NationStates Jolt Archive

Sar'Dahl Castle, Eastern United Imperial Kingdoms of Macisikan

The dark bulk of the castle clawed at the stormy grey sky. Perched on heavily wooded crags, the imposing structure seemed like it belonged in a Dracula movie, not the proposed venue for a peace conference.

The apparently medieval structure didn't appear very secure, but appearances were quite deceiving; the Imperials had built this structure for the sole purpose of hosting conferences like this, and had heavily fortified the area. Approaches were guarded carefully, and the Secretariat of State for Imperial Security had taken care to secure the routes from the air terminal to the Castle.

In the entrance hall Baron deRenci, the man the Imperials had nominated to host the conference, waited patiently for the envoys to arrive. The area around the castle was crawling with Imperial troops, assigned to keep the area secure.

OOC: Joint post.

IC:

Lesser Chancellor Ilorin Romano sat quietly on the plane. “Expendable,” he muttered quietly, “I don’t remember that being in the job description.”

“We are passing over the west coast of Farmina now,” called back the Captain Strider.

“No signs of the Messians?” asked Romano, reviewing the immense detail of his brief.

“Funny you should mention that,” said the pilot, with a slow caution.

Six black XG-99 fighters, each with small additions written on them; the pilots names, some quotes, and kill markers, flew into a hexagonal formation around the aircraft, “This is Messian flight lead of Black squadron. We demand the immediate reversal of course of your flight immediately.”

“Are you sure you are Messian?” asked Captain Strider, signaling for Romano’s help.

“A Messian would shoot first and then give orders,” explained Strider, as Romano tried to contact Phillip Sullivan for orders.

A chuckle was heard over the radio. “I'm sorry if we have given you the wrong impression,” then a pause, “You have five minutes to reverse course before we force you down.”

“Five minutes dead ahead it is then,” said Strider not changing his course; as Romano began abusing Phillip Sullivan across the radio in High Farminite.

A few moments later, tracers could be seen shot across the airplane’s bow.

Captain Strider repeated a small amount of High Farminite that Romano had been using; although wasn’t actually sure what it meant. Barely anyone could speak it, except for a few elites. He then flicked the engines off before turning to Romano, and asked, “What are the orders?”

Romano and Sullivan exchanged another brief round of words, then Romano turned to Strider, “Martyrdom. The Kiarnee in the White Palace have ordered us to try and be shot down.”

“I don’t think we need to try very hard,” muttered Strider, flicking the engines back on; certain from Romano’s tone, that being a Kiarnee wasn’t a good thing.

The black fighter jets next to the VIP transport flew in closer as the time came closer. The pilots in the planes looked at the people inside.

Romano was beginning to sob greatly; while Strider tried to remain calm in the face of destruction.

After the five minutes, the radio crackled alive again, “Time is up. What is your decision?!” the pilot announced.

“You may or may not be a ‘Kiarnee’,” said Strider, “I’m not sure.”

"A 'Kiarnee'?" the pilot asked, as the flight flew behind the VIP aircraft, , in attack formation.

Romano briefly defined the word to Strider who then, aware he was still alive, said “Hypocrite, apparently. Probably a bad choice of word.”

After a short pause, the radio crackled again. "Last chance. Change course or die."

“No, last chance was thirty seconds ago,” said Strider, “You missed it. To shoot us down now would violate our agreement.”

Just as soon as he said it, the fighter jets pulled away, and accelerated at high speed back to the Final Victory, dropping their spare hydrogen tanks as they flew off.
Romano looked up, “Now that’s unusual.”

“I guess we will have to wait to become martyrs,” said Strider, adding sarcastically, “Can’t win them all.”

The plane continued unimpeded to Macisikan.

---

Lesser Chancellor Ilorin Romano stepped out of the plan; finally coming to the ground in Macisikan. He wore long flowing black robes; his face stern and yet young. In his left hand, he held a small brief case containing his instructions. Although his medium length blond hair had been neat on departure; it had become disorderly in the flight and he had not thought to comb it. Ilorin Romano wore modest amounts of gold jewelry; pointing out his family and political allegiances. His nose was small but sharp. Romano was neither tall nor short. Soon he would see what the Northern Colonies had on the table; he doubted it would be anything attractive.

The plane had been delayed for almost three hours, due to the heavy fog blanketing Freedom City International Airport but soon they were up. They were on a Learjets, flown by the NCAF. A three hour trip, they soon landed at the airport near Sar'Dahl Castle.

*bump*

OOC: I'm assuming that Mauvasia's (sp?) people have turned up. And Farmina; I'm sorry if I've mispelled your nation's name or adjective anywhere along the line.

IC:
At the airport were squads of nondescript men and women in dark suits; SIS operatives. They formed tight-nit groups around trios of the ubiquitous officials that the MEA Office of Protocol seemed to manufacture (probably in an underground lair). Aside from the occasional pair of soldiers wandering around the edge of the complex, there was no-one else. Of course, the Colonials and Farminans wouldn't have been fooled for an instant; just because you couldn't see them, didn't mean for an instant that the Macisikani security forces weren't there.

As each delegation emerged from their planes (by sheer coincidence, or possibly planning on the part of the UIK air traffic controllers, the arrivals were only several minutes apart), they were greeted by the Protocol Officers, who explained that they would be travelling for roughly fifteen minutes to Sar'Dahl Castle, where Baron deRenci would meet them, shown their living quarters (prepared in case the negotiations were prolonged), given time to freshen up, and treated to a light meal in private before negotiations began. The last bit was a part of Macisikani protocol that only the Farminans (through their interactions with the Rotovians) would have been aware of; the Imperials tended to feed people before allowing them to negotiate, as empty bellies made for short tempers. Once this explanation was done, the delegates were shepherded politely but firmly into the waiting limousines, which proceeded along the heavily protected route to the Castle.

By the time the last delegation had arrived a heavy mist that wasn't quite rain had begun to descend, making the area seem all that more gloomy, and the Castle's interior all that more warm and inviting. For the interior of the structure was decorated in an expensive but restrained manner, aimed to be comforting and set guests at ease. The living quarters resembled a fine hotel, but with the same air of tasteful restraint.

Baron deRenci was a tall, gaunt man, with intense blue eyes and neatly brushed hair the colour of fine chocolate. He was clad in a Victorian suit, complete with cane. His age was indeterminate; though the face was reasonably young, a hardness around the the eyes betrayed an older man. When he moved, it was with the grace of a dancer, and a firm assurance that underlined his stance. He'd been at this game for years, and it showed; he expertly projected the demeanour of a warm and welcoming host, anxious to set his guests at ease, hopeful that everyone would leave this place happy, or at least, satisfied. Each delegate was warmly greeted and welcomed; no doubt he'd remember each and every name.

Once the delegations had finished dining, they were ushered into a large room, with a thick cream carpet; the walls were hung with tapestries, reproductions of those in other castles around the Empire. They tended to depict tranquil scenes, though one of them seemed to be a genealogy. Above them the rafters had been left bare, but polished so they gleamed. Dominating the room was a sandalwood table; it resembled a bowed rectangle, or an oval with corners. The seating plan placed the Farminans on one long side, the Colonials on the other, with the Macisikani facing the Mauvasians along the two narrow edges. deRenci was already in the room when the delegates were ushered in, waiting patiently. The chairs placed around the table were dangerously comfortable, and there were stewards placed strategically around the room, in case a delegate wanted a drink.

"Good day ladies and gentlemen. I am Baron Tierce deRenci, a Special Envoy in His Most Serene Majesty's Diplomatic Corps, and I am your referee today. I have a few housekeeping items to announce before we begin. This conference is being monitored and recorded by the MEA, and we will be depositing transcripts and copies of the tapes with your governments after the conference is concluded. We will be sealing the minutes and details of what we discuss here under the Thirty-Year-Rule, and advise you to do the same," he paused, and cleared his throat. "Now you are aware that this area is under the seal of Imperial Peace, which means that neither of you may draw swords, figuratively speaking, in anger or retribution. You are both under our protection, and enjoy the defence of the Imperial Military. That said, the penalty for breaking the Imperial Peace is instant annihilation. We've never had to enforce it though. I apologise if this makes any of you uncomfortable, but we've also found it's the only thing that works," deRenci had said it in the voice of a clerk discharging a boring duty.
"With that bit out of the way," he continued, "I would like to take this moment to welcome you again to the United Imperial Kingdoms, and to thank you both for attending. Today we are gathered to find a peaceful settlement to the conflict between Farmina and the Northern Colonies. I hope and pray that we can here come to a mutually acceptable solution, and put an end to the bloodshed," he sat, giving no verbal indication as to who should speak next; he was staring expectantly at the Farminans though.

Ilorin Romano nodded slightly, “I thank our Lord Baron; quite the host.”

He opened his briefcase with great care, removing a small ear piece and microphone; which he positioned over his left ear. He also placed a manila folder on the desk containing a small stack of papers. Closing the briefcase, he cleared his voice and recalled the correct pronunciation in his head.

Placing his briefcase at his feet, Romano’s lips began to move, speaking the sophistication expected from an upper-class Farminan, “The Farminites* had a word. Narjok. The everlasting peace. A concept of you leave us alone and we will leave you alone.”

