NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: While Al Khals is more usually part of AMW, and is still there today, I want to do something a bit different. If anyone from AMW is reading and wondering why Al Khals isn't responding to some post directed at it, just give me a nudge, I'm still there! I don't think that 10% of Tanzania makes my bouts of inactivity a great loss, though. So, the rest of Nation States, you can get to trembling before our might, now!


The Palace of Democracy, Tkrat

3.7 billion citizens and more waiting to be born, 1.7 trillion barrels worth of known crude reserves and more waiting to be found, one state united without any cracks...

The flakey-surfaced but firm standing red stone walls of this most ancient palace, built originally by a local Amir, now surrounded more individuals than ever was the case before, save perhaps when said Amir based his harem in town. Today set an even less happy scene than endured by those girls sold or stolen into the service of that long dead local ruler. Men were being accused of crimes. Crimes against the revolution, crimes against the people, crimes against the faith, crimes against the new Jamahiriya.

Some cried out as they were jostled away down the isles between hundreds of comrades-come-judges. "I fought for the Jamahiriya!" in some cases, or, "I recognise no Jamahiriya!" in others as this deadly trechery drove some to reject their recent involvement in the government that replaced the Sultan's.

Most of those attending were dressed either in military uniforms or else western suits, while just a few clerics were to be spotted in more traditional robes. One uniform was a little more imposing than the rest, or should have been were it not so crumpled. The man inside it was likewise crumpled, often leaning forward or slumping in his seat, fanning himself with his cap and frequently covering his eyes with one hand as he appeared to weap after condemning yet another old friend to death or prison. Perhaps historians would argue about whether this was caused of genuine pain and a conflict between duty and personal wishes, or a sympathetic show for the cameras that documented proceedings (though not for contemporary transmission).

Al Khals was changing, but gradually taking on a new air of permanence as Omar Qottar tightened his emotional grasp. The Sultanate was thoroughly destroyed, and the new Jamahirya settling in. The old ruler hadn't acted wisely. A nation so oil-rich as Al Khals might easily have made strong allies disinclined to ask difficult questions, but the Sultan had been obsessed with two things only: first his own power and dynasty, and second his faith. He shunned contact with the outside, and even feared that technological development might steal power from him, even on some level that it might attack his religion.

Qottar had no such worries, and planned to protect his rule by attending hastily to the exploitation of new fields and the signing of export contracts. Nobody would want to challenge his revolution if it was fueling their nation.

Besides that, the people were with him, he insisted. Over the renamed Palace of Democracy flew the flag adopted by the revolutionary state that Qottar designed. Replaced was the Sultan's flag, a three coloured affair split between the green of his faith and the white of his dynastic purity, set with black script declaring God's greatness and a pair of swords black on white and white on green and standing one for the Sultan's justice and the second sword of God's. Now the banner was red for the revolution and the rusty sands from which it sprang, and in the upper hoist side was presented a familiar crescent and star. But the Jamahiriya's star was double in religious and revolutionary significance, as was the crescent, which, on close inspection, appears modified by the addition of a handle that makes a farmer's sickle of the symbol. As Qottar puts it, the work of revolution surrounds and protects the faith, while at the same time only being emcompassed by God can give permanence to the revolution.

...The old stone walls reflected the distant crackle of gunfire as Naquib Hossam Al-Thani, an officer in the victorious revolutionary army, met his end for, "working to subvert the people's revolutionary energies" which could be translated as being suspected of sympathising with a General whose popularity was previously close to Qottar's own, making him a threat. The Captain's body fell inches away from the bloody stain left by said General not twenty minutes previous, and inside the Palace another verdict sounded like the chambering of a fresh round.

The outside world would soon notice the flying on Al Khali merchant vessels of new colours and airports would receive requests from the reformed and expanding national carrier, Air Al Khals, no longer a tiny fleet belonged to a paranoid Sultan.

