came within landing range of the airport, and made its final descent. With a slight quake within the plane and the screeching of the tires, the pilot finally touched down upon terra firma.

At this time, the Emmitian ambassadors were firmly strapped into their seats. As air travel is perhaps not the most common of methods of travel, the diplomats were not the ones to approach for experianced fliers. In short, they were shaken by the shaking and rumbling of the jet, and were likely, at the moment, praying that all went right.

The door opened, and the stair-car which bore the only preferrable way of dismounting the plane pulled up against the opening. The two emissaries emerged into the Novikovian sun.

[Bump. Response coming tomorrow. Homework is a b*tch.]

[OOC: Hold that for a few days. I'm going to a concert tonight, meaning that I will be exhausted and beat the sh*t out of for Prom tomorrow, and that I'll be sleeping all day Sunday. Sorry. Azazia, you can continue if you want.]

The two emissaries were greeted with a smattering of applause from a dozen or so minor diplomats, all but drown out by the roar of the aircraft’s Mirage escorts as they soared overhead on a dramatically low final pass. Press cameras, held back by a small line of uniformed policemen – national guardsmen really, Novikov made little distinction between the those two civil service branches. Within minutes, the Emmitian diplomats had been whisked away to a waiting vehicle.

Inside, the noise of the press subsided as the carpool, flanked by an old BTR-152 escort, rolled through Poldi’sk, rushing the Emmitians past an array of small statues and government buildings, showing the sights of the city. The interior of the vehicle was spacious, but a haze of cigar smoke made the quarters seem more cramped that they appeared. In such an atmosphere, on of the Novikovian diplomats spoke.

“My good sirs,” he began, pausing often – his English was poor and thickly laden with accents. “We are very much pleased to welcome you to Poldi’sk, and we pray that you might find your stay here – enjoyable. We must inform you of some conditions which you will be subject to during your stay here in the city. You see the vehicle outside?” He paused again.

The vehicle’s motion stopped, placing it alongside the dated Russian APC and it’s six-man crew.

“These well be your guards to ensure your safety and comfort during your stay. You will be with them at all times. In the days preceding the conference, you will be given full leave to explore the city – at the discretion of the captain who will keep watch over you. Please listen to him at all times or we will not be able to ensure your safety…”

He continued to present other matters of importance – the dates of meetings with various ministers and spokesmen, the accommodations being made for the men, and on some of the stranger Novikovian customs. The whole affair lasted some twenty minutes, after which the vehicles continued on to a hotel shining silver and gold in the night. A well-dressed attendant carried the diplomats’ belongings to a private suite. Their guards waited outside.

Royal Airport at Emperor’s Field
Imperium, Republic of New Britain

Almost the entirety of the island of New Britain sat under the shadows and glimmering reflections of towers of glass and concrete dedicated to the immortal gods of the Azazian business world save for a few open spaces, one of which hosted sprawling green fields overlaid with strips of concrete and towers topped by glass windows. The field hosted the air fleet of the national government, it was from this field that most diplomatic missions would be launched – and being private property the diplomats, both domestic and foreign, could be well-shielded from the prying eyes of the Azazian press.

The field had initially been purchased by the royal monarchy of the country, and as royal property could be shielded from the public. With a large summer field secured, the monarchy sat on the property while skyscrapers grew taller year by year, until the airports of the island became congested to the point where diplomats clamored for even a bit more privacy. In a deal that secured the monarchy for perpetuity, the monarchy granted the government the right to use Emperor’s Field as the new Royal Airport. And so concrete had been laid down, towers and hangars built and in a few years the Royal Airport had begun to function as a semi-secretive airport for the national government, at which foreign affairs could be conducted without the knowledge of the public.

On this day, Alistair Tetley sat in the rear seats of his limousine watching the signs and markers on the tarmac zip by while in the distance a medium-sized aircraft, decorated not in the Azazian colour scheme, grew as the black limo with little Azazian flags sped towards the aircraft. He glanced to his left and found Emily Deveraux, dressed in a dark blue silken suit – quite attractive he thought, but he needed to concentrate on other matters. Tetley, dressed well himself in a three-piece black suit with a silken blue tie. Next to Deveraux sat Dr. Jackson, the rotund Minister of Trade and Industry in a three-piece beige suit with a black tie. The three sat quietly, reviewing their final briefings on the flight and the destination – for foreign travel was quite uncommon for ministers of the United Kingdom, even Tetley himself had traveled to few foreign powers.

As the plane grew closer the three could begin to discern the honour guard of the Royal Guards which would escort them to the Novikovian transport. The car slowed to a stop, perpendicular to the line of guards, their battle rifles held in pristine rows of the strictest attention. The limousine ahead of Tetley’s opened its doors, sending a man in a dark black and white suit with sunglasses hiding his expression to Tetley’s door, which was quickly opened. Tetley swung his legs around and with hands on the frame of the vehicle, pulled his forty-year old body up and out of the limo at which point the honour guard snapped to attention and saluted their prime minister.

At the end of the honour guard stood the Novikovian delegation that would escort Tetley and his top ministers on the journey to Poldi’sk. Tetley waited as Deveraux and Jackson exited the limo. He shook both their hands, “Well, I suppose it’s time we’re off.” The two smiled and nodded, and followed Tetley as he began to move through the honour guard. The soldiers all stood at their salutes until Tetley passed through and presented himself to the Novikovian delegation.

“I am Alistair Tetley, Prime Minister, this on my right is Emily Deveraux, Minister of Foreign Affairs,” he paused to let Deveraux nod her head, “and on my left Dr. Garret Jackson, Minister of Trade and Industry.” Jackson now took the turn to nod his head.