*[OOC: Peoples native to Farmina; as opposed to Farminan which is the nationality]

Romano’s eyes flicked up and down the table, “It is a powerful concept; and one that we Farminans hold great empathy for. Even in war we have respected it. The Colonials have not. They attacked us. We thought that everything they desired had come to pass; yet they continued to attack us. Our concept of peace was clear; Narjok, but when Colonials said they wanted peace, they bombed Ricco. If true peace was in the minds of the Colonials; they should have simply left us alone. Nothing has stopped the Colonials simply sailing home. Nothing prevented Narjok. Now however, with the bombing of Ricco, no such peace can now be.”

Romano removed a single piece of paper from the manila folder. Briefly skimming the document he spoke in general terms, “For the Republic to countenance peace with the Colonials, we have the following requirements. Firstly, complete reparation for all damage done to the Republic by the Colonials. Secondly, the Colonials will undergo weapons restrictions, to prevent any more misuse of weapons. Thirdly, the Colonial legislature and executive shall dissolve and go to elections. Fourthly, the Northern Colonies shall denounce the tyrant Snyder and shall work, with military force, until the destruction of the Snyder regime and the establishment of a democratic government.”

Romano paused before continuing, “Considering you are the weaker party, the aggressor, and have blatantly misused weapons; I am sure you will find these terms agreeable.”

Alexander Peters, the Foreign Affairs minister affixed his tie, before giving a speech.

"First of all, I again must thank Baron deRenci for allowing us to use this grand castle.I must take a tour of this place soon. Now on to the topic. Considering that we managed to completely bypass your military units and bomb Ricco, is a testiment to the fact that we can and are able to damage Farminan infrastructure. Secondly, repeated calls for a peace treaty failed. It took a bomb to send you to scrambling to the table. You, my friend forced our hand."

He took a small break, thinking of his strategy, like chessmasters in check, he thought of the moves that the dipomat could pull out. He then continued.

"So. Here are our demands. You will disengage war with the Northern Colonies. You will dismiss parliament, and go for a re-election, with international supervision. And then, you will disband both the Reaction Corporation and..."

He stopped for a few moments, and changing he persona to a sinister tone,

"The Moralist Blackshirts."

With great skill, he then turned back to his normal persona. He then continued on.

"You will also make a law prohibiting any political party from having an association with a paramilitary orginisation, such as the Reaction Corporation, or a Government set-up one, like the Moralist."

He stopped, and pulled two documents out of his briefcase.

"And this," he said. "Is a warrant for the arrest of James Palmer and Roger Hanshuck, in relation to the crimes committed against the MES ships. You are to have them extradited to the Northern Colonies, where they will face charges of being an accessory to the fact, and piracy."

'The balls' in your court now, bitch,' he thought.

“I have no time for the likes of you,” said Romano, “Peace isn’t about some piece of paper we sign and talk about it is about action. You ask us to disengage; but we haven’t done anything to disengage from. Unless I am forgetting something?”

From his position between the two, Baron deRenci sat, a picture of poise. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of each delegate's statements, glad to see that both nations had raised their people with manners enough to thank the host.

At Romano's opening remarks, he coiled a hand in front of his mouth, concealing the small smirk that broke through his mask. Well, the gloves are off early... he thought.
He leant forward when the Farminan finished speaking, and made a note in the open folder in front of him.

When Romano finished, deRenci's eyes flicked across to the Colonial, waiting the response. He wasn't disappointed; the Colonial was every bit as forthright as his opposite number. Watching with the air of a spectator at a heated tennis match, deRenci made another note when Peters sat.

By the time the Farminan had finished his rejoinder, deRenci wasn't bothering to hide his smile; but it didn't take a genius to work out that the smile would change to a sneer of contempt if either side gave up and walked out at the first hurdle.

The whole time he remained silent, but watchful. And interested.

“I have no time for the likes of you,” said Romano, “Peace isn’t about some piece of paper we sign and talk about it is about action. You ask us to disengage; but we haven’t done anything to disengage from. Unless I am forgetting something?”

"You have a declaration of war, I believe. That is what you will disenage from. And no, ad hominem arguments don't count, let's have a proper, rational talk," came the scaving reply from the Foreign Minister

“We never declared war on anyone,” said Romano, “We never attacked anyone. If we agree to let you try Palmer or Hanshuck; the treaty will be automatically void, as that must occur in the Mes. Furthermore Hanshuck is dead making him a poor defendant and Palmer has several investigations against his name in Farmina. Reaction Corp is already disbanded; most of its executives facing serious charges. Your terms amount to nonsense; there is your rational talk.”

Romano thought quietly to himself, “Rationality from a foreigner; I have yet to see the day.”

He listened to Sullivan whispering in his ear from Farmina, then firmly added, “The Republic is adding to its list of demands that the Northern Colonies surrender all documents relating to discussions between the Colonial government and the traitor, murderer and religious fanatic, Rellian Peters. In addition, all further documents on the Rotovia-Crete situation will also be surrendered.”

"The flags were flying Northern Colonies flags, making him required to be charged under Northern Colonies' law. That is the customary law of the sea. I would have thought that you would already know that," replied Alexander Peters. He took a glass of water, sipped it, and after putting it back, continued on.

"Considering we haven't even started to rebutt your treaty yet, I don't see how you can add more and more. But now, I shall. Point one, you said something along the lines of reparation. The Northern Colonies' Government is willing to pay for damages inflicted in the MOAB attack only. Your second point was weapons restrictions. That's not going to happen. Point Three, dismissal of parliament. Well, we are due for an election soon, but that is not going to happen either. Point Four, Snyder. If we pull out of this war, we are not interested in what you decide to do with Snyder, but we will not get invovled in any way. Now, the last point. You should have already have recieved those document, as I remmeber that you had scribes to write it down. The Northern Colonies are next nice little teachers who would do anything for their students. It is not our responsiblity to keep your politicans in line. Thus your not getting our copy."

He sat there, waiting for the reply.

“Ah but here is what interests President Grey,” said Romano, “Our transcripts of the documented discussion, though we expect it was not unique, had large gaps in dialogue. It seems that at least half an hour of dialogue disappeared from the records. Jonathon O’Brien mysteriously disappears from the discussion. Would you be willing to state here and now, what was discussed between yourself, Rellian Peters, Jonathon O’Brien and John Anderson in the missing minutes?”

Opening his briefcase again; he slipped something into his jacket pocket, before passing a copy of the transcript over to Peters. He then removed several more copies and passed them to the other guests at the Baron’s table, “Our records of the discussion between the traitor Rellian Peters and the Colonials on the discussion of Rotovia and Crete. The discussion was to be attended by Daniel Rickhart; who was detained due to the plotting of the terrorist, Charles Thurg, more commonly known as the Shadow. We now know Rellian Peters and Charles Thurg conspired together.”

Romano snapped his briefcase shut, “So tell us Alexander Peters; what happened in the missing minutes.”

Firmly gesturing towards Baron deRenci, “Tell the allies of Rotovia what you really talked about.”

Again, changing his persona to a more cynical one, began to talk.

"We had a break, O’Brien had to pick up his kids. Is that what you wanted to know?"

At the mention of Rotovia, deRenci's eyes had acquired a predatory gleam. His superiors in Arn-Maciska were greatly interested by anything that had to do with Rotovia. And weren't exactly shy from "correcting" what they perceived to be "imbalances" in Rotovia's affairs. The last time the "correction" had taken the form of the Imperial Army marching into the Rotovian Capital. So their interest, and willingness to act on it, wasn't a secret by any stretch.

Those bright eyes didn't fail to note that Peters hadn't exactly answered the question, and remained directed towards the Colonials. His stance indicated that he was interested, yes, but not hostile.

Romano watched the reaction of the Baron deRenci carefully as the Peters spoke. Romano did not say anything, but slipped his hand into his top jacket pocket and removed the object he had placed their earlier. In full light it was clearly a mini-cassette. Ilorin Romano gently placed the cassette on the table in full view of all parties.

“Unfortunately for you Alexander Peters, Rellian Peters took out an insurance policy. Would you like some time to reconsider your position?” suggested Romano, adding silently to himself, “We both know you can’t be afford to be caught lying on the public record.”

Then Romano took initiative that his superiors had not expected, “I doubt the Anderson administration will survive the coming election. Northern Colonies has perpetuated so much war for so little gain. Perhaps a more pacifist prime minister would be a better choice.”

Romano was impressed with the wedge he had just placed; if Peters was ambitious, this situation gave the perfect chance to strike, blaming Anderson for the war and death; but a disaster at the negotiations could ruin those same ambitions.

"Really?" Peters questioned.

He again thought, think of the words to throw back at him. He opened his mouth, and began.

"I'll be completely honest. There are no records of what happened between the half an hour. That was because we took a break."

He then changed his persona.

"Oh how jollie jollie good, me PM of the Colonies, hahahah," he replied, in a sarcastic tone.

He immediately switched back to his normal persona.

