NationStates Jolt Archive

Wilhelm Island, as it’s known, is nothing much to look at. Under two kilometers square, inhabited only by a lone coconut palm and a handful of seabirds, nothing worth arguing over, one would think.

The fledgling nation of Delassina, a larger pacific island, claims it as lying within it’s territorial waters. However, the archipelago that makes up Mahria is extended (in the minds of it’s political and intellectual elite) to include Wilhelm. Claims have been raised of cultural and historic possession (based upon a broken pot from a centuries-ago visiting native Mahrian.) Delassina’s population has taken up the cause to assert their sovereignty and independence. Mahria’s government has taken up the cause because nothing else to inspire outraged patriotism seems on the horizon.


Kyin Sailmaker, a Mahrian fisherman, anchored his small ship off Wilhelm and paddled ashore with his nephew and the son of a family friend. The three of them were all the crew needed, and had been on the water for a week or two. Wilhelm offered a nice chance to stretch their legs, plus the chance of some gull eggs. (Gull eggs are an acquired taste, but make a nice change from canned food.) A metal flagpole flew the Delassinan flag defiantly. It was a little tattered, but the colours stayed bright and proud. A few feet away, behind a boulder, flew the Mahrian flag on a similar flagpole. The two flags were not visible from each other.

A note carved into a board was left at the base of the Delassinan flag. “It’s jolly good of you to have left this flag up, you brutal imperialists. By the time you lot get here, our little token of appreciation should have aged to be pretty decent.” It was dated last year. A small bottle of scotch lay beneath it. Kyin smiled, and shooed away his nephew. “That’s for our brave boys in uniform, Rui, you should be ashamed.”

“Nothing too brave about coming here to renew some flag,” muttered the adolescent.

“Show some respect, lad,” Kyin’s voice held a teasing note, “Who knows? The Delassinans could get vicious over the place.” The exchange of flags was a running joke among both nation’s navies. Trips to Wilhelm were assigned to trainees, out to learn both navigation and “Pride in your country.” The fact that the politicians were taking it seriously made the average grunt smile a bit.

Hailcain House, Delassina

"Do I have to do this?" complained Lord Summersby of Hailcain who then sighed audibly and sank into his rather comfy chair. Just because he had to go through affairs of state didn't mean he had to be uncomfortable.

The senior civil servant in the room, Sir James Hastell, tentatively gave a cough. Obviously, as a social inferior, he had to be deferential to the little sod, but his face was eminently punchable... already he had "grand ideas" about changing the place (as if the Delassinan civil service, which had survived famine, flood, considerable political pressure and that horrible episode when the biscuits had run out, would change merely by the tune of this pipsqueak!) whilst not attending to the day to day running of the Ministry. He might only be a junior minister, but he still had to do his part, and the Wilhelm Island affair was definitely his part.

"As the Junior Undersecretary of the Realm for Foreign Affairs, your Grace, it is customary that you get those assignments which are... less glamorous than other, more senior ministers would recieve. This includes minor disputes such as those over Wilhelm Island. I believe it has already been the subject of some preliminary debates in the House of Peoples."

Summersby snorted. "The House of Proles? How nice. But this is not pretend politics."

That's it, you little git. thought Sir James. You only got this position because your mother runs that rather nice (ahem) "refined young ladies escort service" out of your house and thus has dirt on almost every single Lord in the Realm. Sir James played his trump card.

"Well, of course, if you don't want to do it, we can always talk to Lord Cankerston about it..."

Sir James had to hide his smile as Summersby's eyes went wide with fear. The last Lord to have turned down something given to them by the old, cranky Foreign Secretary had been thrown out the window in Cankerston's summer home. Granted, it was a ground floor window, but it was still a marvellous sense of style, and Sir James reckoned that he still would have done it no matter what floor he was on.

"Nononononono", Summersby backtracked. "I am all too eager to continue with this. Now, what's the plan? Who owns the place, anyway?"

At last. thought Sir James. A sensible question.

"According to Twurp's Peerage, Lord Brackenall of the Small Isles is the owner of Wilhelm Island. Apparently, Wilhelm Island is one of the Small Isles, despite being a good way away from the others. Just one of those little quirks, I assume."

"Brackenall? I doubt he would notice the sky falling on his head, let alone a bit of his land being taken from him. Doubtless we must inform him."

"Of course, your Grace. It shall be done immediately. And the rest of the nation?"

"They don't matter to me."