The leader of the delegation extended his hand, “And I am Yuri Lavrov, the Minister of Trade. I look forward to this trip and the fruitful relationship to follow.”

Tetley thanked the man and followed him up the steps to the aircraft where he and his entourage took their seats for their journey to Novikov.

Royal Airport at Emperor’s Field
Imperium, Republic of New Britain

“And I am Yuri Lavrov, the Minister of Trade. I look forward to this trip and the fruitful relationship to follow…” Lavrov smiled genuinely, pleased to meet men who influenced the world – not like him, a regional authority at best. He hoped this would change things.

He and his counterparts seemed somewhat underdressed for the occasion. Novikov, mostly socialized, did not emphasize the thread count of the jackets government employees wore. No matter though, such details could hardly be helped. And besides, when had Yuri ever tried to impress a Capitalist?

The exchange of words outside lasted shorter that Lavrov had expected and within five minutes the entire delegation had moved aboard the aircraft. Onboard, more introductions followed as Tetley was introduced to several lesser diplomats and members of Poldi’sk society. However, three men remained unintroduced – one obviously serving as a translator, the other two wearing their coats awkwardly, as though something weighted them down.

“Please, please, sit.” Lavrov murmured quickly, extending his hand. The delegates had their pick of over one-hundred seats in the cavernous interior of the aircraft. Lavrov and the other diplomats sat near their foreign counterparts, some conversing, others almost helpless in English cursed the decision to bring only one translator.

“Fajciar?” One Novikovian diplomat – a short, balding man calling himself Guverner (Governor) Gancevova – asked Miss Deveraux, trying to begin small talk as the aircraft lifted off. With no translator near him, he looked at her helplessly when she failed to respond. “Cigareta?” He asked again, this time opening a silver case lined with name-brand imports. The gesture needed no further translation, but somehow Gancevova wound up smoking alone.

Small talk continued, mixed in with a liberal array of cognac bottles and a similarly bewildering selection of American, British, and German tobacco, as was Novikovian tradition. Mixed in was serious discussion about the upcoming conference – mostly between Lavov and Tetley. All in all, the flight was brief and rather pleasant - in a smoky, cramped, Novikovian way.

Tolstoy International Airport
Poldi’sk, Eastern Novikov

The Airbus landed three hours later, amid a darkening Novikovian sky. The disembarking passengers were greeted by an over-flight of Mirage 2000's - the same aircraft who had escorted the plane into Novikovian airspace - as well as a small presentation of arms by the local Barracks. The press inevitably appeared and was shooed away by a platoon of armed guardsmen, and the diplomats were led away to a private hotel, where they were left with the promise of more conversation, more introductions, more cogniac and smoke, more of the same. Tomorrow, the conference would begin.



[OOC: Okay, so it’s short and sweet – shoot me. Has anyone seen Emmitia recently?]

[OOC: Just continue with introductions at the confrence.]

[OOC: Bumpity]

Gabivkovo Square, Poldi'sk, Novikov
6-24-1605 [Novikovian Calendar] / 8:24 am NST

Gabivkovo square was small, normally crowded, and, on the date of the conference, filled to double capacity with a mass of sightseers, tourists, and guards. The whole area was dominated by overhanging stone builings, most at least two centuries old. One, bearing an overhanging stone archway and a long staircase was kept clear of civillians by a small military contingent, and it was up that stairway that Novikov's esteemed visitors walked.

The cathedral steps sloped steeply up towards a worn and yellowed doorway. Iron bars on the ancient doors grated softly together as the doorway was opened to the world. Sunlight streamed in and, conversely, the murmur of rough Slovak and Czech drifted to the ears of those on the outside.

As normal, the heavy wooden doors of 1/04 Gabivkovo were under a heavy guard, now doubled in a display of strength. To the diplomats in the know, it was interesting to see the new guards clad in heavy Chinese-imported vests and carrying their new NATO-ordinance rifles. Most outsiders didn’t know, but the NPM had systematically converted nearly its entire array of weapons to NATO style weaponry – particularly of a French stock. Inside, the ceremonial Gabivkovo Regiment kept their detachment, clad in less practical dress uniforms and carrying old-model rifles. The display was not monumental – particularly to the eyes of those accustomed to seeing Azazian forces on parade – but it was deemed necessary to show the strength of he local military.

Monika Kacnerova led the procession of diplomats into the inner chambers of Novikov’s ancient parliament building, followed closely by Lavrov and several other men and women of high regard. With them marched Emmitia’s two and Azazia’s three.

----------
Inside 1/04 Gabivkovo
----------

Entering the building, the milti-national crowd was introduced briefly before a seated group of roughly one-hundred men – who the foreigners were informed to be members of Novikov’s Parliament. They then moved on towards a conference room, still in the bowels of the ancient building.

Two guards closed and locked the doors behind the group and the were instructed to fan out to different parts of the single table that filled the small room, divided up by nationality. Set between the groups, a small row of bottles and glasses, as well as an ashtray lined with matches and cigars divided the table. Once seated, Kacnerova stood up, taking a deep breath – nervous, being one of three women in the room – and began the conference with a simple introduction.

“I am Monika Kacnerova, the current leader in Parliament. I will be conducting these proceedings in the absence of Minister Ulyanov. I would first like to welcome you all to Novikov and to these halls in which foreigners have rarely stepped.” Her English was impeccable.

Other diplomats rose and began to introduce themselves.

Tall dark and rising quickly, “Yuri Lavrov, Minister of Trade.”