"Not going to happen. I can't believe what they teach you in your Foreign Service school or whatever, but tell them their shit. The Westminister Style of Government means that the PM is accountable to the parliament. And Mister Anderson has enough support in the caucus to not get fired. And enough in parliament too. So it's either him as PM or Opposition Leader, but not someone else."

He stopped, and then, in a softer tone asked

"And, in any case, who the hell would want John W. Bush as PM?"

deRenci's eyes had flicked across to Romano while the other spoke, then narrowed slightly, as the tape was set onto the table.
At Peters' reply, the predatory gleam returned.

"Well," he interjected softly, "The contents of that tape do seem pursuant to these negotiations, as the situation regarding Colonial and Farminan involvement in Rotovian Crete is obviously of some concern here," his eyes flicked around the table again, before settling on the tape again. "A recording of the entire meeting... and I assume its authenticity is easily verifiable?" it wasn't really a question, and he waved a hand. "We would detect a fraud in any case, so, if the honourable delegates have no objection, I would like to hear it."

The Baron's smile had vanished behind a blank mask; only his eyes gave away any of his thoughts. The rest of his body language maintained the "interested, but not hostile" stance.

[OOC: I'm sorry about not posting earlier; I was away from an internet connection for several days due to real life issues. Assume Chairman Andrew Marks has arrived and is listening avidly to the discussions while sipping at a glass of chilled water, after his habit. I will have a post up today with all luck. *tag*]

Ilorin Romano’s eyes flicked between Peters and deRenci. He allowed a moments silence as he sipped a small amount of water, before he continued, “I assure the Lord Baron that he will be able verify the speakers on the tape are Prime Minister John Anderson, the SGC O’Brien, Rellian and Alexander Peters. We came upon this tape by searching the room Rellian Peters; after his death on the Night of the Butchers, where he killed Cardinal Borusa and also tried to murder Daniel Rickhart and Tobias Grey. It is believed he was also linked to the murder of several Moralist Enforcers on the same night.”

Romano paused, “It took some time for the Republic to realise what it had found, longer to know how to use it. Knowledge is power gentlemen; and like all power it comes at a price, either to take or to suppress.”

His eyes concentrated on Peters, “I’m sure your government will be willing to give any terms we lay down their due credit.”

"They treaty yea? So get a pen and start writing, I'll cross out what I don't want, and put our stuff in. Et cetera, Et cetera," replied Peters.

“As I have already said in general,” replied Ilorin Romano, picking up the cassette and returning it to his pocket, “An apology in the form of reparations. A sum of ten billion dollars US standard strikes us as appropriate. You will highlight your mistakes by working towards the destruction of the dictatorship of Lord Snyder; as opposed to attacking democracies for a change. It is said that Tobias Grey and O’Brien spoke of a crusade for democracy; perhaps the dream can be spared. The Northern Colonies must abandon MOAB weaponry and all WMD. A nation that uses large weaponry unprovoked should not have it. These are our three main planks. If you can’t consent to these terms; I don’t think we have anything further to talk about.”

Romano sipped more water, patiently observing not only Peters but all men in the room, thinking to himself, “Perhaps the ‘neutrals’ would outbid the Colonies for the audiotape. They can see that it is valuable. The Lord Baron seems especially interested in the Colonial’s secret.”

Alexander Peters faked a sigh.

"You do realise that this has to go through parliament. And you act so so..."

He stretched the word purposely, before replying.

"Cocky."

He then took out a sheet of paper.

"We do not have any intention to use our WMD for a first strike operation. And with Rotovia re-arming herself, abandoning our WMDs would an tantamount to sucidide. With that, I now will give our verson of the treaty. We will drop the requirement for dismissal, however your next election will still be monitored by an international committee. You will get rid of the Blackshirts and Reaction Corp and ban any sort of similar organisation. You will also hand over James Palmer and any infomation associatied with the MES incident to us. In return, we will pay the reparations for 10 billion US, And while we would not get involved in whatever you do with the MES, we will not interfere with your actions at all."

Romano was correct about deRenci's interest; while he'd been bandying words with the Colonials, a steward had silently slipped a note onto the table next to him as his water glass was refilled.
The note simply said "See me after. deRenci."

As he listened to the exchanges, the Baron's emotions disappeared beneath a mask as neutral and solid as the stones of the castle. Neatly concealing his thought This is going nowhere fast... he hid a flash of smug satisfaction when the Colonial dropped one of his demands; Peters had been the first to blink.

But when the Colonial Foreign Minister mentioned concerns over Rotovia's rearming, the Baron's eyes had flashed.
"Rotovia's actions are irrelevant to this discussion," deRenci said after the other had finished, his tone soft but with a note of warning in it; the UIK's attitude towards their neighbour was a minefield for the unwary.

“You will only need concern yourself with Rotovia if I should misplace a certain audiotape,” said Romano, “But I just as the Republic won’t be disbanding the Moralist Enforcers, the only police force we have left, nor will we be handing over James Palmer for what we view as no good reason. On the question of the Mes, what particular information interests you? We won’t be including it as part of the treaty; but we will provide certain facts as an act of goodwill. We are more than willing to allow international observers view our democratic process, we always have been.”

“If Snyder drops out of the war, we will be able to throw the entire weight of our industry against you,” continued Romano before pausing to noticeably pat the audiotape in his pocket, “Now I suggest you review our proposals more carefully and see the wisdom in them.”

Alex responded.

"You reform the Farminan Police. In terms of the MES, we want everything pertaining to operation relatied to the attempted boarding of the Final Victory. And please be of note, that we do have three carriers still stationed in Farmina, troop at high alert, ready to move. For you, it would take weeks to mobilise that much troops and get the logistics ready. So, please don't even talk about invading us, when you have already been invaded.

Romano began slowly, “On the question of the Final Victory; released and verified audio recordings showed that Snyder threatened to attack the Reaction Corp ships. They also show Force Commander Kaider to be in league with Snyder. Although we have been playing the recording over the airwaves, we are more than happy to send you a copy. Furthermore, the accusation that Reaction Corp attacked under Northern Colonies flags is wrong. The ships were flying Corporate flags at the time of the engagement; exactly what is required under international law. Essentially we shall not bow to any of your senseless demands.”

Romano paused, read the note from deRenci and then decided to return the threat to Peters, “If you haven’t noticed we have been a full mobilization for over a month; remember the whole preventing a Messian invasion. We have thousands of aircraft, land based rockets and submarines all carefully minding your THREE carriers.”

Again he paused, “Now Mister Peters, if you are not prepared to be reasonable; it will a bad outcome for Farmina, but I can assure you that it will be far worse for the Northern Colonies. Now perhaps you do require a pause to reconsider; giving the Lord Baron sometime to show me around this exquisite castle and swap interesting tales.”

"That argument can be determined by the courts. I'm am not a judge, nor am I even a lawyer. Nevertheless, he was wanted for those crimes. Surely, you can have him transferred to Northern Colonies. If there is any other crime that you discover, then we can extradite him back."

He stopped, before changing his tone, yet again, to a more serious face.

"But if you think you can actually invade the Northern Colonies, and win then you are surely mistaken. On the other hand, we have gone right passed your defences and aircrafts. It was the incident that brought you here. So don't even try!"

'The Farminan must be all nuts,' he thought.

Chairman Andrew Marks smiled at his Macisikani counterpart over his half-moon glasses, setting aside his half-drained glass of chilled water for the second time so far as he watched the Farminan and Colonial delegates match words. This was not going to be easy, but he liked challenges; and he could sense that Baron deRenci liked them too. As the argument turned more and more towards military penis comparison, Marks sighed inwardly and slowly raised himself to his feet, clearing his throat as Mr Alexander Peters finished his statement, and speaking in a soft but distinct tone with a slight Mauvasian accent, broadening the a and long e sounds, with final consonants almost always softened.

"First of all, having had little opportunity to do so earlier, I wish to thank the Lord Baron deRenci for offering his most excellent hospitality to us within this most remarkable castle," he indicated the area with a slight gesture.

"Secondly, to get to the point... I am inclined to agree with the honourable Mr Romano; it may be due time to take a short break. Discussion centering on, and threats of, invasion tend to leave little room for negotiation; remember, we are here to resolve differences by civilised means, you agree?

"Naturally, it is ultimately the decision of our illustrious host here, but His Majesty's Government holds deep-seated wishes to prevent any further bloodshed from erupting in this conflict; that is why I am here to-day."

Marks sat back down; an aide whispered something inaudible in his ear, and he nodded, waving her aside as his blue-green eyes flicked around the table.

deRenci returned the Mauvasian's smile and greeting with a smile and nod of his own. Behind him one of the stewards, who secretly played the double role of couriers for the Baron, silently departed the room.

The Baron stood and plucked a gold pocket-watch from inside his waistcoat.
"My word, we have been here a while," he murmured. "Well ladies and gentlemen, I agree with Chairman Marks: this would be a good time to take a break, perhaps some refreshments," he putt the watch away. "The stewards will see to your needs," he added, "and let's be back here in around half an hour."

The Baron looked around the table; while he'd been speaking the Chairman's water glass had been refilled, and a note similar to the one that had appeared on the Farminan's desk had materialised before Marks.