The masses had waited and suffered for so long, and yet the new President could confidently assert:

http://www.nationstates.net/images/flags/uploads/al_khals.jpg
"On the day of victory, no man is tired!"

OOC: More to come, but it couldn't hurt to bump this at a busier time of day... bump!

Robotstan collectively scoffs at the Khali revolution, and Parliament in Kingston is quick to dismiss it as 'Bolshevist.'

Of course, that doesn't solve the problem of where oil for Robotstan's military should come from, and some more pragmatic Parliamentarians are advocating that the new Jamahiriya be approached diplomatically...

Omar Qottar did not officially carry the title of President, but it was oft used in reference to this de facto head of state. In the Palace of Demcoracy, near his home town of Tkrat within the mountains of the north-west, the premier was discussing with some of the inferior movers and shakers of the Jamahiriya their position towards Robotstan. The initial reaction seen in Qottar was based on his long-term general strategy: engage them as allies, even if we don't really mean it, and sink the claws of our commercial potential into their hides so that they are in no position to turn back and bite us.

But, he was being advised, the Robotstanis presented little threat. They were remote; relatively docile; and, from what the Khals Security Unit could assert through its limited intelligence assets directed to the matter, its military was hardly in a better condition than that of the Jamahiriya.

It was concluded that Al Khals could afford to upset the Robotstanis if it came to that, and not suffer much as a result. Still, it wouldn't hurt to engage them in trade in the interim, since there was some twenty-five million barrels of oil waiting to leave the nation daily.

OOC: Al Khals,where is your nation base, in the world, if one was to look for it on a map?

OOC: Well, when I joined NS all that time back, I was thinking Middle East possibly near Kuwait, but I was not impressed by the ME region at the time (maybe it is better, now, I wouldn't know) so AK moved to the east coast of Africa, near Zanzibar. But that's a different time, too, now, so I don't really know!
Al Khals is clearly too big to fit anywhere in the real world without taking the entire ME and half of Africa, which I don't want to do. So for now, it is just sort of in limbo, on some millions of square kilometres of canal-crossed desert. Probably it can be considered to be loosely close to other Middle Eastern-type nations, but I can't say more than that, sorry.

OCC: Hey Al-Khals, are you modern tech or pre-modern tech? Not that it matters, but Robotstan is pre-modern tech, existing in the timeframe between 1955-1960. So just wondering.

IC:

After being convinced to approach the new regime in Al-Khals in at least a preliminary ceremonial capacity, Parliament sends a telegram to Tkrat asking whether the Jamahiyira would be interested in recieving an ambassador from Robostan, and saying something to the effect of "if you give us oil, we will give you some things too."

Despite having a weak and archaic economy based around household boatbuilding and fishing, Robotstan produces some of the world's best civil engineers and development experts, not to mention ska musicians (and they can teach too)! So if the Jamahiyria finds itself in need of anything like that, Parliament says they might be able to get it.

OOC: Oh! A few days ago I came back to NationStates and found that my nation was just a few days shy of deletion for inactivity! Well, here I am once more.

Al Khals is a bit of both, my friend. The old Sultan was a funny man who feared that technology would rob him of his power or try to attack his faith, and so Al Khals rejected most of it for a long time, and shunned foreign influences for the same reasons. Qottar, however, hopes to modernise the new Jumhuriyah. Still, he lacks capital and expertise, and though he has oil he is unable to extract it efficiently and quickly with his old technology and limited facilities that were built to supply a backwards nation rather than export to a whole world, so he and Al Khals are stuck in a painful loop until somebody comes along to invest very heavily indeed.

These facts will be obvious, of course.

OCC: Quite good. You'll find that Lusaka's in the process of annexing Zimbabwe in AMW, if you're still up for that side of things.

IC:

For the Robotic Parliament, the potential for gaining access to vast supplies of oil on the ground floor is simply too good to pass up.