“Gerchinkov, Alexi, Foreign Analyst.” His introduction ended with a brief bow, tossing his dim blonde mop of hair far over wire-framed spectacles and onto the shoulders of a charcoal suit coat. His English was rough at best.

“Ivan Fydorovich, Minister of Economics.” The Russian mumbled his introduction in Duma’s local tongue, the translator quickly spitting out an intelligible one. He was stereotypical, wearing a heavy Russian moustache set on a slightly Asiatic face. He grinned as he said his title.

“Mister Heartman, political analyst.” He held a distinctly western appearance, down to the English suit and light accent in his otherwise fine Slovak.

Finally, the other woman rose, seated opposite Ms. Deveraux. “Andrea Romanov. I will be your linguist. Please, use English, Slovak, or Russian if at all possible; my Spanish is quite poor.” She remained standing, stepping behind Minister Lavrov’s seat, clad in a light blue skirt and suit. There, she, like Novikov’s other men and women, waited for their guests to respond.

Inside 1/04 Gabivkovo

Tetley smiled at the politeness of the Novikovian government officials. He spoke little Russian – or any Slavic language – himself, though he acknowledged the importance of the Russian people in founding and civilizing the northwestern islands, where they still held sway over politics and economics. With an inward frown he thought briefly of his former foreign minister, Ivan Valovich, and the warm-hearted almost grandfather-like way he handled the old Commonwealth’s affairs. Today, however, as he quickly glanced over at Deveraux, the new United Kingdom was expanding in more ways than one, and the expansion and growth of the nation depended on trade – upon trade safe from foreign interference and that could be secured for the long-term. The original Novikovian offers had given him and his government just that chance. And likely, Ivan was sitting back in his island retreat drinking his imported vodka, smiling at his protégé who had long-since surpassed the master.

“Ms. Kacnerova, on the behalf of the people of the United Kingdom of Azazia, and the government representing them and their interests, I thank your gracious government and especially the Honourable Fredric Ulyanov who initiated the official contacts between our two peoples. Briefly, if I may, I shall introduce my esteemed colleagues and trusted friends. On my right, Emily Deveraux, the Minister of Foreign Affairs for the United Kingdom, and on my left, Dr. Garret Jackson, my Minister of Trade and Industry.”

Tetley leaned down to take a sip from the glass of water, the cold condensed water on the exterior running all over his fingers as the chilled water ran down his throat. The Novikovian people were nothing but impressive, at least as far as their foreign diplomacy was concerned. Admittedly, the team he had brought along spoke no languages other than their own, with the exception of Emily, who spoke Russian, French, and Spanish – which he now hoped she would not use too much during the conference. Indeed, the opportunity for any leader to address the entirety of a nation’s parliament, or whatever named they graced their legislative body with, should be treated as an honour, and Tetley was well aware of the importance of this event. Slightly nervous, he appeared nothing but calm on the outside, with perhaps a slight tinge of excitement about learning of a foreign culture and history.

“The United Kingdom, found itself formed in the fires of both war and peace. From my nation’s bitter colonial wars – between my ancestors the English, the Russians, the Spanish, and even the powerful native Azazian people – to the conflicts over equality for all races, religions, and all individuals my country has learned the importance of the spoken word and the power of peace in securing a nation’s security and longevity, in saving the lives of thousands if not millions from chaos and confusion. Of course, time has pushed my nation to the brink of its own limitations and so the United Kingdom has looked outward to find friend and allies in this often hostile world with whom she can grow and develop. I believe that our two peoples, as well as with the people from Emmitia, can all work together to form a close and enduring bond that will benefit not just one group of individuals, not just one industry or even government, but a bond that will benefit all parties gathered around this table. It is the hope of the people and government that I lead that this day shall be the start of a fruitful relationship between all of us here today. And so I thank you, the Parliament of Novikov, and especially the people of Novikov for hosting these talks. And I am honoured to be here as your guest. Thank you.”

With that Tetley took his seat, drawing another long cool sip of refreshing water, his glass now half-full.

Inside 1/04 Gabivkovo

The Novikovian diplomats, with the exception of Mr. Heartman and Ms. Romanov, were deeply involved in not only the introductions being given by Tetley, bu in nursing their drinks. For all the pomp that had proceeded this event, diplomacy was still something of a cordial affair in Novikov. In particular, Fydorovich, who intently stared down Dr. Jackson during his introduction, was occupied with a single-liter bottle of Vodka set in front of him.

Tetley’s response brought a warm round of “Teslio ma,” “Vitany,” and “Пожалуйста. На здоровье,” from the Novikovian side of the table, followed by the clank of glasses as drinks were poured. A rapid burst of Slovak mixed with a smattering of Czech and Russian followed, and then, as though urged by his comrades, Gerchinkov stepped to his feet.

“Please. Take drinks. We must toast to the words of Comrade Tetley.” His accent slurred the words together in a guttural mess. He raised a glass in one hand, a bottle of Cognac in the other, and said one more word – one recognizable to all at the table.

“Azazia.”

He downed the contents of his glass in one tilt of his head.

In the corner seat, Heartman grimaced. Perhaps it was his modest nature, but he feared these proceedings were becoming something of a relaxed affair – a thought he was none too happy about. Between Novikovians, the drinking would be normal, but to western sensibilities he feared it would be frightening, even grotesque.

“Azazia,” the others with drinks replied, whether out of enthusiasm or indifference he could not tell. Glasses tapped together briefly, and Gerchinkov sat down. Heartman relaxed, taking a sip of water. Perhaps this wasn’t a complete disaster.

Lavrov lit a cigar.

No – disaster alright.

---

[OOC: Yes, a bit of humor there. Enjoy, and please partake in the drinking if you so desire.]