Sir James raised an eyebrow, about as daring as he could get with Summersby until he worked out how lenient he was.

"With all due respect, your Grace, you are part of an electoral coalition, despite not being involved in the electoral process yourself. The Members of the Grand Conservative Party in the House of Peoples depend upon election, and it from there from which all of our legislative agenda arises. It would be much harder should, say, the Free Radical Liberals, or even the Progressive Liberals gain a majority in the House, to pass our legislative agenda."

Summersby looked puzzled. "But we do propose it, do we not? The legislative?"

"Yes, but the lowest house has to pass it. And it would be much easier should those in favour of us and the power we have now remain in power, which will be done by having something tangible to show that they are doing well to those who have the vote, to allow them to make the right choice."

"I thought we rigged it?"

Sir James looked slightly flustered. Summersby was getting slightly perceptive. Must be all this thinking.

"The electoral system is absurdly biased in our favour, as are campaigning funds, and we split the Liberals making them weak, as well as digging vast amounts of dirt and releasing it into the press, which is mostly controlled by our friends, yes."

"So? Are we not in a favourable position?"

"Better an insurmountable one than a surmountable one."

Summersby gave up his thinking, and called to the butler for something to drink.

"I suppose. I don't get what you're going to do, though."

"Isn't it obvious? Appeal to narrow nationalism! Flag waving, all of that insanity. Perhaps make a few anti-Mahrian comments by lesser politicians - all deniable, of course, their military remains superior to ours. Best thing is, all the Liberals are nationalists, so we gain a few allies there, too. The island is ours, after all. Shouldn't lead to too much bother. Who wants a bit of sand?"

Summersby took a sip of his gin and tonic.

"Lord Brackenall, apparently."

Sir James grinned. "Very good, your Grace."

Fia Hin, minister of foreign affairs, tried to keep from smiling at the functionary before her. The boy was an intern-his face still showed acne, by all the gods-or he wouldn't have been assigned to the Wilhelm file. He seemed immeasurably relieved at completing his situation report.

"Very well," the old woman accepted, "So what are we doing about it?"

"Well, um, we're inviting the owner (the claimed, false owner) Lord Brackenall to come talk to us about it. The letter's here," he passed her the draft.

Fia scanned the letter, glad to have a printout rather than squinting at screens. She crossed out a few words, replaced them, handed it back to the bureaucrat with an accepting nod.

"Good enough. Get it on the next plane. Any more substantial contacts?" she pressed him.

"James Hastell was the man who replied to the last message, 'On behalf of' Lord Summersby," his voice filled with scorn at the title, "Probably did the damn work for him."

Fia smiled, "Get used to it, kid. Keep your voice steady when you talk to them, though. He is the man we've got to deal with. Just because his mother peddles whores doesn't mean he hasn't got his own pride." She sighed, "If anything does happen, send me a memo." She gestured at the heap of paperwork on her desk, "But don't be shocked if nothing comes back quickly."

As he left, she called out, "You did fine, by the way."

Wilhelm Island

The boat came suddenly from over the horizon. From a dot, it became a blot, and from a blot, it became a clearly defined shape. It was a small patrol boat, lean, slender, and vaguely menacing, in a low-key sort of way. The boat came in slowly to the shore of the island, and a few people disembarked, in seemingly semi-official uniform, and of course, rather threatening looking semi-automatic weaponry. Delassinans, it seemed, always did things by halves. thought Kyin.

One of the people, a man who seemed in control of the rest, walked up to the three fishermen, having just spotted them. He barked some orders, and was flanked by two of the others, eyes darting around like there were only a few exits and this was an abandoned warehouse.

Kyin frowned. "Who are you?", he said.

The man snapped at Kyin, as if it was preposterous he didn't know.

"We, mate, happen to be from Lord Brackenall's Private Guard, and we are suggesting you get off of his property as soon as possible."

So he was just a bodyguard. thought Kyin. Still, don't want to cross a man with a gun. He stood up slowly, so the man didn't have so much dominance.

"Suggesting? If you're suggesting, then what are the guns for?"

The Guard grinned, a mirthless grin that reminded Kyin of some of the sharks he'd seen in his day.

"The tools of persuasion are many. Lead is just one of them, mate."

Green Hall, Alderian City, Delassina.

