NationStates Jolt Archive

Roach-Busters Air Force One

The Generalissimo lay back, languorously stretching his arms as he cradled a cigar between his fingers and slowly sipped pink champagne. Christine massaged his bare feet, as a kidnapped Dutch pianist played some of the Generalissimo's favorite Mozart symphonies. Nothing could be more relaxing. Though he was on excellent terms with Father, he was a bit intimidated, meeting a man of that stature and prestige. He deeply admired Father, the vast authority he wielded, the ease with which he manipulated his populace, the frighteningly ingenious efficiency with which he governed with an iron fist and a world-class intellect. Father was a man he could learn from.

"J.L., you seem a bit tense about meeting Mr. Troskin," Christine observed.

"Well, maybe a bit," the Generalissimo replied demurely. "I feel like a little boy about to meet Santa Claus." He chuckled.

As she continued his foot massage, he briefly pored over his notes, outlining what they would discuss, his questions, etc.

Eventually, Eutopia entered their field of vision with a flourish, a dynamic, enthralling spectacle. Pristine, crystal-clean, futuristic, and looking completely orderly, controlled, and perfect, it was the most impressive city they had ever seen.

"Excellency," the pilot said, "we are almost to the airport."

"Good, good."

The pilot radioed ground control and requested permission to land.

Troskin - Father and Oligarch - sat in his desk, his feet propped up gently as his orbs peered out across the massive capital. He smirked lightly, savoring the sweet, mild cinnamon-spice flavor of the melange resting upon his taste buds. The euphoria inducing chemicals began to course into his veins as it ran through the small glands upon his tongue. He was, however, suddenly knocked from his peace by a single buzz from the phone on his desk. A woman (sounding around twenty) spoke with a gentle, warm tone, ”The Generallisimo has arrived at Eutopia International.” The line clicked off.

Troskin was once the arch-enemy of Mr. Latimer. He was once the horrible “Communist dictator over the Soviet state.” The whole world had been deceived. Young activists were roped in and world leaders were fooled. Communist and Leftist parties around the world who even showed the smallest hint of Soviet sympathy were quickly being changed from their socialist ideologies to that of oligarchical collectivism and the love of Father.

This single apparatus of power over entire populations was what - he believed - motived the Generallisimo to open relations wth the Totl Oligo. This single swing of his arm that could cause millions to place their bodies at the whim of Civil Protection to be slaughtered. His voice could cause thousands to fight for an unstated goal. His single whisper could cause women to be seduced by his very charisma and oration. He - Father, Troskin, Oligarch, and Demagogue - was one of the most powerful individuals on the face of planet earth.

Yet, to remain humble, the Oligarch was not without greeting gifts. For waiting for the Roach-Busterian was hundreds of sticks of purified melange in various flavors and at least forty small Sapho Orchid flowers for him to take and grow in one of his many gardens. However, these relations were not without their own sense of irony...
__________

The Roach-Busterian plane touched down on a cleared, private runway at Eutopian International. J.L. and his travelers were greeted by the firing of blank anti-aircraft artillery to symbolize his arrival. The pilot would turn the plane into a hanger, only to be nearly deafened by the loudspeakers playing the Roach-Busterian national anthem and the telescreens showing graphically altered images of J.L. and Father shaking hands, embracing, and other poses of various shows of friendship and loyalty.

Waiting outside the aircraft was a moderately sized group of Laurasian National Military Constabulary, Civil Protection officers, and Laurasian military personnel. The men were holding in alteration the Roach-Busterian flag and the Laurasian flag to symbolize the newly formed friendship and the hope for better relations.

Yet, this meeting was not without foreshadowing and strange occurrences. J.L. wouldn’t be told - or he may, as a form of bragging - of the Overwatch that could be anywhere in Eutopia - in the country - arresting thought criminals and dissidents. He wouldn’t be told of the deep dark cellars beneath the city housing suspected hundreds of prisoners waiting to be executed. This was something that would cause envy around the Generallisimo. For this amount of control over a relative population was not even achieved in Roach-Busters, Parthia, or any other totalitarian regime - excluding that of Laurasia.