Inside 1/04 Gabivkovo

Tetley smiled politely and took a small glass of cognac, himself typically not one to partake in alcoholic beverages because of a genetic predisposition to liver cancer. However, these were extraordinary times and to refuse a drink could be considered rude, and so he took his drink and downed it. Deveraux and Jackson looked over to their leader for some sort of guidelines as to how to act in a situation never before encountered by any of the three – at least on a diplomatic mission. He simply nodded at his ministers and they too took to drinking the beverages offered.

Out of the corner of his eye Tetley watched Heartman, who stood out among the Novikovians in his Western appearances – much similar to Tetley’s own delegation. He glanced down at the glass of water and smiled at the man, hoping to impart a sign of understanding, that although different than most other diplomatic affairs, Tetley didn’t look down upon what was likely a Novikovian tradition. On the other hand Dr. Jackson, well known in the Azazian press for his penchant for fine-living, adapted readily to the Novikovian traditions as he enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere. With a glance at Deveraux, Tetley saw she too took a small glass of the beverages provided, and she too downed it.

As the Novikovians poured another round Tetley took his glass and raised it to the assembled, in his lightly accented New British accent (named for the dialect on the island of New Britain, not for the long-lost dialect of London and sorts) declaring, “Novikov.” Summarily he attempted to take it all with one tilt of his own head, this time failing and he suppressed a small gag reflex from too much alcohol. He again smiled at Heartman and nodded his head. If nothing else the Novikovians seemed to at least understand how to enjoy life. Even if in their own unique style.

Tetley’s sputtering efforts involving the alcohol provided brought a knowing smile to Heartman’s face. His heavy London voice chuckled as he opened his mouth.

“Thank you Minister Tetley-” He turned his head abruptly, switching languages as he did so. “Gerchinkov, that is enough. Do you want to make our guests uncomfortable?”

Gerchinkov returned himself to the chair that had been pushed from the table, and the rest of the diplomats followed suit. Seated, Lavrov continued to puff on a cigar. Kacnerova looked down into the shimmering amber drink she had been sipping on, and Fydorovich could similarly not be moved from the Absolut he held dearly in front of him. Moments passed, uncomfortably silent, broken by Kacnerova coughing. She raised her head and murmured, “zarazka.” In time with the motion of her head, she pushed Lavrov’s hand down, forcing the cigar into an ashtray where it proceeded to smolder.

Heartman broke the starkly surreal scene with a quick question, repeated in Slovak and English. “Shall we begin?”

Lavrov, as though on cue, pulled a yellowed folder from his leather carrying case. Fydorovich reached down, disappearing beneath the table for a brief moment. He returned with a stack of economic reports.

“Da,” he stated, responding to Heartman. The reports were slid across the table, and he told the fellows across from him what they were – kindly interpreted by Andrea Romanov. She walked to the other the other side of the table and informed Tetly and his companions that she would translate whatever they needed.

The documents were weathered, many yellowed from exposure to nicotine, others wrinkled from what had doubtless been a wasted glass of vodka. They seemed to be the Minister of Economics’ personal papers, complete with scribbled notes in a Cryllic hand.

“Where shall we begin?”

Tetley looked up at Romanov and smiled, thanking her for offer to translate the documents. Inwardly he sighed at another potential sign of an ineffective, rather inefficient state government. If Dr. Jackson ever attended such a conference in Imperium and presented the leader of the foreign government documents in such a condition, suffice to say Tetley would have a field day with thinly veiled euphemisms. Nevertheless, as a consummate diplomat and statesman the mild disgust with the presentation of the report would not show outside of his private office back home.

He skimmed through the pages, taking note of the graphs and pictorial representations of statistics he could not read in their native Cyrillic script. He found a page, somewhat crinkled with the peculiar smell of a trace, a hint of vodka, a page that provided for each point of data two bars, one green with the other red. The green significantly taller than the red, perhaps representing 2/3 of the entire volume of data, Tetley looked up to find Romanov.

“This is the data on foodstuffs, am I correct?”

He smiled with the nod of her head and returned to the document, sliding it between himself and Jackson, who had replaced his alcohol with water and began studying the data intensely. Jackson smiled, looking at the sheer volume of surplus stores. He leaned over to his boss to whisper beyond the hearing of the Novikovian delegation. Although perhaps not respected in the foreign land, such discrete forms of communication were often encountered in the United Kingdom.

“Alistair, this could do it.”

Although his natural instinct was to smile broadly and let his eyes light up like fireworks on Constitution Day, Tetley instead kept his stoic face and nodded. The United Kingdom sorely needed foodstuffs, and at a decent price, and with such large surpluses, this could alleviate the problem for, Tetley leaned over to Jackson.

“For how many years?”

“If I’m reading this correctly, and assuming everything else remains the same, quite a few, sir. I’d suggest we take these offers seriously. It’s a good investment.”

Tetley nodded once more and found Romanov. “You’ll have to forgive my lack of linguistic skills here as I cannot quite read this, but this chart on food production. Exactly how much are we looking at here?” Jackson summarily pulled out a much crisper document on sharp white paper with clean typefaces and liner notes summarizing particular sections in Slovak. Tetley hoped the report wouldn’t put the Novikovians to shame; but he originally had expected a much sharper collection of economic notes from his counterpart’s government.

“In our report, I have outlined the national production figures for iron, tin, and oil.” He handed the document over to Romanov, preferring not to slide the wire-bound report across the table out of a fear of scratching the surface – and in part sliding of such documents was far from customary in the UKA and he found the simple measure difficult to accept. “However, being only familiar only in passing with all the details, I’ll defer to my Minister of Trade and Industry.” Tetley shifted his weight away from his portly colleague, giving him the center stage.