A telegram is fired off to the Jumhuryiah informing Al-Khals's new leadership that Robotstan would very much like to establish diplomatic relations. The most interesting thing, thinks the Foreign Ministry, that the telegram offers is significant investment in the Al-Khali oil industry. And if King Stanley IV is interested in making the country a Robotic protectorate, Parliament is not, and Parliament controls the military. In short, it is hoped that Al-Khali revolutionaries will 'realize' that they have very little to lose in the whole arrangement. To sweeten the deal, says the telegram, Robotstan will even throw in a squadron of brand-new Venom FB.72 fighter-bombers.

While the Venom might not be the finest bird in the sky, Qottar's government can see the use of basic aircraft with cannons and the ability to carry unguided rockets and bombs over several hundred miles as tools against the late Sultan's surviving support bases and a few of the more radical Islamic sects that do not conform to the new party line. Since the Robotstanis have offered the aircraft, however, Via'di'arl does not see a reason to elaborate on the likely use of such machines should they indeed end up in the new air force.

But this is a petty aside to the prospect of investment in Al Khali oil. The Robotstanis may not appear the very best potential investors, but they are all but alone thus far and likely to make serious inroads as Qottar tries not to expose his desperation to begin exporting crude and refined products as soon as possible.

The Robotstanis are invited to establish an embassy in Via'di'arl and as many consulates as they may require in cities such as Tkrat and Khalsabad, and whatever further establishments they may require to facilitate the process of speedy investment in developing drilling and refining schemes, not to mention prospecting since the many billions of barrels estimated in known fields are though to be but the tip of the proverbial...

The elated Parliaments in Kingston and Dili waste no time in jointly issuing a resolution to establish embassies in Al-Khals, and before the day is through one of the PRAF's few Viscount (locally known as Tern) fast transports finds itself flying towards Via'di'arl, its Dart turboprops moving it at a stately 308 miles per hour. On board, the newly-appointed ambassador Qaboos Massad flips through last-minute dispatches dealing with the former proffessor's new post.

Meanwhile, twenty Venom fighter-bombers, straight off the Robotic Aerospace production line, are brought to Port bin Qasim airstrip and unpacked for the flight to Al-Khals. Of course, to supply them before the character of the Khali regime is determined would be a thoroughly foolish thing to do, but unless Massad is met in Via'di'arl by atrocities nothing is likely to happen to the squadron.

OCC: For an airforce like the PRAF, which has so far had airborne radar for all of ten years or so now, the Venom is still a respectable jet...although if you don't consider the Hawker Hunter the pinnacle of modern fighter design...well...eh...good for you. :)

Via'di'arl greeted Qoboos Massad as a vast low-rise sprawl covering a really massive area of land. Descending from the sky, the Robotstani would see red brick and stone buildings from horizon to horizon, with more waterways than he could count running in seemingly all directions. The capital was raked with canals that enabled the springing-up of many palms as well as this city of millions.

Few vehicles were on the streets, indeed, relatively few people. The place seemed to have some sense of order, and was in the main quite clean. The canals were packed small boats. Some people were fishing, though it was hard to imagine them having much success, others were trading from boat to boat, and more were moving heavy loads by mannual power, usually with poles and sometimes with paddles. In some of the larger waterways a few small sails could be seen, and just very occassionaly one might here a petrol motor pushing a little launch.

Security forces passed here and there on foot or on little horse-drawn chariots to which were often fixed light machineguns.

The visitor didn't see any incidents that had to involve these security men.

But he wouldn't spend long over-flying the city or moving through the streets, driven as he was at quite high speed aboard a small jeep of great age, controlled by a man who's experience as a driver was in question as the vechicle skidded, tilted, clipped curbs, and groaned and squeeled along the way.

Soldiers armed with M1 Garand rifles and others in old-fashioned Al Khali dress and wearing long curved swords, some holding spears and shields, all lined up to greet the ambassador at the newly appointed piece of Robotstani territory in the Jamahiriya. The embassy was on the grounds of what used to be a holiday palace used by one of the old state's many princes.