Ilorin Romano stood up and walked over to Baron deRenci. In a quiet tone he said, “Perhaps you could give me a personal tour of this great building.”

deRenci offered a toothy smile.
"Of course Ser, it would be my pleasure. Please, follow me," he turned to a tall man standing next to him. "Sir Septimus? You're in charge."

Sir Septimus nodded, and with a pleasant smile, stepped around the table to usher the other delegates into the next room, where a substantial buffet had been set up offering a vast variety of dishes from around the world.

The Macisikani showed a tradition of enjoying their food.

"Right this way," deRenci murmured to Romano, showing him out another door.

“I read your note,” said Romano, “Some might suggest you had a conflict of interest.”

Romano thought to himself, “When Macisikan offered to hold the conference; Phillip Sullivan couldn’t resist the opportunity to take full advantage.”

The Farminan paused noticing a mark on his cloak, which he promptly brushed off, “I hope you now see what we have had to deal with. Prime Minister Anderson seems to do nothing but cause wars; then preaches injustice whenever he can’t get his way.”

“I was told Peters was more level headed than the rest of them; my superiors mistaken obviously,” continued Romano, “But of course, this isn’t what you wanted to talk about.”

deRenci offered another smile that had all to many teeth in it.
"Our declaration of neutrality reserves for us the right to take whatever actions we deem necessary to preserve our national interests," he replied. "And I'm afraid that Peters is all to typical of foreign "diplomats"." If it wasn't for the Baron's iron control over his face and voice, that would have been said with a sneer of titanic proportions. "But you guess correctly; right this way."

deRenci led the other down a panelled hallway that gave way to a stone one; turning into this; deRenci hurried to a door with a pair of guards standing outside, and Romano was ushered in. A handsome young man sat in one corner in front of a laptop, facing the room: straight auburn hair, pale skin, refined features, and brilliantly emerald green eyes denoting him a member of the Macisikani nobility. He glanced up as the two entered, but didn't move otherwise.

deRenci ignored the young man completely, and turned to Romano.
"None of the other delegates are within three rooms of us, and this one is secure. Don't worry about him," he gestured to the youth, who was absorbed in the computer's glow. "I'll be blunt; there's forty million Rachmas in a "development fund" with Farmina's name on it if we get that tape or a copy. At the exchange rate that works out to be roughly sixty-six million universal dollars."

=======

With the rest of the delegates, Sir Septimus wandered around the room; his circutious route took him past the buffet several times, and in between snacks he waited to see if anyone would engage him.

Alex quickily came out of the castle. Breathing in the fresh air, it quickly took out a secure satellite phone. He quickly dialled a number, which reached the PM.

"John, I think we may have a problem," said Alex.

"Well..?" The PM questioned.

"The negotiations have stalled, we all ended up talking about invasions and bombing the crap out of each other," replied Alex.

"Well, as expected, the Farminans are a pack of idiots with a poetic voice," replied John. "Is this line secure?"

"Yes, it will take them years to decrypt this message,"

"Ok, so what are the terms?"

"Well, it looks like this. We haven't really gotten anything written down, but it looks to me like they want us to get rid of our WMDs, umm.. something about a 10 billion compo thing, and attacking Snyder.

"Right, and in return?"

"Just inspecting Farmina's polling."

"Preposterous!" Shouted the PM on the phone.

"Yes, and that's why we're taking a break, it's gone nowhere from there. The guy is sticking to his guns."

"So, Farmina will not budge."

"Not at the moment, I'm working on it. Unfortunately, we also have another problem."

"Yes?"

"Remember the Rotovia-Crete thing?"

"Yes."

"Well, Farmina is threatening to give the tapes to someone. I think it is a serious threat, and one he is using to make us less likely to gaing favourable terms for the Colonies."

"There's nothing incriminating in the tapes."

"Except it could damage relations with Rotovia. We mentioned our intentions in there."

The was a complete silence. Alex, thinking the line was dead began to talk.

"Hello?" He asked.

Still silence. Moments later, however a voice, the PM's voice came back.

"Umm.." the PM began, in a stern voice. "I have to ask you, you remember the ISAF thing yes?

"Yea, I signed off on the papers," replied Alex.

"Well, I must ask you. Should I invoke Article two of the Treaty and have military forces be utilised in defence of the Colonies.

Alex thought of a minute. Invoking the treaty now would mean the end of negoiations. He thought that with time, he could get a better deal with Farmina.

"No," he replied. "Standby though, it may be needed depending on how the next few days pan out. Will Report back in twenty-four hours."

"Roger. And I will think about may"

Alex cut off the link and went back into the castle, waiting for someone to offer him a tour.

Sixty six million dollars. Over one hundred and twenty million haren. Romano stood silently for a moment; but was then reminded that he was not out of the Republic’s reach as Sullivan again began to whisper in his air.

Romano listened, then cleared his throat before beginning to talk, “Your generosity is not in doubt Lord Baron. However, I cannot offer you the tape. We have strong terms that we need to pry out of the Anderson administration before is crumbles, and hence we can’t throw away our main leverage. The Northern Colonies has a pattern of aggression, Snyder must be stopped, Farmina must be rebuilt. These three points are truth; and all our actions must be guided to them. So unless you can cripple the Colonies, stop Snyder and find far larger amounts of finance; the Republic simply can’t afford to give away this tape.”

deRenci nodded in understanding, then exchanged predatory smiles with the young man.
"But of course, we would never want you to give up your strongest bargaining chip, that would be unduly influencing the course of negotiations," the Baron observed. "But you can hardly be held responsible for agents in the pay of other nations now, can you? I mean, it's terrible what foreign operatives get up to these days, duplicating important data files without so much as a by-your-leave... and forty million rachmas, that's... about what?"

"Around one hundred and twenty-odd of the Farminan currency," the young man answered.

deRenci nodded, "That really is not a lot of money... and as for the Imperial Industrial Base..." he trailed off, then shrugged. "But I'm afraid Snyder is your problem. He's never threatened us. No-one ever does; we're more trouble then we're worth. And as for the Colonies, well, they haven't threatened us either. Why should we take action against a regional neighbour without evidence? And I mean evidence that they have wronged us."

=========

Back down in the entrance hall a Protocol Officer had materialised next to Peters.
"Would m'lord be interested in a tour of Sar'Dahl Castle?" she asked.

Meanwhile, Sir Septimus was drifting closer to the Mauvasians.

"Oh thank you," replied Alex.

"Right this way then, m'lord," the young lady said, beckoning.
"Sar'Dahl Castle was completed four years ago," she said, launching into tour guide mode, "It is a joint project between the States-General and the Ministry of External Affairs, designed specifically to host conferences such as this one. We used to use various other structures; the first time we hosted a peace conference was in the Ducal Palace in Arn-Maciska, but due to security concerns, we felt a dedicated structure was needed. This is the entrance hall..." she went on, describing the construction, and pointing out various items of interest, such as the tapestry hand-woven by the year 10 students at a nearby highschool specifically for the castle.

The Colonials would then be led through the diplomatically accessible parts of the castle (avoiding the Farminian's quarters of course), before being returned to the Great Hall.

Romano paused for a second, “You may hear an excerpt for your forty million rachmas. You will hear a few of the golden that Rellian Peters recorded; a sampler to ensure that we are offering quality. Lord Baron, you must understand that when democracy, peace, tyranny and war are on sale; everything becomes very expensive.”

deRenci's eyes glittered.
"Out of the question," he replied. "My hearing excerpts, or even the whole thing, won't cut the mustard. In fact, it wouldn't be enough if you played it to everyone in this castle. I can hear Lady Valdir now; "You say that you heard on that tape, allegedly a copy of a conversation between two of our regional neighbours, produced by someone at war with one of them?"," he shook his head. "And when she's finished being sarcastic, she'll throw us out the nearest window. It's hearsay; we need hard evidence. A certified copy."

"He's not getting the point, Tierce," the youth said softly. The Baron didn't answer.

“You can have a hard copy if you can match what we want out of the Northern Colonies,” said Romano.

He paused, holding his hand against his earpiece before continuing, “However for the previously mentioned price; Lady Valdir can hear the extract. That’s all we are willing to give. If we confirm the full value of the tape, then we lose our monopoly over it. The Northern Colonies will begin to panic; they know what we have found. The evidence you seek is on Alexander Peter’s brow.”

"Ten billion standard dollars..." deRenci mused, doing the math in his head. "Comes out to be six billion rachmas, give or take..."

"It's 6.066 billion rachmas. For a tape. Of a conversation between Farminain traitors and Colonials," the young man suddenly said, standing. "For the same amount of cash you want from the Colonials for demolishing one of your cities..." his voice trailed off as he, walked towards them; little details quickly became apparent. Like the purple sash he wore over an unmarked military uniform.
"Don't be ridiculous Ser Romano," he said to the Farminian. "You've missed the point entirely," he shook his head. "Come back after you've wrangled what you want out of the Colonials. Then we'll talk. And you'd better be offering more then just a tape for that sum," his eyes shifted to the Baron. "My Lord."
With that, he stalked from the room.

deRenci smiled sadly as the door closed. "As you can see, Ser Romano, and whoever you're listening to through that headpiece, you've failed to impress his Royal Highness," the smile became thin and humourless. "And therefore, failed to impress me," he walked to the door. "Come, we must return. Those fools who are our neighbours will be coming back soon."