Jackson, in the midst of a swig of water quickly placed the glass back on the table. He chuckled to himself about the ill-timing, but quickly composed himself. “First, great liquor you got there, Comrade Gerchinkov. Seriously, though. As I’m sure all of us are aware both parties present require something that the other has. We have the iron, tin, and oil that you require, and you have the food that we require. If you’ll turn to page thirty-five in our report, you’ll see first the situation regarding oil production and consumption within the United Kingdom. Although not a large surplus by our standards, I should hope you find it sufficient to meet most, if not all, your needs.”

“Currently,” Jackson paused as he dug into his briefcase struggling to find and withdraw a small spiral notebook. “Yes, currently, the United Kingdom consumes 89.7 million barrels of oil per day while producing 101.6 million barrels per day. This leaves us with a national surplus of 11.9 million barrels per day, 10 million of which is bought by my government and stored as the national reserve. One of the ideas I’d like to put out there would be the sale of this oil to your government in return for an equitable share of your surplus foodstuffs. While we haven’t quite arrived at discussing your specific needs, if the amount of ten million is not sufficient we should be able to divert the remaining 1.9 million barrels to your government. Of course, these statistics are applicable only for the next year or so. Currently, my government is…” Jackson glanced quickly over to Tetley who gave a single, deliberate, and forceful nod that communicated a complicated thought through unspoken words. “Currently, my government is consolidating further sources of petroleum in outlying areas of the Kingdom and we expect that in a few years our overall production capacity will expand greater than that of our consumption, and so for the conceivable medium-term future the United Kingdom shall be able to be a world supplier of oil, potentially with a long-term contract to provide almost exclusively to your nation.”

He quickly paused to take another drink of water to quench his dry throat. “Now, regarding mineral deposits. You’ll see on page forty the document deals with our iron reserves..."

Romanov took herself away from the job of translating documents as Dr. Jackson began to speak. Watching, she saw Alexi look up as the Doctor began to speak, but his face was furrowed in an uncomprehending look, broken only by a bright recognition of his name. She quickly began to summarize what was said as the speaker reached into his briefcase.

To her relief, Lavrov – the only other fluent in English in her delegation – took over the job, murmuring as rough translation into Gerchinkov’s ear. She returned to her work as the speaking continued.

“You were asking about this document here?” Her head dipped down next to Tetley’s ear, trying not to interrupt Jackson as he spoke just feet away. “This is the report of Novikov’s entire food production for the past year –“ She paused, pointing to the green line. “ – and the corresponding level of food consumption. Currently the total population of Novikov consumes…” She had to pause and calculate the number in her own head before translating it. “Thirty-seven billion five-hundred million kilos of assorted grains, leaving Novikov with a surplus of seventy-two billion three-hundred and ten million kilos of grain – principally rye and wheat.”

She paused to let those numbers sink in, both for Tetley’s sake and for her own. “Similarly we consumed seventy-one billion kilos of vegetables – all types - with a sixty-one billion kilo surplus... Thirty-two and one-half billion kilos of meat – mostly fish and poultry products – with a twelve billion kilo surplus... Twenty-four billion eight hundred million dairy, nine billion twelve million surplus…. Fifty-seven billion kilos fruit, with a one hundred nine million kilo surplus...” Here she paused, having summarized a half dozen tables of data. “Simply counting grains, we could sustain over one billion of your citizens – provided you do not overindulge. May I continue?”

While she and Tetley looked baffled at the information before them, Jackson continued his speech. “Now, regarding mineral deposits. You’ll see on page forty the document deals with our iron reserves...”

Lavrov interrupted at this point, standing up in his seat and picking up his own briefcase, removing from it a crisp stack of papers.

“Doctor Jackson,” He articulated, placing undue emphasis on the man’s title. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I believe that things would go far more quickly if we simply established what we are willing to offer and what we require in turn. I say this not out of disrespect for you or Azazia. I simply feel that we must establish what each is willing to give, should a deal be reached.”

With that, he handed the stack of papers to Mr. Jackson.

“I must apologize for the condition of the other documents we provided. Five days is hardly enough time to compile agricultural information from each ragion of Novikov, and with the Minister of Economics residing in Duma, I am afraid translation between Slovak and Russian has consumed much of our time. I hope these are more manageable. If you look to the bottom of each page, we have an English summary.”

He returned his attention to Gerchinkov for a moment, giving Jackson a moment to preview the material presented, and informing Gerchinkov of the situation. Fydorovich remained seated, sipping his drink and flipping through the summarized documents before him. He looked up as silence filled the room for a moment and, returning for a moment to one of the charts he had brought, he stated his analysis in Duma’s local dialect of Russian – deliberately trying to be understood only by his companions.

“Lavrov, they have everything we need and more. We must acquire whatever we can from them – the export market for these things is blooming – tin in particular. For the sake of the State, be fair but give them nothing for free.”

Taking his advice, Lavrov turned back to the other side of the table, meeting Romanov in a knowing glance before opening his mouth.

“Minister Tetley, Doctor Jackson, Miss Deveraux, how do things look on your side of the table?”

----

[OOC: Yes, these figures are all realistic for a nation of 620 million - all based around the US's per-capita conumption in 1967 and 1970.]

Tetley nodded, waving his hand to dismiss Jackson from his rambling report as he had merely looked to him for guidance – not having expected to be interrupted so abruptly. He listened carefully to Lavrov as he watched Jackson skim through the summaries, as neither was fluent in Russian. However, Deveraux, as the MoFA could identify a few of the words spoken by their counterparts, she scribbled some notes and passed them over to Tetley, who read them without making an expression of any kind.