There'd be plenty of talk about how it used to belong to a prince before the people took it over, even about his radical excesses, but Massad would have a difficult time if he decided to investigate the fate of the prince in question.

(I seem to be falling asleep! I'm not sure where next to take this. I shall have a think.)

In the interest of politeness, Massad doesn't press for information on the late Sultan or any of his family members. Fortunately for the Robotic Parliamentarians, the issue of executions had been decided for them when the Royalists' battleship was dive-bombed, shelled, strafed, and torpedoed, and sunk with the loss of all hands, including nearly every prominent Royal. But for the Al-Khali revolutionaries, things could very well have involved more firing squads.

He thanks his hosts for the generous accomodations, and no doubt another Viscount-full of diplomats and embassy workers will arrive in Via'di'arl soon. But the first order of business, as far as Massad is concerned, is to meet Omar Qottar and determine just what will be the relationship between Robotstan and the Jamahiyra.

To Omar Qottar, de facto ruler of Al Khals.

Dear Noble Sir,

Four hours ago, a man stumbled into the Pulciferian Embassy in Guru Jihala asking for asylum. He claims to be Crown Prince Jumhalaya Khals, son of the late Sultan, as you know. Our Ambassador reports that he seems ragged, tired, cut up and aparently is "starting to smell". We have no wish to start harbouring political refugees. He may not even be the Crown Prince at all. I am prepared to extradite him home at a moments notice. If it makes it easier, you apear to have a strong relationship with Robotstan. Their embassy here in Guru Jihala is close to ours, and we can easily take him there for transport back to you. On a lighter note, when do you think the political climate will be calm enough for us to send our ambassador to you to establish a new embassy, since the old one was aparently burned to the ground. Also, if you find the body of the former ambassador, it would be most beneficial if you could ship her home.

With great respect,

The Viceroy of The Grand Duchy of Pulcifer, James C.P.

What is that phrase? "Bump" I think.

bump

bump

There have indeed been more firing squad victims than the likes of Hossam Al-Thani and others aligned with him behind a potential rival to Qottar, but they numbered in something more like the dozens to perhaps hundreds in a nation of billions that was coming out of a civil war and shaking off ideas and lifestyles only moderately changed since the middle ages. If ever brought to account for the executions, men like Omar Qottar would always insist that a great many nations practice capital punishment for a range of serious crimes, and the shootings in Al Khals were just a local extension of such norms. Of course, it was also true that some people had been shot for their failure to quickly enough abandon their noble birthright, and some tiny few only for being seen to favour the losing candidate in the post-revolutionary power struggle that Qottar won, but, as Omar would say, it is hard to emerge clean from a dirty fight such as the one made necessary by the Sultan's strangle-hold on the people and by the cruelty of decadent princes.

It does not take very long for the Robotstani ambassador to be invited up to Tkrat, Qottar's home-town and second seat of revolutionary power in a state supposed to shirk excessive centralisation in favour of mass power. As much as Qottar would like to give the impression of a busy man drowning in deals, the truth is that he had little to do as local leaders -often tribal or religious in source, now de facto officials with no more title or constitutional authority than Qottar himself- set to fairly modest re-organisation of life along lines that payed a little lip service to Arab revolutionaries from abroad.

After another harrowing jeep ride -during which his driver enthusiastically quizzed Massad about life in Robotstan, briefly in respect of religion but soon with a heavy focus on popular music and whether there was substance to talk he was hearing of, "fizzy" orange juice- the Ambassador arrived at another waterway where he was greeted by two smiling, "desert Arabs" wearing blinding white and flanked by brightly decorated camels. The purpose and exact identity of these fellows would remain a mystery, but a very keen eye might later note that they would follow from the bank this well-appointed paddle steamer on to which they ushered Massad. Well, in their traditional dress and riding their camels, they certainly didn't scream secret police to most observers... but then what secret police did, really?

Several miles along the river -which actually was a canal many centuries old and neglected for so long that its banks had collapsed and its course begun to wander, giving the appearance of natural origin, though it may still have looked suspiciously straight to the vultures above- the steamer was met by a very regal looking launch, and the Ambassador was presented with Omar Qottar himself.