The intern was amazed by the sheer opulence of the main hall of Green Hall, the main administrative centre of the Delassinan Foreign Office, as he was being taken to Sir James Hastell's office by a secretary at the front desk, which had, in itself, been rather decorated. The ceiling soared above him, painted in glorious frescos that must have taken years to complete. The walls were solid, yet embellished; a cornice here, some marble pillars there. All in all, he thought, it wasn't the kind of place you normally expected bureaucrats to spend their time in.

He was lead through staircases, rooms and a few lifts, each as opulent as the last, all showing various aspects of Delassinan travails by the Foreign Office diplomats. Suits of armour, paintings (especially of pompous, overbearing dignitaries), and even a stuffed tiger, which had caused almost severe embarrassment between himself and the rather attractive secretary when he thought it was real for just a second.

Finally, he was taken to a large, oak door. Inside was a strangely neat, ordered, and compared to what he had seen, modest room. This may have been because the middle aged man sitting in it was imposing enough withot the need for any baubles. He had a rather modern-looking computer on his desk, which looked fairly unused, but was scribbling a note with a fountain pen. He glanced up.

"Yes?" said Sir James. The secretary whispered in his ear, and glanced back to the intern. "I see. You're Mahrian. I would have expected someone more experienced, but I suppose this is not yet of great importance. Well, what have you got to say to me... what did you say his name was again, Jane?"

OOC: The Delassinans don't know about Lord Brackenall's incursion. Of course, some Mahrians know, but they're on the island. ;) Assume there has been some (minor) correspondance between the respective offices viz. the Wilhelm Island thing, and this is a preliminary thing, interns getting out into the fresh air and all.

[/I]Green Hall, Alderian City, Delassina.

[I]It's not huge wealth, it's just being a bit tacky, the intern reassured himself. It was nonetheless a display to outdo most buildings in Mahria.

As Hastell asked his name, he stood up slightly straighter. "Tyip Birdhunter, son of Rak of the same name." (This mild honour in his own tribe fell flat to the refined Delassinans.) "I have come to register my government's formal protest over your claim to our sovereign territory. Furthermore, I have been empowered to offer you this proposed settlement to convey to your superiors." He handed a thick brown envelope to Mr. Hastell.

"Well, why the deuce did you come all the way here to do that? Wouldn't a courier have worked" Mr. Hastell set his head on a questioning angle.

"Between you and me," Tyip loosened up a bit, "It was thought we should at least send one of our own, to show we weren't dismissing the issue. I really am just a glorified courier."

Mr. Hastell smiled, "Ah, I see. I know how you feel-we've all got to start somewhere." He seemed friendly enough, so Tyip continued.

"I've also been asked to talk to this Lord Brakenall character, see what he'd take to give up on the whole thing. Is it true he's... erm, not as lucid as he once was?" he struggled to be delicate.

Two-Crossing-Rivers, Mahria.

Kyin was back home, fishing trip cut short by his encounter at Wilhelm. He'd explained the situation to the Syndicat fish buyer and headed for his house. (The Syndicat is a Mahrian union of sailors, who takes care of most things.)

A mid-young female voice was on the other end of a ringing telephone. "Mr. Sailmaker?"

"Yes, that's me. Who's this, now?" Kyin couldn't place the voice.

"My name is Mella. I'm with Kwatiuk, the radio station?" in Tlaloc (the old Mahrian language) Kwatiuk meant "messenger."

"Ha? I'm on the news, am I?" he laughed, "What's all this about? Hi everyone,"

"Not at the moment, friend. However, I'd like to have an interview with you over your encounter with the Delassinans. I heard about it from the Syndicat men."


The next day's radio news held the story of Kyin Sailmaker, driven off Mahrian territory by hired Delassinan thugs.

"Aye," he recollected, "They were pretty damn impolite about it. Just showed up, waved a gun, and told me to leave. Threatening, I'd say, threatening. Scared me half to death, it did."

"Did they use force? Start throwing around racial slurs?" Mella asked sympathetically.

"No, they never did. We just scarpered." Kyin shrugged, "I'm not fighting anyone, specially not for a rock."

Obviously disappointed, Mella continued, "Did they say they were with their government?"

"No, I remember it clearly. Said they were paid by this chap Brackenall. Selfish guy, if he wouldn't let us stretch our legs on the damn place." Kyin's voice held disapproval.

Green Hall, Alderian City, Delassina

Sir James gave the hint of a smile.

"Lord Brackenall is as lucid as he ever was, I think you'll find."

Tyip began backpedalling uncertainly. "Oh, well, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

Sir James held up a hand to stop him.