He turned up to listen to Lavrov switch from Russian to English, all the while realizing that the serious aspect of the negotiations was now only set to begin. He smiled warmly at Lavrov and accepted the documents from Jackson, mouthing a silent thanks.

“The United Kingdom, as partly stated, is willing to provide Novikov with a significant portion of our surplus oil production in addition to our iron and tin reserves. I should note, however, that the last remains not particularly significant as of now, but given a few months the company with whom my government is currently negotiating will begin operations on a new mine that will add greatly to the UK’s tin production figures, outlined in Dr. Jackson’s report.”

He paused to take a sip of the water, his throat unusually parched on this day. “Additionally, the UK’s merchant marine would likely be employed in shipping these natural resources directly from our commercial ports to those of your nation. Given the immense logistical undertaking in such massive shipments I believe that there will be ancillary bonuses to both parties’ shipping and transportation industries. But, I digress. The United Kingdom stands ready to begin mining these resources for our new friends in Novikov as soon as these treaties are concluded.”

“In exchange,” he continued with a slight, momentary tilt of his head, “the United Kingdom would be interested in obtaining the whole of your surplus foodstuffs, or a significant portion thereof in exchange for the resources we offer. To be straightforward, and for that you must forgive my undiplomatic fashions, we both recognize that our two nations require, rather need, the resources of the other. I too would like these conferences to be concluded quickly, not for a dislike of your wonderful city and hospitality, but for the iron and oil needed to run your society and its industry and for the food needed to feed my people.”

“I realize that exact figures and currency exchange rates must be discussed, but in principle I should hope that the prospect of such large scale trades would not be unwelcome to the Novikovian people and their esteemed government. Of course, auxiliary deals including cash compensation for the inherent fluctuation in currency values would also be written into the treaties signed here at this conference.”

Tetley once again slid a document over to his counterparts, this time however, the document was brief, a single page of paper meticulously planned and combed over and translated fully into Slovak. “What you now have before you, Comrade Lavrov, is a draft proposal of the treaty my government proposes should you agree to similar needs and requirements for your own nation. Firstly, the bilateral elimination of import and export duties on goods produced, manufactured, or mined in either state’s borders. Secondly, the document deals with the establishment of formal diplomatic recognition and representation in each other’s nations through the construction of new, or occupation of current plots of land suitable for embassies and consulates. Thirdly, finding in basic agreement of the mutual need of both parties resources, the treaty establishes a large, all-encompassing exchange of said resources with the caveats of additional cash, manufactured goods, or technology exchanges to balance out any potential deficits or surpluses inherent in floating currency exchanges.”

Tetley sat back in his chair taking a long sip from his glass of water, taking the time then to refill it before a final small sip. He truly was quite thirsty without any explanation. At least it wasn’t as bad as the time he was dealing with the native Azazian representatives and he was beset by a case of the hiccups. Quite embarrassing.

“I hope you find this acceptable as a basic framework for our continuing discussions.”

Lavrov skimmed quickly through the crisp paper in his hand – at this moment perhaps the most valuable document in the country. From his hand, the document passed to Kacnerova, and from her to Gerchinkov and Fydorovich, who formed a humorous pair hunch together over the sheet for a few fleeting moments. The review of this outline took a terse minute of silence, broken by indistinguishable whispers between Lavrov and Kacnerova. After the document had passed around, Lavrov visibly tensed, preparing to stand, and looked across the faces of his companions. One by one, they all give him a slight nod.

Rising, he extended his hand and gave his seated counterpart a vigorous handshake. “Comrade Tetley, I believe that these terms for an agreement are acceptable. Perhaps now would be the time to begin discussing the exact numbers to be involved in this treaty.” Fydorovich, on cue, passed a folder to him and Lavrov opened it without hesitation. He wrinkled his brow for a moment, scanning the document. “We currently possess a total of one-hundred fifty-eight billion four-hundred ninety-seven million three-hundred twenty thousand kilos of surplus foodstuffs, including seventy-two billion three-hundred ten million kilos of grain. We are willing to export this entire surplus to the United Kingdom. I trust that these numbers are sufficient to meet your needs?”

Behind him, the entire Novikovian table had risen respectfully and was suddenly calm now that the serious side of the meeting had begun. Lavrov, having finished with that moment’s words, stepped back into their midst, quietly gnawing the inside of his cheek. Nervousness brought on his carvings, and if there was any time he ought to be nervous, it was now. Didn’t that Kacnerova woman have any respect for his mental wellbeing during these events – addiction was one ting, but unmet addiction was something with an entirely different set of problems.

Through the silence, ‘that Kacnerova woman’ began to speak in a feminine contralto. “In return for these resources, we will require a payment of equal value in Iron, tin, and petrol – we propose a 60%, 20%, 20% division by cost between these three resources. The exact numbers should total something like this-” She nodded her head once more, and Fydorovich produced a paper outlining various oil, tin, and iron prices, and the amounts needed to equal the estimated value of the entire Novikovian surplus of food. “- when the Novikovian values for these resources are applied. These amounts would be sufficient only to meet our current needs.”

Her voice never wavered as she spoke, remaining ever calm and knowing. She was an excellent liar, and though she never said an outright lie as she spoke, the deceptions engrained in the Novikovian report were cleverly covered by a faint urgency and willingness in her vocal tone and inflection. In reality, what she had just presented to the Azazians would represent a 7.1% surplus for Novikov, allowing it further trade opportunities and considerable room for expansion.