===============

Down in the Castle, the young Protocol Office was leading the Colonials back to the Great Hall, via a route that lead away from deRenci and Romano, of course.

It appeared to Romano that Baron deRenci had taken his comments a little to literally; but he wasn’t too concerned, deRenci still seemed eager for the tape, “Of course Lord Baron, it is the reason I risked my life coming here after all. Let us hope that the Northern Colonies are ready to right their wrongs.”

The Baron merely offered another smile in reply. One that didn't reach his eyes. Wordlessly, he led the Farminians back to the conference room, just as Sir Septimus was ushering in the other delegates.
"Well," the Baron said as everyone settled, "I hope that we've been able to relax a little during that recess. If memory serves..." he glanced down at the table, "and yes, it does, I believe it's the Farminians' turn to speak now, unless the Mauvasians have something they wish to contribute. So I shall turn the floor over to you."
deRenci sat; his eyes now were blank, set an expressionless mask. More emotion could be read in the stonework.

Chairman Marks stared thoughtfully at the slip of paper in his hand as he slowly and deliberately chewed on a morsel of food, part of the avian portions he had selected during the break in negotiations. He had glanced at the departing Romano and deRenci as they departed on their tour; Marks was experienced enough to know that the tour was an excuse for the two to hold a private conversation away from the ears of other delegates, and he tolerated such back-room deals as a rule; here, however, the Macisikani noble had professed near-absolute neutrality. If they did work something out, it could give Farmina an edge over the Northern Colonies... or vice versa. Either way, Marks wasn't sure he liked it.

Marks set aside his plate and utensils, which soon discreetly vanished, and stared down at the note. Four simple words.

See me after. deRenci

They were scrawled in meticulous, aristocratic handwriting, betraying a wealth of information about their author. Marks examined it closely, trying to gauge the intent behind those few simple words. He failed.

As the delegates sat back down, Marks discreetly withdrew the note and half-smiled politely at deRenci. "No, I do not think I have anything in particular to contribute at the moment."

He was thinking. Ensuring peace here would not be an easy task, especially now.

“To recap,” said Romano, “The Northern Colonies has conspired with the mad dictator Lord Snyder and religious fanatic Rellian Peters. They brought war against Farmina for no good reason; making wild claims with no good evidence or charge and in doing so broke all bonds that had previously united the two nations. They sided with a dictatorship which has murdered its own people and members; to destroy a democracy. That last sentence says so much about the Anderson administration. They used weapons with no good reason but to stop they bloodshed, THEY were invoking.”

“We ask the Northern Colonies to fix their ways, to make right their foolish acts; and to provide safeguards,” said Romano, “Our terms have been clearly outlined. The Anderson administration may fall; and who then will command the great weapons that have already caused so much harm? Safeguards must be ensured.”

Again Romano placed the cassette on the table, before withdrawing a cassette player from his briefcase, “I must insist that we are hear a different tune from the Colonials; or I might just start playing this tape. The words will be placed on the record; and heard by Macisikan, Rotovia, not to mention the entire Colonial public.”

"Farmina can not really call itself a democracy. A one party state it may be, but she hardly fits the definition of democracy. And now, here is the CD that the Macisikans want."

He eyed the response of the Baron, knowing very well that he could get him intriged.

"The cursed 'tape' that the Farminan have. This comes directly from our classified files."

He put it in his inside left pocket, and buttoned his blazer, to ensure that no one could get it without trying to attack him.

"Now, your Grace," Alex said, referring to the Baron. "If we have a seperate discussion, you could get this under the table, but not while the Farminans talk about the tape. How is that for a deal?"

"It's Macisikani, not Macisikans," deRenci corrected gently. Sitting upright in his chair, the Baron had retreated behind a mask of Macisikani inscrutability. Emotions that he'd displayed before were now well-hidden within a blank facade; the man was giving off no indicators whatsoever.

"And it's "My Lord Baron", not "Your Grace". I am not a Duke. Nor am I the one you need to convince of your recording's value. In any case, to engage with you in such a deal here at this conference would not be compliant with our Declaration of Neutrality, unless you can demonstrate that securing the recording is adventageous to the security of the Covenant." His bland words were a rebuke of both the Farminians and the Colonials, and an indicator to the Mauvasians. The UIK would be neutral only so long as its own interests weren't threatened. For either side to sway it, they'd have to show that said interests were threatened by the other side.

“If Alexander Peters thinks the Republic has only one party; I suggest that his numeric talents are minimal,” said Romano, impressed that Peters could both insult the host and make such a blatant lie within a few sentences, “Mister Peters, Mister Anderson and Lord O’Brien are all on the record commenting about shifts between the Farminan political parties; in both the Parliamentary and the Presidential election.”

Romano then sighed, listening to Sullivan, and then opened the tape recorder, “I am tired of cheap Colonial trickery and lies. I am tired of this empty banter. I have been given permission to end the career of Prime Minister Anderson. Enough of these games; it is time for action.”

Romano slipped the tape into the player, “I suggest you contact the Prime Minister immediately. Just stop the tape if you want to make the call. Otherwise you are the obvious candidate to replace him.”

Ilorin Romano then closed the cassette player and pressed play, pushing it just into the reach of Alexander Peters.

“Think quick,” said Romano, smirking purposefully, it not occurring to him that he had just passed the evidence into the hands of the enemy.

Alex, quickly seeing the tape, lounged to the cassette tape.

"Thank you!" He shouted at Romano's ear. "I'm sure Macisikanis would really want to here this. Now, I agree with the Baron. Why don't we try actually getting a treaty done instead of playing games with this stupid tape?"

He opened the casette tape and put it in his inside left blazer pocket.

"And apologies, My Lord Baron. I keep getting these titles mixed up."

“I assume that you are now agreed to weapons restrictions and a joint effort to defeat Snyder,” said Romano calmly, watching Peters place the cassette in his pocket, “As well as ten billion standard in reparation.”

As Sullivan talked into his ear, Romano thought, “I wonder if Peters realized what he has just done.”

The Baron waved away the apology. He wasn't one to make a fuss over it, but he knew quite a few others that would.

He tilted his head quizically when the tape was pocketed. Surely the Farminians wouldn't be so stupid as to only have one copy?
I wonder where they intend taking this now... he thought, keeping his face carefully blank.

"You assumed wrong." He calmly, yet forcefully retorted. "This was the agreement. You would engage in free elections as soon as it is feasiable. You will have said election monitored by an international committee. You will reform the Faminan Police, and disband both the Reaction Corps and the Moralist Blackshirts."

He took a break, sipping a drink, before he continued.

"You must realise that these terms will indeed help your nation. Tell whoever you have in your earpiece, that considering that if Mr. Grey is a true believer in democracy and freedom, then why does he even have the Moralist Blackshirts? Surely if he truely believes in democracy, then he does not need such a force that is linked to a political party and bends to the Party's will, rather then a independent party who are more likely to enforce laws justly."

He stopped, yet again to regain his breath, and then continued.

"You will either have James Palmer sent to the Northern Colonies or all files relating to this case will be required to be sent off to us, and a weekly briefing on current operations in regards to Reaction Corps."

He stopped, sipped on the glass. He opened his briefcase and then pulled a sheet.

"In return," he began, reading of the sheet. "You will get ten billion, as requested. We have schematics of a few MES planes. You will get those. As well, you will recieve 'unoffical' intelligence support on what we have on the MES. But we will not be engaging in combat with the MES. Our weapons will not be restricted. Ask Rotovia to restrict hers and maybe we would consider it. We may choose to sign a no first use policy, but that is at our discretion."

He put the sheet back into his briefcase, and then pulled a red folder. In it, was only blank sheets, but Alex seemed to be able to read of it.

"If you are unable to agree to this terms, I have been ordered to terminate negoiations, from the Prime Minister. I believe that he may be planning something bigger then the first strike."

Romano seemed a little annoyed at the Colonials overconfidence, “If you want to see your nation in flames; Farmina is willing to douse you in petrol. You will however at least return that tape, so I can give it as a thankyou gift to the Lord Baron for his failed efforts.”

Illorin Romano stood up and reached out towards Alexander Peters, gesturing for the return of the only copy that the Chancellor had.

'Maybe I could use the tape to my advantage,' Peters thought.

Peters leaned forward, looking meancing.

"If you want the tape back, agree to those terms," he spoke, with a heavy tone.

_________________________________________________________________
OOC: Sorry for not responding in a while, been busy.

OOC: No problem.
IC:

Illorin Romano remained standing and spoke without tone, “Lord Peters, your final warning has just expired.”

He paused and turned slightly towards to Baron deRenci. Then in a pompous voice not his own, Romano repeated words spoken by Phillip Sullivan, who was in turn reciting, Lady Justina Valdir, “We will not tolerate any hostilities of any sort being conducted within the bounds of the Greater Macisikani Empire; you should understand that the penalties for Breaking The King's Peace are extremely severe.”

