NationStates Jolt Archive

Menelmacari colony in the Sslaa system, in the Confederate Eating restaurant

Jonathan Czapp smiled as he looked at the screen of his laptop. His mission here was simple – especial as the Menelmacari intelligence service was protecting him from foreign intelligence attention. His only job would be to type up a single letter to the Sakkrans – and to meet with them, once. Other people would arrange the rest.

The letter itself would be simple in content. He would mail it to a given Sakkran corporation – one that was already chosen for the purpose by CSA-CIA. A mock-up corporation, Allanean Manufacturing, would handle all the business transactions. And, eventually, a single craft would be built, a Cruentus-class missile cruiser. Excellent. Very, very good. It would be a single step – but a single step of the kind that begins a road of a thousand miles

* * * *
From:Jonathan Czapp Allanean Manufacturing, Inc.
To:Relevant Sakkran Corporation
Subject:Manufacturing project, classified

Dear Sir!
I am a subcontractor for a powerful, influential client. I am told you are able to help with a large-scale confidential project. Is it possible to arrange a meeting at the Confederate Eating branch at the Menelmacari colony? Attached please find a check for 500,000 ALD as proof of the truthfulness of this letter.

OOC: Most obviously, this is secret IC and happens way out of the Solar system. I don’t think anybody except Sakkra and possibly MISSION, the Menelmacari intelligence agency, would know about this, unless you have some special concerns.

In the Sslaa system, the planet Sslaa V has three moons orbiting it. The largest moon, and the most developed, is Vubz, which serves as the coordination center for maintaining peace and security in-system. It also serves as traffic control for both military and civilian ships. The second largest is Ssaak, and is mostly used for refining materials mined in the system.

The third, Uztuua, was sold to an independent concern, namely Hreer Weapon Works. They've since built a manufacturing facility there as well as a corporate branch office, and this is overseen by one of the corporate officers under CEO Kargaah. The name is Vaark, and his secretary brings the letter from Jonathan Czapp into his office, and places it on his desk. From behind his black-scaled eyelids, one bleary yellow eye reads the letter while the other minds the scores of the Palaai regional Jugg team.

Rrrmmph....interesting. Meet at a 'neutral' location, no mention of purpose, but a check is supplied. As if truth can be seen with funds. This smells of suspicious doings......hmmmm.... A scaled, clawed hand scritches at the long, leathery tendrils beneath his chin in thought. My curiosity is piqued.

He cups his hand to his ear, and activates his ear-bud. "Passh, have a message sent to the Mediator to the effect of a meet and greet. We have a potential client, and I would like an assessment done.Give him the info on who, where and when as i've been given."

"At once sir." The scratchy, yet feminine voice of his secretary sounds in his office. He dips his claw into a tube of ink, and scratches out a reply.

*********************************************************
To: Jonathan Czapp
Allanean Manufacturing, Inc.

Greetings,

I've received your letter, and find myself piqued with curiosity. As such, I am sending one of my personal staff to meet with your liaison. He is known only as Mediator, and seems to prefer it that way. Time and date will be in two standard cycles at mid-cycle (two days at noon) at the place you have chosen.

CorpOfficer Vaark
Hreer Shipwrights Inc.
Moon Uztuua

Jonathan Czapp relaxed slightly in his comfortable chair, enjoying the taste of venison and Greater Prussian wine. Surprisingly, Confederate Eating supplied not the fast-food you would expect in such a join, but good-quality game meat and Imperial wines. While the meat was slightly more expensive than it would be back home in the Confederacy – due to, he assumed, the shipment and storage prices – it was still rather affordable, and pretty good, at that.

He lifted his glass of Centreville Vineyards Chardonnay and inspected it through the light. Beautiful. I love my line of work. You go abroad, drink excellent wines on your employer, and screw gorgeous women. – actually, he made his way here in a Manga-class luxury vessel. He couldn’t remember all of it, and it would be a while until he actually had any sexual desire back in him. Sometimes, with a small level of report juggling, you can write off the strangest things as ‘mission expenses’ – such as travel in a space-travelling brothel, gaming booth, and restaurant. Afterall, what’s more of a cover for a spy than a whole bunch of naked ladies?

The Allanean chuckled at the thought – actually, it made certain morbid sense – after all, the Taraskovyans were not likely to come after him here – and were not really all that likely to suspect he would choose this particular mode of transport. Nah. The buggers are far too old-fashioned to get this. Hmmph. Barbarians, one and all, those Taraskovyans. Still, the thought of Grand Duchy intelligence efforts prompted the young man to lift his head for a while, looking through the restaurant for potential observers – of course, still pretending to be inspecting his – by now half-finished – glass of Chardonnay.

Now, this Mediator dude… the lizardman is supposed to be here any minute now – I wonder where he is right now – and whether he will arrive – or whether he actually looks like a lizarman. If I were them, I’d send something less conspicuous… but that’s just me.

"Mediator? We are on final approach of the Menelmacari colony." The sound of the pilot's PA sounded in the spartan chamber. The transport was a generic utility shuttle, one of the Monitor-class. The Mediator took a look in a mirrored surface, adjusting his beret a bit to give it a jaunty tilt, and fixing his glasses on his nose. Perfect. He grabbed the case next to him and sat in the crash-chair. For all intents and purposes, he looked like an expatriate french artist, one of the types that actually succeeded in the world of art.

The approach was made, the craft landed and the passenger disembarked. A public directory showed him the appropriate place to go. The time read 11:50 Sslaa standard, as well as a score of other times in systems and planets most distant. Ah, there we are. Confederate Eating. Such a bland name compared to the homeland's fine dining establishments. He looked at a file-photo of the target he would meet with for reference, and then shredded the page into minute particles.