"Seeing as he began his far from illustrious career being stark staring mad, I don't think that's much of an accomplishment, do you?"

Tyip relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly, but still in quite a dignified (if uncomfortable) position.

"Ah, ok." His brow furrowed. "How can someone mad be in charge of, or own, land?"

Sir James looked briefly down, signed the memo he had been writing before, and gave it to the secretary, who only now left the room. He looked back at at the intern.

"In true Delassinan fashion. His father died, and he inherited all lands as the first born."

"But surely such mental illness would mean he would be ruled legally unable to run an estate? Some law of mental incapacitation?"

Sir James leaned in slightly, and conspiratorially.

"You have to understand that if we had a law like that, it would probably deprive us of all our top layer of government."

Tyip looked at the civil servant in disbelief.

"How can they run the country?"

"You've heard the old adage that there's a fine line between madness and genius. It is the civil service's job to keep them on the good side of that line."

Tyip decided to change the subject, before he, too, got drawn into the madness.

"When is it possible to arrange a meeting with Lord Brackenall?" he enquired.

"Never." said Sir James, dismissively.

Tyip almost cried out in disbelief, but held it in.

"Oh, come on. He can't be that desperate to keep the island."

"Why are you so desperate to take it?" Sir James said, inquisitively. He took a measured sip out of a glass of water at his desk.

"It's part of our cultural heritage." said Tyip, chest sticking out now as he thought of Mahrian pride.

"It's part of Lord Brackenall's, too."

"Is that why he won't meet with us?"

Sir James grinned.

"No. He won't meet with anyone. Ever."

Tyip felt the madness seeping in again. "I... don't follow."

"Lord Brackenall is a recluse. He doesn't speak to anyone, doesn't see anyone, communicates through letters passed under his door, and lives in one room of his house. Anything he needs is put through to him through a complex system of levers and pulleys. He's a competent manager of his estate, but that is the reason he's never had a position in the Delassinan government. He doesn't get out."

Sir James mused for a second whilst Tyip took this in.

"Funnily enough, he did add an extremely large ballroom to his house last year. Never been used."

Decorum was all that was keeping Tyip's mouth from hanging open.

"But do not worry." continued Sir James. "We here at the Foreign Office will look over the proposal of settlement for you as well; it is, after all, Delassinan sovereign territory, and we shall communicate to Lord Brackenall over the fact as well. Through... non-direct means of communication. We are all parties in this affair. Do you have anything else to communicate? Spare me a lot of reading by giving me the jist of your supposed settlement?"

Green Hall, Alderian City, Delassina

Tyip asked casually if there was somewhere more private to discuss it. Hastell simply closed his office door. "So, what's so classified about it?"

"Well, are you aware of the Tellecan Purse policy?" Tyip asked.

"Not entirely. Would you enlighten me?" Hastell seemed honestly curious.

"Essentially, it adds heavy tariffs to Mahrian trade and investment with governments that defy Tellecan standards." (Tellec being a Mahrian historical figure, equated by many with the Founding Fathers in America. He was responsible for leading a resistance movement that freed Mahria as a nation.)

"I've... heard the name." Sir James conceded, "What are Tellecan standards, then?"

"It's based upon citizen participation in government and the level of freedom. Your own nation doesn't meet these standards, with the aristocracy." Tyip bit off a longer sermon about inhereited position.

"But we have a democratic system, with the House of People's and all," Hastell replied defensively.

"Ah, that's where this," Tyip tapped the envelope, "Becomes relevant. We are willing to recognize the House of People's as satisfying Tellecan requirements, as long as you cede your claim to Wilhelm. As a result, trade and investment in your economy will flow back and forth to your great benefit," Tyip opened his hand, an inviting gesture.

"I see. It sounds nice enough, but my superiors may refuse the settlement. What then?" Hastell asked.

"We maintain the honest position that the House is a sham and the tariffs stay high."


Two-Crossing Rivers, Mahria.

The entire cabinet had assembled to deal with this new, pesky development. The interview with this Kyin fellow had put Mahrian public opinion firmly behind holding Wilhelm, and had sufficiently angered many that retaliation was being demanded.

Yettan the Elder, the finance minister, threw out his suggestion. "What if Mr. Sailmaker takes them to court? Sues his accosters for emotional distress and uttering threats? We can probably pull up some weapons charges, to, since we don't let civilians carry around machine guns."