Sullivan was sure deRenci would know the source, and the implication that was to follow. Romano allowed a small pause, turning back towards Peters. Returning to his own more stern voice, “The Farminan delegation has had its rightful property stolen by Alexander Peters of the Northern Colonies. It is the view of the Republic that this constitutes an act against the Farminan delegation and a violation of the neutrality of Macisikan. It therefore my duty to request the temporary incarceration of Alexander Peters, the removal of any communication devices he may bear and the return of the Republic’s property. Furthermore, I request that the Lord Baron convey to the King’s Government the travesty that has occurred here, and in the strongest possible words explain the Republic’s desire for the Greater Macisikani Empire to follow through on its pledges to the fullest extent.”

“Unless Macisikan is prepared to ensure peaceful negotiations with steel, I don’t think there can be any further ground for discussions,” concluded Illorin Romano, still not returning to his seat. He doubted there could be anything to sit for. He knew that in Farmina; the military had already received word the ceasefire was crumbling. As soon as either Phillip Sullivan or Tobias Grey gave the word; the Colonial navy would become a new attraction for scuba divers.

deRenci's head titled to the side, as if listening to some internal voice, then he raised two fingers and made a beckoning gesture; the doors opened and Macisikani soldiers filed int to the room.
"Mr. Peters, the delegate from Farmina has registered formal complaint against you; you have violated the sanctity of his property," the Baron said in ice-cold tones. "You will return that property immediately, or you and your delegation will be detained. And the property will be forcibly confiscated and returned to its rightful owner."
He turned emotionless eyes on Romano.
"The High King is very much aware of what transpires here. As I informed you, this conference is being monitored. Closely," at the last word, his eyes turned cold and slid back towards Peters. deRenci had not liked the comment about Rotovia's armaments.
"I would also remind all delegates present that the penalty for attacking either us or each other is instant annihilation of the offender."

“It is the principle Lord Baron,” said Romano, as though trying to influence the Macisikani to take harsher measure, “Thieves should be punished.”

The words were however were not for the Baron, but to push Alexander Peters to secede to Farmina’s demands. Northern Colonies actions in neither war nor negotiation had one it no friends. The Republic could with good reason walk out of the negotiations there and then smelling of roses; and go onto seize Colonial territory around the Strait of Rotovia.

Romano’s face unwilling cringed for a moment as he spoke a lie, trying to increase the pressure on Alexander Peters, “The tape is of no concern; I have another copy in my briefcase.”

"If you do, why do you create this ruckus just to get the tape back," replied Alexander Peters. "In any case, I must listen to the tape. See if it is authentic as you claim it to be."

He took a tape out of his pocket and placed it on the table.

"But if you want it, you can have it."

He then looked at his watch.

"I think we should take another break."

“You would know well enough that it is authentic, when you hear your own voice confess,” said Illorin Romano, “But to your request, if you feel you suddenly have the ability to persuade Prime Minister Anderson to change his mind then we are happy to pause.”

"As you please," replied Alex. "But here is the tape."

He passed a tape on the table and walked off, nodding at the Baron and the Chairman. He looked at Romano, seeing as what he was going to do next.

Romano paused then picked up the tape. “Lord Baron, will you direct me to your art collection, while Mr Peters has his break?”

The soldiers withdrew silently as the tape was returned, vanishing to whatever rabbit hole deRenci had summoned them from.
The Baron swivelled to face Romano, and answered.
"Third door, down the hall and on your... right..." the pauses were caused by one of the aides leaning over his shoulder and whispering into his ear.
He looked up at Romano again.
"Anna will show you," he waved a hand and one of the innumerable protocol officers stepped forward with a dazzling smile.
Baron deRenci leaned his head back towards his aide.

Illorin Romano nodded kindly to the host, as he slipped the tape into his top pocket; even if he was annoyed that Macisikan was dealing softly with the Colonial aggression. “Lead on my dear,” he said to Anna, before following her towards the art collection.

Alexander Peters walked down the halls of the ancient castle. He walked outside and took out his secure mobile phone.. He dialed the number and soon the PM was talking.

"Status?" He asked grimly.

"We've gone nowhere, at all," replied Alexander Peters.

"Have you been hearing the headlines?" The PM questioned

"Not really, no"

"Well, the Opposition Party of Macisikan is calling Farmina imperialist. Other nations in the region have responded with raising there status alerts."

"Oh,” replied Peters, amazed at the recent developments. "This probably means we have leverage against Farmina. Any attempts at an invasion could be interpreted as imperialism."

Peters' brain was racketing. Inside, he was thinking of whether to mention the tape. Although he attempted to stop his mouth from mentioning it, for fear of getting into trouble, he couldn't resist.

"During the meeting, I stole the Crete negotiation tape,” Peters said, mischievously.

“You WHAT?” Shouted the PM.

“Don’t worry, sir,” replied Peters as if he was back in the school principal’s office. “I have given him the wrong tape back.”

“Ok,” the PM replied, wondering where this would lead.

“Let’s just say, it will be an orgasmic show. I’ll leave the tape in the plane.”

“Roger, report back in a day,” replied the PM

“Ok”

Peters disconnected the line. He walked to one of the castle guard.

“Excuse me, I need a transport to the airport?” He asked the guard. “I’ve left my pills on the plane.”

The guard merely nodded, and called for a Protocol Officer, which materialised next to Peters' elbow.
"Transport to the airport ser? No problem ser, please follow me..." the young man led the Colonial to a waiting limousine.

((OOC: you can assume that he goes there and back with the full cooperation of the guards and such; they have no reason to suspect, so won't interfere))

Peters sat in the car as it was being driven to the airport. So much had happened along the way, that he was tired. Nevertheless, he had to persevere.

'For the good of the country,' he thought.

The transport reached the airport, and Peters was allowed into the plane. He glanced at one of agents, before putting the tape into one of the draws. He then opened another draw, and took out his medication. He then walked back to his transport.

"Take me back," he called to the driver.

While Peters was at the airport, Anna led the Farminian delegate into the room nicknamed "the Gallery"; a long hall, with a number of display cases with suits of armour, paintings and tapestries, it was actually little more then a "waiting room" before the items were put on display in the castle.
Anna pointed out a few items of interest, and bowed to a young man, who turned to face the delegation.

It was the same youth from the room before, and he acknowledged Romano with a nod, before turning back to face the shield he was examining; another Protocol Officer was explaining in muted tones the shield's history. Clearly visible against the young man's auburn hair was a golden circlet. His eyes were focused intently on the shield in front of him.

“That you are so familiar,” Romano commented vaguely to the protocol officer, “May I assume that there is a business other than shields, that certain parties may want my opinion on?”

"This shield is a Fifth Dynasty original," the young man commented absently. "Combat originally, but they retired it and made it a heraldic one... it's also been consecrated..." he turned to face Romano as an older member of the Macisikani Clergy appeared behind him.

"Ser Romano, my name is Nicholas and my title is Prince Royal... and this is Father Martin." his green eyes were flat and emotionless. "My mission of the moment is simple; I have a question that needs an answer from you, Ser." Prince Nicholas paused a moment, then tilted his head. "A simple question, give me an honest answer; Ser Romano, is Farmina seeking an empire in Reformed Oceania?"

Father Martin tilted his head, serving Romano with a piercing gaze, suggesting by body language that it would be useless to even think of lying.

Back in the conference room, deRenci was ordering a light snack. Something about this place makes me perpetually hungry, he thought.

“That’s simple,” said Romano, with complete honesty, “No. The Republic is not interested in an empire in Reformed Oceania of anywhere else Lord Prince. When Farmina is free of the internal strife that plagues it, and the nations that seek its destruction, Tobias Grey has indicated he wants to crush some of the more foul dictatorships, but that is all. The Empire of Justinian has passed into the history books. Listen not to wicked Colonial lies; it is not Farmina plotting an Empire here.”

He paused, “Fifth Dynasty you saw; I would have guessed Third. Shows what I know.”

"He speaks the truth." Father Martin said suddenly.
"I know," the prince replied, not taking his eyes from Romano's face. At that point the realisation would have dawned that Father Martin was an empath, and Prince Nicholas probably was too.

"It's "Your Royal Highness" actually," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "deRenci might be lax, but I am not... and neither is Father," he paused, then continued; "And the Colonials have not spoken to us on this matter; Father's loyal Opposition party has started screaming that your nation's involvement in Rotovia, your aims towards the Colonials, are all preparations for expanding into our region." Anna, who had vanished in the interim, materialised next to Romano with a pair of newspapers.

"If you read the Oceanic Gazette," Nicholas said, gesturing to them, "you'll see that Tarlag is on high alert, and Supreme Overlord Young of Veskaland, a man with the same pacifist disposition and restraint as a Visigoth, has declared a state of regional emergency. The Colonials have seized on this of course, crying that if you took Colonial territory you could threaten the entire region... Ser Romano, they, our parliamentarians, the Tarlagi, and the Veskans, do not see your aims as being to remove "foul dictators"; they only see a foreigner interfering in Oceanic internal affairs," his eyes found Romano's. "Fortunately for you, Father's Government doesn't consider you a threat."