Qottar was slightly over weight but not nearly to the degree of some of the old royals one might mention, and stood towards the upper end of what could be considered average height. In age he was apparently in his thirties or forties, it was hard to tell, and he still had a fairly good head of jet black hair, which he sometimes covered with a military cap or beret, though he was fairly casual about the presentation of his uniform, and was as likely to be twisting the hat in his hands or waving it about in a friendly -or sometimes cooly menacing- fashion.

"Ah, Qaboos Massad, Massad!" He said, grinning wider than had the Khals Security Unit agents and holding out his hands as if he meant to embrace the ambassador, though he did not end up doing so. "How do you like our country, now?" He laughed and moved one hand close to Massad's shoulder without quite patting him, and lead the guest into the big riverboat's lounge, where he sat down in a carved wooden seat, crossing one leg on top of the other which he left planted, and taking out a case of cigars. He left the case on a small table between his seat and a two-seater leather couch, and gestured towards seat and cigars in an inviting manner. Already the room, lit by sunlight streaming in through French windows, was taking on a sweet smell laced with a hint of something quite intoxicating as Qottar puffed on his mildly narcotic roll.

There was no alcohol in evidence, but if he asked, the Robotstani could get chilled milk, sweetened water, or orange juice by the gallon.

The boat was moving along very slowly under power of just one boiler, and frequently met little launches bringing on small quantities of material to burn: one saw isolated palms along streets and river banks, but there were no really great forests in Al Khals and so good woods were fairly precious.

With this in mind, Qottar was keen to talk about development in the oil prospecting, drilling and refining sectors, and to a lesser degree in mining and construction.

During their encounter, Qottar was interrupted by an aide who came in after some muffled shouting between the deck and the riverbank had informed the crew of news of Omar. A note was then handed over, telling the Al Khali leader of news from Pulcifer.

"Jumhalaya? Never heard of him! Sounds like half revolutionary half Cajun dish!" Qottar grunted, brushing ash off his tunic with his free hand while reading the note. "Still, it seems an unwise thing to invent at a time like this: perhaps there's something to it." He looked up at the Ambassador over the top of the paper. "Here" he said, handing it over to the Robotstani, "What do you make of this? Pulcifer? Guru Jihala? Do you think that your people would co-operate with this proposal, or shall I find a way to leave you out of it?"

The Viceroy's respectful tone had at least caught Qottar's ear and found him in a less than hostile mood, so, in good time, a reply was directed to the Pulcifern(?) foreign service indicating thankfulness for bringing the matter subtly to the attention of Via'di'arl, and asking that they hold on to, "the issue" for what appeared to be indicated as a brief period while the Jamahiriya brought its fledgling assets to bear on the matter and could give it the proper attention.

"I'm afraid that I am only minimally familiar with the state of affairs here, and so is the great body of Robotstanis, no doubt" says Massad as he takes the paper. "But if this man is indeed the Crown Prince," Massad adjusts his reading glasses, "I'm sure we will be able to perform the functions suggested. I must say I've never heard of this country, and perhaps it would be prudent to do some fact-checking before definitively saying yes, but it does indeed seem serious."

Handing the dispatch back to Qottar, Massad picks a cigar and lights it with his own matches, kept in the top pocket of his baggy military-ish tunic. Like Qottar himself, Qaboos Massad is not an especially tall man, and although he couldn't be called overweight he isn't emaciated. A pair of worn and rather shabby ankle-height boots and an afghan hat complete Massad's uniform of sorts.

"On the subject of oil exploration, I've been asked to tell you about the following two proposals; in the first, a joint Robotstani-Khali company would be established for the purposes of oil exploration, with us providing the money, machinery, and advisorial staff, and you providing labour. The second proposal does away with the joint company and allows for either Al-Khali or Robotstani ownership of the oil company, whichever is more convenient for you."