The Mediator made a beeline for the restaurant, clutching his case tightly. The host was at the entrance, and the Mediator leaned in a bit, spoke softly, and looked in the direction the host indicated seeing a human sitting, seemingly waiting for nothing in particular. A few more words were exchanged, some material changed hands, and the frenchman made his way to the table.

He stood by the table, as if waiting for an invitation. "Bonjour, monsieur. You have been expecting me, oui?"

“Oh hello, Sir.” – the Allanean greeted the Sakkran with the utmost politeness. – “Please, please sit down – wait a minute while I order you up some wine. Surely you would not object to a Chardonnay like mine? We in the Greater Prussian Empire make some excellent wines, and the Chardonnay is definitely one of them. If you don’t like Chardonnay, well, look at the menu, there’s all sorts of different stuff. A Tennessee bourbon would do you good I guess…” Even as he chattered on and on, the Allanean tossed the Sakkran a small napking – well, not tossed. Moved it across the table with lightning speed, more like.

The napkin has a very simple, pre-written message on it. As you may have inferred, I work for a much bigger client then I appear to be. My client needs a ship built – and it must be built in as secret a fashion as humanly possible. After the building is complete, the ship would be taken care of buy us – and, if you take care of the situation in an expedient and discrete manner, another, larger order would be made by my client..

As the Mediator glanced on the napkin, the Allanean chattered on – for any outside observer, he was making an ultra-patriotic rant about the comparative quality of wines made in his homeland and in other Greater Prussian nations. Once he noticed that the Mediator has completed reading, he asked – as if about the wine:

“Well, Sir, will you consider the menu?”

The Mediator tucks the napkin into his sleeve deftly while looking at the operative. "Oui, monsieur. But zee menu, it is written strange. I know not where the vineyards are, and it seems there is nothing to clear up my le manque de savoir. Lack of knowing, if you are not familiar with zee language."

He seems to peruse the wine list as he continues. "Perhaps if monsieur could fill in zee blanks for me, i'd be better able to make a decision on ziss matter?"

The Allanean looks up at the Mediator and begins to chatter almost uncontrollably. “Well, let me demonstrate. Le cognac Dirai est produit en Burgundy, la portion Catholique de l’Empire Prusse, et le Bourbon Sud origine dans Tenessee, a l’Allanea, et le vodkas sont manufactures a Derscon…”

Even as he blathered on, he began to write swiftly on the other side of the napkin, without actually looking at the page, his young, honest eyes looking the Mediator straight in the face.

”Et le Chateau de Sanglant est produit dans les vineries personnelles d’Empereur…”

The message on the napkin says:

”My client is the Confederate States Government, seeking for a way to prepare itself for an official pullout of the Treaty of the Wolf – and a way to follow up on its other international obligations.”

OOC: Sorry for the bad French.

The Mediator looks at the note briefly, and nods his head. "Mmmm....I see. Zee Emperor's personal vinery, yes? Always an excellent reccomendation. Je pense que je peux consentir to that. Hmmm.....ah! But zee price, it is not listed here? Perhaps you can tell me what the payment for zee Chateau de Sanglant would be? Say if I wanted many carafes of it?"

The Allanean bent over the table, as if to demonstrate the wine’s price to the mediator. Just as he spoke to him, very loudly and rudely, about how the transportation prices affect the price of rare wines, another napkin shot across the table. It only had three words on it.

“One hundred billion.”

The napkin was looked at briefly, and tucked into the sleeve to join its predecessor. 100 billion? Not a bad price. Should cover the costs of labor, materials and all that with a small profit to boot. The Mediator looked at the operative with a haughty, scornful look in his eye. A look that the French on Earth had perfected long ago.

"Monsieur, I know quite well transport costs and tariffs affect zee price. Do not speak to me in such a ton enfantin, as if talking to a retarder!" He hurriedly scribbled on a piece of paper while looking at Jonathan, and this was shot swiftly towards him. "Have your vinery contact me at this number, and have someone of a more manière agréable talk with me." He then stood up, and made his way out of the establishment.

The paper would read "It is agreeable. We'll await the specs and begin."

CIA-CSA Headquarters

I see you have done your duty. Great. The Confederacy stands to benefit from this. Now, order the transfer of the blueprints to be made. FTL communications, tight-beam of course. One Cruentus class missile cruiser, coming up!

Vaark sat in his plush office behind his desk, the Mediator opposite him. The surroundings smelled of nutmeg slightly, with lavish ancient paintings and sculptures set up as if in an art gallery. "Mediator, I would have your report. And remove that ridiculous disguise."

The beret-clad head nodded assent, and a hand pushed something at the nape of the neck. The skin on the body of the french-man seemed to bubble slightly, and then withdrew into the chest of a Cham-Web suit, revealing the face of a Grass Walker. Symbiotid attachments are deactivated, and the Sakkran seems to give a full-body shake in relief.

"That shape is too clumsy and restrictive. How can the humans stand it? At any rate, contact was made, discussion was had and an accord was formed." He produced the slips of paper tucked into the sleeve, and slid them on the desk to Vaark.

The CorpOfficer picked them up and looked at them. "Hmmmm....100 billion for a ship? Not a terrible price. You did fine, Mediator. You can expect your regular commission to be delivered to you." The mediator stood, bowed slightly, and left.

Vaark commed his aide. "Get in touch with Ssaak; tell them to fire up their refinery double-time. We got an order coming in....."