The protocol officer holding the shield returned it to its case, pausing when Nicholas pointed at it and added "Incidentally, the shield was made in the early 1500's. The House of De'Malk'Ara held the Throne of Light in those days... the blooded moon in the point is unique to their Empire... and only to a few houses."

“Your Royal Highness,” said Romano calmly correcting his use of address, “I was unaware that the Northern Colonies had made such grand gestures behind our back. The Republic has paid little attention to Reformed Oceania, our minds were too concerned about Snyder’s invasion force. This has slipped completely through our information net.”

He paused, as thought listening to someone, still looking at the shield, “Can I ask a favour of you, Lord…Your Royal Highness? If the Republic were to try and communicate directly with Reformed Oceania, it would be a diplomatic mockery. If however Macisikan were to, as a neutral power, relay the Republic’s position on Reformed Oceania fairly and honestly. The Republic cannot take on all of Reformed Oceania and the Messian dictatorship. It will be the death of our democratic experiment. Your words would put us greatly in your debt.”

OOC: Regional boards. No wonder I couldn’t find what NC was talking about through a forum search.

OCC: You might wish to ether invite the rest of our region to this meeting or open a new thread so that everyone can get involved. I will leave that up to the active members of this meeting:)

OOC: Well, technically this thread is a negoiation deal b/w me an Farmina (or Farmina and I for all you grammar freaks), so I suggest you open a new thread.

Prince Nicholas pursed his lips.
"Chaos theory politics," Father Martin said dryly from behind him.
The prince's lips quirked into a smile.
"Yes... you see, Ser, you are not the first nation to be caught like this," he explained. "Our internal politics are often discounted as unimportant, but a single speech by a backbencher in the Merchant's Alliance has galvanised the entire region... The Colonies are simply seizing an opportunity provided by my father's Loyal Opposition grasping for straws ahead of an election..." he waved a hand. "But as for your request. I can make a call to the NewsDesks, and have your response put in the next airing. But I cannot influence or set the policy of father's government. That is in the hands of the officials." the prince fidgeted for a moment, then came to a decision.
"Arn-Maciska is currently under about six metres of snow, so actually going to petition the Daíl is... unfeasible. I will arrange a phone call for you. And I will ask someone to send your leaders a copy of the Regional Gazette..." he turned to examine the next piece being shown (an eighteenth century cavalry sabre), then looked back to Romano.
"And Ser, might I suggest that you have your government ask Lady Valdir for an embassy exchange. You'll find things become a lot smoother when we have a regular and established channel for dialogue."


OOC: It would make sense to have a new thread (and reference it to here), but someone get Veska and Rotovia on board with this first.
And Farmina, check your telegrams.

“Neutral,” said Romano quietly, “Neutral is the closest thing we have to an ally. Then again considering Farmina’s friends and allies to date, who needs enemies?”

He paused, adding with complete sincerity, “I give you the personal thanks of the President and of the Chancellor. I suppose I should return to Baron deRenci’s table. I do however have one question. You say Northern Colonies is actively warmongering against us. With this and the theft; surely now we have enough to claim the King’s Peace has been violated?”

Neither prince nor priest chose to comment on Romano's first statement.

"No blood has been spilled; the peace remains," the youth answered simply. "It is tradition. And yes, my Lord Baron will be expecting you back soon," he held up his right hand, palm outwards. "The earth beneath your feet, Illorin of the Romanos."

The youth then turned back to examine the sabre.

-------------------------------

In the conference room, deRenci was finishing his snack.

Illorin Romano wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to the Prince’s final statement, and dared not vent his rage at Macikisan’s tolerance of the Colonial behaviour. Pausing for a moment, he responded with a Farminan expression, giving the Prince his Farminan title as was required by Farminan correct use of the expression, “In the winter may God keep you safe, in the Spring may he give you glory, in the Summer may His winds blow cool and in the Autumn may the falling leaves never be forgotten. May God bless you Lord Prince and may he ever watch over you.”

As Illorin Romano turned and walked back into the deRenci’s conference room he wondered where the expression came from, since no deciduous trees grew in Farmina. He banished the thought as Sullivan spoke, causing Romano to address deRenci directly, “Lord Baron, Chancellor Sullivan has just sent you a communication. I would most humbly request that you have a copy run off for everyone at this table. The Republic has a proclamation to make.”

The Prince nodded absently at Romano's statement; clearly the other man had been dismissed from the boy's universe. No-one bothered to correct the address, though Father Martin's eyes tracked the Farminian from the room.

--------------------

Before Romano had finished speaking the Baron leant over the table, searching his papers, then leaned towards Sir Septimus, and there was a whispered exchange; one of the attendants stepped forward when the Baron beckoned, leaned down, whispered into his own earpiece, then shook his head. deRenci turned back to face the table.
"I apologise Ser, but although Chancellor Sullivan may have sent the Right Honourable Minister a communication, the Warden says no communication from your government has been relayed to us... I do have assurances that any relevant documentation will be sent here though... Sandra, double-check with the Warden again please..."
Clearly the information Romano needed hadn't been sent from Arn-Maciska to Sar'Dahl yet; at the back of the hall, one of the protocol officers nodded and slipped out.

“Chancellor Sullivan ensures me it is coming through,” said Illorin Romano, “Unfortunately things are a little chaotic in the Republic at the moment.”

Ministry of External Affairs, Arn-Maciska

In Arn-Maciska the wind howled around ice-laced spires of the city, moaned as it flew down snow-covered streets, whipping the falling snow into strange and unreal shapes.
Safely ensconced in the warmth of her office, Lady Justina Valdir, His Most Serene Majesty's Excellent Minister for External Affairs, examined the message from Sullivan with an expression as cold as the air outside.
"They're preaching to the wrong congregation," she mused, then turned to her secretary. "Send this to Sar'Dahl. Mark as urgent."
"Yes, Minister."
"And then call Desrilia. Have her pack her bags."
"Ma'am."
Valdir turned to gaze at the frozen city with colder eyes.
It was getting dark outside.

==================
Sar'Dahl Castle

A few minutes later the protocol officer returned, carrying a folded letter; she hurried around the room and handed it to deRenci, who read through it.
"Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Lady Valdir has relayed us this message from Chancellor Sullivan...
By proclamation of the President of the Democratic Republic of Farmina,

With the war against the Militia Enforced State about to enter its final decisive state, and the Northern Colonies failing to abandon their unacceptable, unfeasible and illegal claim to former president, Lord James Palmer of the Liberals, it may be unavoidable that the Republic may return to a state of war against the Northern Colonies. Decisive strikes against the Northern Colonies may be required to prevent further unprovoked attacks on the Republic. The Republic does however note, the icy tone of Reformed Oceania towards any potential Farminan invasion of the Northern Colonies, even to prevent further bloodshed.

It is in this context that I declare that should the mighty Republic again come to blows with the Northern Colonies, any territory seized will be handed to the protective custody of a willing neutral power. Such a course of action prevents any threat of a Farminan Empire in Reformed Oceania, while reducing the capacity of the Colonials to conduct war.

May God Bless,

Signed
Tobias Grey
President of the Republic

Phillip Sullivan
Chancellor for Foreign Affairs
Democratic Republic of Farmina
The Baron's voice trailed off and he tapped the parchment with a finger.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Out of idle interest, did anyone attempt to extradite this James Palmer before reaching for their military?"

Unspoken was his speculation that should even one Farminian soldier set foot in the Northern Colonies, the Veskans would introduce the "Mighty Republic" to the business end of planetary bombardment.

“The last high level communication we received from the Colonies before they declared war...” said Illorin Romano, pausing as someone flicked through a file back in Farmina, “...Was an objection to the execution of a convicted terrorist on national television. After that, nothing. And this is before the alledged engagement between the fleet belonging to the tyrant Snyder and corporate fleet, partly originating from Farmina, which has become the Colonial rallying call for war.”

Romano then added quickly but silently, “I notice there is no confidentiality on that document. I hope you take some liberty when leaking it through your region.”

Alexander Peters walked back into the commotion.

"Might I mention that despite having Corporate flags is not enough, when in the vicinity, they where flying Colonial Flags. That alone, is enough to charge a person of piracy in the Northern Colonies. Unless the Reaction Corps flags were in fact flags of another nation, then Reaction Corp will bear responsibility for there action."

He stopped, as he noted the question from the Baron.

"It wasn't going to work, my lord. It would seem unlikely that Farmina would be willing to get rid of the President. James Palmer was in power at the time we declared war, and as such I don't think he would be extradite himself."

“Mister Peters, I am sure you can read this document for yourself,” said Romano sitting down, before adding, “I hear you say that Reaction Corp will pay. I ask of you Mister Peters, how does bombing Farminan cities, killing innocent civilians amount to punishing this non-existent Reaction Corp?”

He paused to move from rhetoric to fact, “You now seem to be laying a different charge against Reaction Corp. No longer do you criticize them for defending themselves; but for flying your flag. Again Colonial law doesn’t apply; this event occurred in international waters.”