The Generalissimo stepped out of the plane and looked around, slowly taking everything in. He greeted the assembled soldiers with a curt nod and a sharp salute. Christine stepped out of the plane, along with fourteen members of J.L.'s Special Imperial Guard, the super-elite military unit tasked with his personal safety.

He snapped his fingers, and Shooban slaves began hauling out gifts for "Father": a golden sword and shield thousands of years old, of immense historical value; a gold, armor-clad limosine impervious to anything less than an anti-tank weapon (dozens of Shoobans were needed to carry it); a solid gold statue of Father; a portrait of Father painted by RB's most brilliant artist; a 20 pound box filled with Italian and Swiss chocolates; a treasure chest filled with about $25,000,000 worth of gold, diamonds, cobalt, uranium, silver, copper, emeralds, etc.; and finally, a cage filled with four baby "rat-Shoobans," a specially engineered breed made by Roach-Busterian scientists, so-called because they multiplied very quickly, as rats did.

”Father, J.L. is arriving at the Oligarchical Palace now. He has sent you many luxuries gifts. They are being taken for inventory in your personal trust, sir.” Father smirked, shaking his head as he stood, stepping from his office and taking his personal elevator to the diplomatic lounge several floors down. As the elevator glided upon its electro-magnetic rails, he pondered what the first meeting between former enemies would be like - other than surreal.

Father stepped from the elevator into the lounge. The soft, luxuries carpet beneath his feet lightly sank as he stepped upon it. He stood, hands behind his back, beneath an absolutely enormous and intimidating painting of his own visage. J.L. arrived after a few moments. He quickly extended his hand, grasping the man’s, shaking it, his digits tightly gripping his palm, ”Hello, Mr. Latimer. We finally meet at last.” By the time he was done speaking, his free hand had rose up the arm of the autocrat in such of a way as to be a masculine embrace exhibited between old friends.

The faintest trace of a smile crossed the Generalissimo's face- he did not want to betray his overzealousness- as he extended his arm and shook Father's hand, with a firm, powerful handshake, pumping his hand vigorously. "Father," he said, his tone cordial but neutral. "It is an honor to finally meet you. I hope the gifts are to your liking? Your gifts pleased me greatly, and I thank you." He bowed his head.

He smirked, giving the Generalissimo a firm pat on the shoulder before motioning for him and Christine to sit. While they did, he turned stepping to a cabinet at the far side of the room. This revealing of his back may have seemed peculiar to the Generalissimo; yet, the Roach-Busterian autocrat likely did not know of the snipers hiding behind the one-way glass mirror at the top of the room. This was a security purpose. It would end after the first meeting - once trust was solidified.

”Mrs. Latimer, would you like anything to drink?” spoke Troskin, addressing the well-dressed, beautiful wife of the Generalissimo first. Troskin poured himself a small glass of Sapho juice, sipping at the punch colored and smelling drink, causing a faint stain to appear upon his lips. ”And you, Generalissimo?”

Christine smiled. "Thank you, Father. I would like a glass of pink champagne."

The Generalissimo, settling his arm around her shoulders, said, "Same here, Father. Please."

Smirked, pouring each a small glass and setting the bottle (aged since 1860) upon a silver tray before them. He finally took his seat, motioning for the two guards to leave the room and close the doors - they did, without question.

”Well, Mr. Latimer. I find this surreal and ironic that the former ‘enemy’ of Roach-Busters would be meeting with its Generalissimo, don’t you?” Father smirked, shaking his head as he sipped the Sapho, ”Or that our current relations could form from the total destruction of the Soviet Union and its replacement with the Totl Oligo Laurasia.”

The Generalissimo chuckled amicably. "Quite ironic indeed, Father. I never thought you would make the transition from Number One Enemy to irreplacable (sp?) ally. As it stands, I now consider you a close friend, and a highly admirable man of dignity, prestige, character, and nobility." He raised his glass. "To our friendship!"