Fia Hinn shook her head, "How do you plan on doing that? None of them are likely to come here for trial. Besides, didn't the chap say they were semi-automatics?"

Yettan harrumphed, "Big damn guns, and they were waving them under the nose of one of our citizens. On our land, no less."

Kassen the Elder, the transport minister, was also in nominal command of coast guard forces. "A few of their fishing ships have been loitering around on the edge of our waters. Couldn't we manufacture an excuse to seize one? Or run a few of them off?"

Yettan sneered, "Well what the hell good would that do?"

Kassen held up a placating hand, "It sends a message-messing with our people has consequences. It's not like we're going to kidnap anybody. A night docked here under guard, unnerve them a little, and send them on their way..."

OOC: I'm really sorry about the sabbatical that this RP has taken. We can get it rolling again, yes?

Sir James' Office, Green Hall, Delassina

Sir James took the envelope away from Tyip, glancing around it in a slightly bemused fashion.

"I do not have the authority to agree, obviously. This must be taken up with the relevant authorities... if you want to stay, you are welcome. I don't think the decision will take too long, either way."

"I think I should get back. Report to my superiors as well." said Tyip.

"Your loss." smirked Sir James.

Yeah, right, thought Tyip.

Later - the Central Foreign Office

Four men were sitting at one end of the Long Table in the Central Foreign Office, the discussion room where most of the more pressing concerns were held to discussion. Normally it was full, 25 or so men arguing about the best way to deal with the various places to sneer at. As yet, the current situation was unimportant enough that only a few of those needed to be there to make the decision.

"The main point," said Sir James, who seemed to be becoming the main adviser on the subject. "is that the Mahrians are all but willing to open trade between our two countries in exchange for this island. As you can see from the report by Sir Wilson Barnaby, one of our senior economists in the Treasury, the revenue generated as a result of the improved economy as a result of this trade from a close neighbour would be extremely beneficial." He turned to a man with an impressive handlebar moustache and a showy dress uniform. "We could make some of the upgrades to the Navy that you've been wanting for some time, Admiral Parrington."

The man gave a nod of recognition. "Quite, Sir James."

Sir James continued. "After all, gentlemen, we must move with the times. Delassina must modernise its' economy to take into account global movements, as Sir Wilson has outlined here... whilst still, of course, retaining the strong leadership we already have." nodding to Lord Summersby, who looked very bored and obviously hadn't touched the report.

"Nonsense." said the other man, a weasly-looking man in dark clothing, eyes darting across the room. "Exposure to foreign influences would undermine our state and its internal security."

Sir James frowned. "Exposure to widespread rioting by the proles due to mass unemployment would undermine it a tad more than a few curry shops opening, Sir Daniel. And that is what will happen if we don't let our economy grow."

Sir James stood up and begun pacing round the table. "Gentlemen, let us not delude ourselves. To ensure the continued stability of our state, we must make sure that either people are too happy to change it, or too concerned with other things. This proposal will make people happier. I support it."

"James, I thought you said that it would be good politically if we kept the island, for nationalistic reasons? Doesn't this run contrary to that?" said Lord Summersby.

He really is getting more astute. thought Sir James. Perhaps he shall be useful after all.

"Yes, your Grace. But that was before the Mahrians came to me with this proposal. After consultation with Sir Wilson as to the benefits of their plan, which are, if I believe you'll see in the report, substantial, my mind was changed. Whilst nationalism is a good way to get people on our side, a better way is letting them fill their pockets. Fulfilling need and greed, bread and butter issues, that's what makes people really happy. Also, tensions between Mahria and ourselves could lead to a war, which we, no offense to the Admiral, would lose. In this we gain a possible ally. This is a safer bet all round."

"To ruin." muttered Sir Daniel.

Admiral Parrington broke in. "I agree with your assessment, James. But how on earth are we going to get the land from Lord Brackenall?"

Lord Summersby shrugged. "Pay him off?"

"Lord Brackenall has pride as manager of his family's affairs." said Sir Daniel, puffing his chest out. "He would consider such payment an affront to his honour, much like this entire enterprise."

"I'm afraid that in this case Sir Daniel is very much correct." added Sir James.

"Dirt? Debt? Scandal?" Lord Summersby reeled off the questions like they were no more than asking for sugar in his tea.

"Your Grace, this is a man who doesn't even go out." said Admiral Parrington.

"Damn. If only we could just take his land from him." said Lord Summersby.