Thus, she set her companion up to deal the hammer’s blow. Fydorovich groaned out a string of slow Russian, translated by Miss Romanov in expert timing. “These numbers represent this year’s current needs. If expansion is to occur, additional resources or funds will have to be devoted to insure that Novikov is able to continue growth in both the agricultural and manufacturing sectors – growth which will be vital to Novikov’s ability to continue to provide the United Kingdom with further food shipments.”

Tetley smiled politely at his colleagues and counterparts across the table. As he skimmed through the report detailing Novikovian needs he slid it partially over so that Jackson could also breeze through the figures – and scribble liner notes to Tetley. Jackson, keen to scrutinize the Novikovian report, wrote furiously for what had been translated as “current needs.” Tetley read out of the corner of his glasses one word.

“Bullshit.”

Jackson, not entirely familiar with the statistics provided by the Novikovians could only compare them to the sketchy, and albeit incomplete preliminary data collected by the nation’s intelligence agencies. As he scratched underneath his chin, figures, algorithms, and entire formulas and their data sheets ran through his mind like a slide show on speed. Unfortunately, the limited contact between the two countries and the brief time before the meeting had resulted in a comparatively lackluster intelligence operation, and while he suspected more, Jackson could only prove at best a 3.5% discrepancy between the actual needs and the claimed needs. Of course, it made sense; why not try to rip off the bigger country? Theoretically, the United Kingdom could absorb far larger imbalances in trade agreements – but the civilian population could not deal without their evening suppers. He finally scribbled one note, an arrow pointing to the total numbers and then wrote +3.5%.

Tetley stretched his arms to his sides, careful not to hit either of his ministers, but stalling for a brief moment while he contemplated Jackson’s cryptic messages. If Novikov truly wanted additional mineral resources, they would be well within their bounds to at least ask for them; he would have understood such desires to leave room for economic growth. But their attempt to… twist the facts, as it were, left Tetley puzzled. Surely this Lavrov would have understood that the UK didn’t want to strangle Novikov, doing so would certainly cut short any arrangements and ultimately be bad for both parties. So why would they be trying to hide the three and a half percent surplus?

“Well, Miss Kacnerova, I understand your,” Tetley paused to take a deliberate sip of water, “ah… your current need to leave room for economic growth. However, what I do find interesting is the amount of room you require.” He nodded once more in Jackson’s direction, who had taken the time to write on a pad of legal paper an adjusted list of supplies to be provided, minus the three and a half percent Jackson had picked up on. Jackson calmly slid the pad over to the Novikovian delegates, hoping they could read his semi-legible scribbles. “Dr. Jackson here has just provided a more… appropriate level of resources to be made available to Novikov in exchange for the previous quantity of foodstuffs.”

What Tetley wished he knew was the exact figures of surplus, but without more time for Jackson to sit and compare the notes, 3.5 would be the best figure he could come up with for the negotiations. Out of the corner of his eye, once more, he saw Jackson furiously comparing notes from the Novikovian reports, the stated requests, and the reports from the intelligence services. The longer Lavrov would stall, the more accurate Jackson’s findings would be. Tetley laughed inwardly at the fundamentally absurd game of diplomacy. When both sides should be satisfied, each party finds itself almost inherently inclined to ask for more. He recalled an old childhood maxim, imported from another country if he recalled correctly. “If you give a mouse a cookie…”

“Well, Miss Kacnerova, I understand your, ah… your current need to leave room for economic growth. However, what I do find interesting is the amount of room you require...”

The words hit Lavrov like a string of well-placed punches and he was physically moved by them, plowing his hands down onto the wooden tabletop. His head bent low, mind racing.

“I feel sick.”

Lavrov’s superior did not share in his sickly reaction, though the words ripped into her plans of grandeur just as they had his. Her time in Parlament had exposed her to far more destructive and far more accurate guesses – that is all she considered this affront to be, a result of luck. Besides, she noted as her Russian Minister read off the new list of demands, this was a loss of under 4% overall – well within acceptable parameters.

Kacnerova’s own observations were confirmed moments later by Gerchinkov hurriedly scribbling a note on the corner of her folder. His marks, neither elaborate nor highly legible betrayed the accuracy they held. “Záporný tri čiarka sedemdesiat-päť/ jeden-sto – Negative three point seventy-five / one-hundred.”

The standing Prime Minister read the jagged Latin font and quickly looked up from the paper, her eyes meeting with Gerchinkov’s. His expression pleaded with her; “Take it,” it screamed. She nodded and turned away. The Novikovian state would agree to these new demands, but the Azazian’s needn’t know that yet. Now, it was time for more acting.

“You must understand,” began Romanov, translating Kacnerov’s words from one rough language to another “We have extensive requirements for foreign trade – the Emmitians and others depend on Novikov for a substantial amount of material goods – and these needs play a factor in the proposals brought before the United Kingdom. However, I believe that these trade requirements can be met by Novikov’s private sector provided growth continues its predicted course, or so Comrade Fydorovich informs me.” Romanov did not bother translating the laugh that followed, but simply paused before continuing. “What I… ah, what we are trying to say is that we ought to be able to accommodate the new figures for this exchange as you propose.”

At that point, Lavrov, still recovering from the shock of being challenged in negotiations – his prior experiences dealing with states like the now annexed Republic of Czechzenia, hardly able to exist without the favor of the Novikovian State, had failed to prepare him for dealings with more imposing states outside Novikov’s region - made a hesitant interruption, seeing it necessary to validate the claim his companion had just made.

“If you will look to page twenty-four, you will see the material requirements needed for Novikov’s current export policy. Because my Foreign Office is separate from the Ministry of the Economy,” Fydorovich nodded to attest to that fact, “We often have some difficulty combining the purely internal and purely external requirements placed upon our nation’s economy.”