Smirked, raising his glass, ”To our friendship.” He smiled, drinking the last few droplets of Sapho. He smiled, ”Alas, down to business. As I’m sure you know, the Totalitarian Oligarchy is vast - one of the largest nations in existence. Yet, with this massive scale, we lack many allies. However, I understand that through relations with your fine nation - and thus the WACL - it is possible to form more relations. Am I correct?.”

"You are correct, Father," J.L. said, slowly sipping his drink.

Father smirked, his eyes slowly narrowing as his nostalgia of actual peacefulness and serenity began to pass, ”I also assume you know the truth behind ‘oligarchical collectivism’, correct? The complete lack of hiding ones true goals - at least to some degree. But, beyond that, you also know that the Executive and Estate - Council and Party - are willing to align ourselves to any nation if it benefits the prime directive: power. Thus, I would like to ask your opinion on this, considering our closeness to goals and policies.”

"What I admire about you, Father," J.L. said, "is how openly and unashamedly advance your cause and pursue your goal, without cloaking it behind rhetoric or a deceptive facade. Your goal is clearly undefined, unhindered by such hindrances as location on the political spectrum. You are not left, right, or center, simply interested in one thing: power, absolute power. I respect that." He finished his champagne. "As for relations," he said. "Your totalitarianism will surely garner the admiration of all like-minded states, be they left-leaning or right-leaning. The WACL, for example, although home to some democracies, will welcome you with open arms."

Troskin’s eyes glinted, their oddly blue pigmentation from melange corruption giving an eerie aura about his figure. ”That is absolutely wonderful, Josh. For, due to the structure of the WACL, they tend to horde toward their members under almost any circumstances. They will fight for a member no matter what enemy he may face.”

The elevator at the end of the room opened, giving way to the almost divine features of former Military Commissar Selene Seagrove, now a member of the Peaceful Cooperative and advisor to Father. Some suspected she was also a member of the Council - but this could not be proven or disproved. She stepped up behind Troskin, her arms reaching down across his chest as she leaned down, planting a delicate kiss upon his lips - rather distraction considering the circumstances. Once she pulled back, she noticed the Generalissimo and his wife. ”Ah,” she smirked, stepping towards Mr. and Mrs. Latimer, hands extended to greet them, ”Selene Seagrove, nice to meet you Generalissimo J.L. and your wife Christine.”

The Generalissimo smiled, stood, shook her hand gingerly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am," he said. Christine shook her hand, as well.

She smiled softly, sitting in the chair next to Father, ”I hope you three don’t mind if I join in.”

”Of course I don’t. The Generalissimo knows you’re not as innocent as you look,” Troskin smirked at the Generalissimo, continuing his conversation, ”Now Josh, why must you disguise your goals behind the facade of the ‘Patriot Party,’ hmm? Why not simply embrace the fact that power is not a means, but an end, hmm? I believe it would greatly benefit you and your country. Not to mention, we are lucky that people are stupid and ignorant - they don’t mind being oppressed so long as they are safe (and we don’t even provide them with that most of the time).”

The Generalissimo smiled. "Well, I have actually been considering that, Father. Yet..." He pondered. "What do you think?"

”Personally, I think you would have to rename it. Oligarchical collectivism does not fit with you and your political climate... You could call it... Latimerism, or Busterian Nationalism, something with an adequate ring. In our case, the USSR set up a stage for Olicol through Soviet authoritarianism. Through that system we could form Olicol, the Party, etc.”

"That could work," J.L. said, "although, everyone is used to the Patriot Party. A name change would be throwing away years of tradition."

”Perhaps a necessary sacrifice in these times of trials and tribulations.” Troskin twirled his finger around the maw of the empty glass, pondering momentarily, ”You would also have to do some changes and make alterations to the vestigial look of your government. But it is possible - especially if it occurred in the Soviet Union. However, it probably wouldn’t come to pass over night.”

"Perhaps," the Generalissimo said. "I'm not sure."