NationStates Jolt Archive

Torroth Halcyon stood upon the balcony of the Tower of Command, overlooking the crowd that had gathered there. Normally, when the Grand Commander of the United Provinces made a speech, the crowds that migrated to Pheonix City were hardly controllable in their cheering. Today, however, he could hear individual infants crying in the biting cold of the Antarctic morning. He recognized faces in the crowd as members of his own guard, concealing pistols beneath their fur-lined coats and monitoring for any suspicious activity. The rest stood stone-faced and silent, for Feazanthia was in mourning.

Halcyon cleared his throat. It was going to be a long day.

"My fellow Feazanthians," he began, in the tired introduction that had been used by countless tinpot leaders of countless nations. "Today, as I am sure all of you know, we are in mourning. The city of Galak in Honshu Province...has been completely destroyed. From a population of over two million, only three were rescued from the carnage unleashed by the terrorists." His tone was somber, but a vein pulsed in the young man's temple. He gripped the railing of the balcony, not caring that his hands were ungloved. "The terrorist atrocities were carried out in three other cities, sparking riots and, in some cases, revolution. Though we have put these dogs down, we must look at the facts. These men and women were Feazanthian. Not foreigners, but natural-born Feazanthian citizens. No longer can the United Provinces, for fear of its own safety, shut out the rest of the world. It is with a heavy heart I say this, for it was my own policies that shut our borders and removed foreigners from our shores." He sighed, looking at the blue-grey sky. "Within the next few months, sweeping changes will be taking place across the United Provinces, but the military can only do so much. Therefore, I put the burden on you, my fellow Feazanthians. Keep your chins up and your eyes open. Only by working together can we achieve true peace."


Later that day, a communique was sent out to the offices of Mark Lorber in the Incorporated States of Sarzonia, as well as the foreign ministries of all known Woodstock Pact nations. It consisted of one line, which read:

Feazanthia seeks your aid.

The missive reached the desk of Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Mark Lorber and as soon as the one line seared its path from the page to his brain by way of his eyes, Lorber felt a chill run down his spine. Feazanthia. His eyes widened and he read the message again, slowly taking it in. He shook his head in disbelief.

"Feazanthia seeks your aid," he read aloud. He stood, frozen for just a moment until he was aware of the rhythmic clacking of dress shoes in the hallway leading to his office. When he heard the clacking draw ever closer, he didn't even turn around.

"Yes, Grant?"

"I see you got the message." Lorber turned around to his deputy, and regarded the young man whom he was trying hard to groom into his possible successor somewhere down the line with a furrowed brow and a still-widened pair of eyes. Haffner's expression was matter of fact, like it was simply one of ten thousand aid requests fielded almost routinely. He looked at Lorber quizzically. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"In a manner of speaking, I have," Lorber said, staring vacantly in Haffner's direction in a tone of voice that was drained of emotion. "It's Feazanthia." Haffner raised an eyebrow at the simple sentence. He opened his mouth to form a question until it dawned on him why that name was playing so heavily.

"Weren't they nuked into oblivion by Artitsa?"

Lorber closed his eyes slowly and slowly bent his head down, then raised it and lowered it a second time, raising it again and opening his eyes. "It took Artitsa many years to admit their role in the carpet nuclear attack. Evidently, there was a small set of survivors that reformed the country in the wake of the attack. Those survivors need our help."

"Many countries have asked us for aid in the past," Haffner said evenly. "We're not in a position to offer much right now. Our economy is still in the shitter."

"Grant, you haven't been with External Affairs very long," Lorber said with a subtle tone of irritation that took Haffner by surprise. Truth be told, it also took Lorber a bit by surprise, but he'd already taken that road and it was time to rev up the engines. He took a slow, measured breath and lowered his voice, looking at Haffner with steely determination. "Feazanthia is one of our very first allies, from the very, very beginning of our country. They saw the ISN when it was still a novice service," he said.

"Mark, Austaur Union was also one of our early days allies," Haffner said. "We were even allied with Axis Nova in the Panooly War. What makes this situation different from any other?"

"Grant, unlike those two nations, Feazanthia has made an active effort to restore ties with us. They've been with us from the beginning until the nuclear attack. They've been attacked again. They need our help, especially now that we're in the same position with them that they were with us in those early days. I think we owe it to them to offer them what we can. The benefit to them and us has incalculable potential."

Haffner fixed his even gaze at Lorber, still looking skeptically at his boss. However, Lorber could tell the younger man's brain was churning both the request and this conversation in his head, trying hard to make sense out of it. Finally, Haffner spoke.

"I'm still not completely sure we're doing the right thing, Mark," Haffner said. "Feazanthia behaved rather -- erratically -- before the carpet nuking. I'd rather get some assurance that we're not going to set ourselves up for a trap here."

"In life, in politics, and in diplomacy, you sometimes have to take risks," Lorber said. "Send a message to Feazanthia offering whatever assistance we can. Ask them what we can do and how Galak lost over two million people. If they can share some intel on what they're facing, we'll know better what our response is and should be."

"I only hope we're taking the right risk," Haffner said, punctuating his assent with a nod. He turned around to send the missive from his desk. As Haffner's rhythmic clomp grew further and further distant, Lorber couldn't help one thought running through his head.

So do I, Grant. So do I.