He continued into a brief explanation of the trade Novikov was involved in, and in particular how those needs – all of which had been inflated in small increments - when combined with the needs of Novikov’s home market, amounted to nearly the whole offer posed by the United Kingdom, and how that situation would place an unexpected amount of strain on internal improvements to continue economic growth – a strain which both sides, he said, would agree was high, but not unreasonable.

“These needs can well be met through our existing infrastructure – we can generate the funds necessary for growth – but only by a small margin, using the more optimistic estimates for fiscal production within the next few months.

However, later estimates, once this treaty is drafted and our surplus is converted into useful resources – page twenty-seven – are far more forgiving. I feel that even if we are unable to meet our needs for growth on the present scale, growth will increase following this plan and we will be able to compensate and achieve our goals on a longer five-year plan.”

The dialogue returned to Kacnerova immediately following those words. She felt that this needed to be finished now. Lavrov had not been privy to the exact surplus that would still be left to Novikov if this proposal was drafted and was content to push for a still more favorable deal. Kacnerova, on the other hand, knew that the time to act was now.

“I believe what we can gain from this information is the knowledge that the drafting of any treaty, be it by Novikov’s standards or those of the Kingdom, will benefit both our governments far more than if we simply held on to the surpluses we both have. If a treaty on terms favorable to the United Kingdom can be drafted with little danger to Novikov’s economy, I believe it ought to be. The benefits of stable and profitable trade should not be discounted over a matter of euros and cents.” Her pause left the room in silence. Even Ivan had set his drink down and was listening to his leader’s words. “Dr. Jackson, Mister Tetley, Miss Deveraux,” She carefully annunciated each word and gave an earnest smile to each person as she said their name, “On behalf of the Novikovian State, we will accept these conditions for the sale of our agricultural surplus.”

Romanov’s translation had a more profound, simpler ring to it. “Minister Tetley, Dr. Jackson, Miss Deveraux, on behalf of all Novikov, we accept.”

Interesting. Tetley thought, watching Lavrov’s head fall just slightly. I suppose they truly weren’t expecting Jackson to inspect their numbers. He listened calmly, without any change in his expressions, being extremely careful not to telegraph his own thoughts through instinctual movements changes in expression. Years of politics in Parliament had prepared him for such situations, indeed, his counterpart in Parliament, the head of the Conservative Party frequently provided a much stiffer obstacle to surpass then this Lavrov did. Of course, Tetley thought, that could merely be caused by our cultural differences.

Meanwhile, Deveraux sat quietly amused by the internal politics of Novikov on display in the conference room. With economics far from her realm of real expertise, she simply nodded with mentions of “fiscal productivity” and “percentage growth of such and such needs.” Her true concern would be the actual treaty itself, and then taking her counterpart to the side and establishing ancillary treaties detailing embassy exchanges, sea lanes of communication and their patrols, and economic exclusivity zones – all the things for which Dr. Jackson had kindly provided her detailed instructions. She contented herself to simply watch closely as Lavrov interjected himself into the conversation and then watch him give way to Kacnerova. Foreign politics seemed a welcome change from the laborious all-consuming endeavour it happened to be back in Imperium.

Dr. Jackson quietly plowed through tables, charts, and statistics, reading between the Novikovian lines, finding slight “miscalculation” here and there, all pointing to a larger surplus – but with Kacnerova now apparently winding up her speech, he could do little else but write one more note to Tetley on the margins.

“+”

Tetley took the papers, and read the note without moving his head – only his eyes shifting focus to read the simple symbol. Jackson had pointed out once again what he had suspected, the Novikovians had been attempting to pull a fast one over his eyes – and at the very least, they had almost succeeded. As the room suddenly paused, Tetley realized that Kacnerova finally had something of true substance to contribute to a conference so far filled with superfluous bantering about non-sense and its cousins.

“…we accept.”

Tetley smiled warmly to the Novikovian delegation. Haggling over the deal offered him very few positive outcomes in the long-run. His downward revision of Novikovian needs had his willingness to furnish those needs had netted no impact on the sale of the agricultural surplus; yet further revisions could very well leave Kacnerova in the position to reduce the value of the food shipments to re-balance the trade in her own favour. Of course, to leave the treaty as it would stand would leave the Novikovians taking a surplus of UK material resources – something that Parliament would be keen to pounce on in coming days and weeks. But leaving the Novikovians with a surplus could also work in his favour, for surely his counterpart across the table knew that Tetley was increasingly more well-aware of the true situation as every moment passed. More than likely, she knew that he knew that. The polite smiles and friendly faces on both sides served as nothing but thin veneers behind which stood faces of shock and outrage, of anger and discontent, all ready to boil over should the negotiations continue onwards – leaving both parties without that which they had promised to obtain by attending this conference. To leave the Novikovians with some sense of honour, of pride, of beating the bigger guy could perhaps play to Tetley’s own needs in coming years with the subtle reminder of this treaty negotiation bringing in far greater rewards for the United Kingdom. A point that fit in well in Tetley’s long-range grand design for the United Kingdom. Very well, indeed.

With a slight nod Tetley signaled his approval. “I am quite pleased to see that our two parties have come to such am amicable understanding of our… truest needs. Madam Prime Minister, I am quite sure that our two foreign ministers will be able to spend the remainder of this day and night editing the draft proposals we’ve laid out with our newly derived figures so that we can sign this treaty tomorrow. If you find that acceptable, of course. That said, I have nothing further to add to this discourse for the time being, do you have anything, Madam?”