"Well..." Sir James began to tilt his head from side to side, the universal gesture for "perhaps".

"I hope you aren't proposing what I think you're proposing, Hastell." growled Sir Daniel. "It would cause grave constitutional problems!"

"What is it?" Lord Summersby looked eager.

"We could pass an Act of Parliament ceding Lord Brackenall's rights to the island, and ours." Sir James looked glum.

There was a hushed silence.

"I see you have recognised the constitutional implications, your Grace." he added.

Lord Summersby nodded, and gulped. "If Parliament could do that to Brackenall, it could do it to anybody. Does it have the authority?"

Sir James thought for a second. "Well, you see, technically it does. Parliament has absolute sovereignty to pass whatever it wishes."

Sir Daniel brought his fist on the table. "But not to take someone's damn property from them! It's not right! It's not moral! And the Lords won't stand for it. I won't stand for it!"

Lord Summersby looked stern. "If the Lords become convinced of the need to keep the state from collapsing by releasing one part, then they will. And I shall make sure that they will. I have contacts... Wait. Could we not cede rights to it as part of our territory, but negotiate with the Mahrians to let Brackenall own it?"

Admiral Parrington grinned. "By Jove, I think he's got it!"

Sir James smiled for a second, then his face becoma inscrutable once again.

"This may be possible... however, I do not think the Mahrians would take very kindly to a piece of their cultural heritage being run by a foriegner, and they do very much consider it a piece of their cultural heritage, and I do not think it is particularly in their political culture to be favourable to aristocracy. They, after all, have strict ethical investment rules concerning democratic governance."

"Ah, yes, this Tellecan nonsense. Just because we're not untrammeled majoritarian sheep-followers like themselves... "democracy", indeed." Lord Summersby snorted.

"Well, I would argue that we're more democratic, your Grace." grinned Sir James.

Admiral Parrington frowned. "How so, James?"

"Well, people say that democracies are representative of their population. However, elected houses will normally contain the best and brightest, qualified individuals with a keen ethos of public service. How is that representative of the population? However, in the House of Lords, we have a few qualified individuals, who are the government, and a lot of total blithering idiots with no clue what to do. Isn't that far more representative?"

Lord Summersby snorted whilst Admiral Parrington roared with laughter. Sir Daniel glowered.

"Still", added Sir James. "I shall submit this latest proposal to the Mahrians, if that's alright with your Grace?"

"Fine, go straight ahead." said Lord Summersby. "I'm doing not too badly, am I?"

"The worst is yet to come, I'm sure, your Grace." said Sir James, and went out of the room.


The Most Gracious Department of Foreign Affairs,
Green Hall,
Alderian City,
AL1 1GH.

Concerning the area known as Wilhelm Island:

Dear Ms. Fin,

The Delassinan Government sends warm greetings to you and the following proposal:

1) That the Delassinan Government cede sovereignty over the island to Mahria. This would have to be done through the Delassinan Parliament, and as such will take some time. We have proposed and debated other, speedier alternatives and avenues, but this is the only legal way that Delassina can cede rights to its sovereign territory.

2) That, in return as promised, Mahria lifts her restrictions upon trade and investment with and within Delassina, as soon as the Act is passed ceding rights to Mahria.

3) Furthermore, that the change in the sovereignty of the island does not affect the ownership of said island; therefore, Lord Brackenall of the Small Isles remains the landowner, although of course any actions he chooses to take on the land will have to now comply with Mahrian, rather than Delassinan, law.

We await your response.

Yours sincerely,
Sir James Hastell CDM OT
On Behalf of His Grace Lord Summersby of Hailcain

Two-Crossing-Rivers, Mahria

While not ideal, the compromise was certainly sufficient for all. In international relations, what more can be asked for? That was the general mood in Mahria.

Kyin Sailmaker (while encouraged to take legal action) had simply shrugged it off. "It's his land," he acknowledged to Kwatiuk reporters. "Sure, I didn't like getting guns pointed at me, but I can let the past pass..." That was as much as aired, crowing over how magnamious this fine, simple man was. (The news crews judiciously ommitted, "...and leave me the hell alone, I'm sick of you gossip mongers.")

The media was aglow with the symbolic victory that had been won. Mahria had once again triumphed, and the leaders of business were eyeing Delassina with curiosity and a nippy little hunger.

A formal invitation had been extended to Delassina to send someone to sign the official handover on the island itself. A casual photo-op and a few hours cruise.

What could possibly interrupt?