He gave Peters a silence to talk, but interrupted it before anything intelligible could be said, “And Mister Peters, before you try making any such argument, the Northern Colonies does not have any legitimate legal power to regulate occurrences outside their border. Now can I ask you, lay aside the absurd allegation that Lord Palmer is somehow responsible for the flying of the Colonial flag in international waters. You have no evidence. You have no jurisdiction. Please stop wasting time.”

Romano had not provided a defense for Reaction Corp; that would be hypocritical when the few surviving Reaction Corporation executives were awaiting trial in Farmina.

A mild rain was coming down at the time the cloaked figure walked down the parking lot towards the main pathway to the negotiations building. He looked around as he walked, admiring the brilliant archetecture around the building. He walked up the stairs and reached the door, under the cover of the overhang roof. As he arrived in front of the door guards, he unmasked himself.

"I need to speak to the diplomats for Farmina, Northern Colonies, and the mediator. I am Force Commander Lance Foster, and I'm from the resistance against Snyder."


OOC: It is assumed that this occurs sometime shortly before the recent events in Full Circle.

One of the guards whispered into his helmet, conferring with the Warden. The others levelled their weapons, safety catches off.
After a few brief seconds of whispered conversation the guard looked up with cold flat eyes.
"Your request is denied sir. Only those invited by the Honourable Minister or subjects of His Most Serene Majesty may enter. If you wish to contact Farmina or the Northern Colonies, you may make submissions to their governments. If you wish to contact His Most Serene Majesty's Government, you may contact the Ministry of External Affairs," the guard paused as the helmet whispered again.
"This is a secure area sir, and as you lack proper authorisation or credentials I must ask you to leave. If you fail to comply sir, you will be detained as a terrorist."
Unspoken was the penalty for if the man actually attacked the guards.

------------------------

Up in the conference room deRenci's eyes flicked from one side to the other. He was slightly disappointed with the Colonials; even if there was no chance of actually extraditing Palmer, he felt they ought to have tried. Just to say they had, if nothing else. It's just bad staffwork he mused.

"In terms of international law, the Colonies has not only a legal, but moral obligation to send the men to trail. But it seems of no use, seeing your choice of action."

He sat there, then set his plan to motion.

"In regards to the Rotovian tape, the Prime Minister will be having it 'leaked' tomorrow. Your tape will be of no worth. I would like to hear what was in it, as some of the delegates here might. So, play it Romano."

Foster shook his head. "My presence is of the utmost importance to the negotiations. I have truth and facts to bring to the table."

Foster then walked off down to the bottom of the stairs, then pulled out his communicator. He then looked through his index on the phone, and dialed Phillip Sullivan.

“You just said flying the Colonial flag was against Colonial law,” observed Romano, “Not international law. International maritime law requires the correct flag to be flown at the time of engagement. The ships were flying the Reaction Corporation flag between ten and twenty minutes before the engagement. The obligations of international law were fulfilled.”

He paused to examine Alexander Peters more carefully; Romano’s intense glare said, “I’ve heard the tape. I know your bluffing.”

“I suppose if you can’t be reasonable Mister Peters, I will have to play the tape,” said Romano waiting for Peters to budge, “But we don’t need to listen do we.”

He paused, clearly listening to Sullivan again, “However Lord Baron, you have a guest, one I thought was dead. He has been granted membership of the Farminan entourage. Could you have him sent in?”

Romano turned to Peters, “Instead of discussing your deal with a terrorist, perhaps the deal with the tyrant is more appropriate?”

deRenci motioned for one of the aides to approach him. There was a murmured exchange, and a hissed order to the Castle's Warden.
"Very well," the Baron looked slightly put out by the matter, "that individual shall be escorted in. Have the sergeant-" the rest of his instruction was too low to be heard.
Next to him Sir Septimus rose and stalked from the room, his face a mask.
"This man will be under the same conditions as the rest of you Ser Romano," the Baron pronounced; there seemed to be more that he wanted to say, but he checked himself.

-----------------------------

Down at the gates, the guards lowered their weapons, but their attitude didn't thaw. The officer in charge stepped forward, and in icy tones addressed the intruder.
"The Warden has granted you access. You will surrender all weapons to us. They will be returned to you when you leave. Know that the King's Peace is across the Barony, and that your safety at this conference is guaranteed by the Empire. Understand that if you breach the King's Peace, there won't be enough left of you to make it worth holding a funeral."

-----------------------------

Up in the Warden's office, Prince Nicholas turned from the monitor to look at Sir Septimus.
"From the Militia Enforced State you say? Just happened to wander into this particular Barony?"
"Yes Highness."
"And the plot thickens..." the Prince said, tapping the desk. "Well, everyone's allowed one mistake I guess..." he flashed a smile that had nothing to do with humour.

Foster shook his head. "No weapons. Just my communicator." He showed it at the guards as he walked into the grand building.

“Lord Commander,” said Illorin Romano, standing up to greet the fallen Messian leader, “Chancellor Sullivan has informed me that you have much to say.”

Romano then turned to the Baron to fill in any gaps in his knowledge of the situation, “The Messian state, if you would call it that, was ruled by a group of military dictators, including Force Commander Foster and Force Commander Snyder. In very recent times, they surrendered part of their power to a democratic government, after their government came into a somewhat ideological and argumentative dialogue with President Grey and his hard-line democratic views.”

Romano didn’t say that Grey caused that change. Among other things, Messians were stubborn, and would rarely admit that another nation had persuaded them to change. However the implication was clear; just as it was doubtful the Messian state would have softened without Farmina. “However things went backwards,” said Illorin Romano, “Force Commander Snyder eliminated the other Force Commanders one by one, several going into exile. Force Commanders Ackvick and Dasch fled to Farmina. Snyder then abolished the democratic government in MES. With all balances destroyed, Snyder became a tyrant. He moved quickly to create a pact with Prime Minister Anderson of the Northern Colonies, which would allow him to smash the Republic, to destroy the democratic acid that had been eroding the long standing dictatorship.”

“Commander Foster escaped Snyder’s grasp and has been building something of a resistance,” continued Romano, “He has much to say about the Colonial choice of ally. About how the Colonies has expanded the life of tyranny. Then again Mister Peters, there are some things we don’t need to discuss if you would simply be reasonable, for a change.”

"That is well described. It almost made my visit a waste of time," Foster said with a chuckle, while taking off his hood. "Anyways, we need to get all sides together, because I believe that I can help bring all sides to an agreement, and bring all sides against...hate to say it, against my own country, to stop Snyder."

“Unfortunately,” said Romano, “I have already tried to convince Alexander Peters to try and clean up the mess his nation his made. However they show little interest. I assume you Snyder’s rule has left you with scars and stories. Chancellor Sullivan suggests you give Alexander Peters a small sample of the horror his government has saved.”

deRenci had sat through the entire exchange with his face a mask carved from granite; the only sign he'd heard their words was a brief flicker of the eyes.
His aides might as well have been replaced by the suits of armour for all the reactions they gave.

---------------------------------------

Sir Septimus was still in the Warden's Office with the Prince, and the two exchanged a look as the Farminan related a brief history of the affair. The Prince nodded at the unspoken question.
"Call Dame Lavina..." the knight ordered, "and then get me a secure link to Vas-Intaan."
"Tierce," the Prince spoke softly into a microphone, "at some stage can you find out why they expect us to care about the internal affairs of the MES..."

"Before you begin," replied Peters, pointing his index finger. "You must remember you are here on our pleasure. That mean that either me or Romano can kick you out if you so become disruptive to the negotiation process."

He reclined on his seat, listening.

"Now, lets here your story."

"Alright," replied Foster. "As you are aware, Snyder has taken control of the MES government, through assasination attempts, disfigurement of character, and swapping his men with our own in the armed forces."

Foster then pulled up a sleeve on his left arm. Inside, it revealed a prosphetic limb. "I was caught in the planned bombing of our own primary government buildings. I almost died, and it was a miracle I survived, and made it out of the country without his knowledge."

“Mister Peters,” said Illorin Romano, taking advantage of Foster’s silence, “I insist that you do not issue empty threats against guest; a victim of so much brutality.”

There was one of two ways for Foster’s testimony to work; either guilt Northern Colonies into change or as with the tape, along Romano’s other minor tricks, force the Anderson administration to avoid or minimize scandal.

“Furthermore Mister Peters, highly sensitive sources have informed us that you are causing panic in Reformed Oceania. Allies of worth you will not rouse. Your best chance is Rotovia, he paused to hold up the audio tape again, “Oh dear me; what if they realise that they have got the whole issue back to front?”

He hoped such a random and untimed insertion would not point the finger at Macisikan. It would seem that Sullivan had a sudden revelation and felt the need to urgently interject. “And do not think Alexander Peters, that the Republic has no source of allies. Remember all those that responded when the Republic last called. Do not think we idly twiddle our thumbs,” said Romano firmest of all; knowing those were the words that would sting most.

“I also hope you had a good look at that wound,” concluded Illorin Romano, “We plan to take photos and publish them all over the world. Commander Foster will stay the privileged guest of Farmina in Macisikan until you realise what you have set in motion Alexander Peters. Commander Foster shall talk until you see reason. We shall play the tape. We shall publish photographs. We shall collate your nation’s military history. We shall put it all in a book and sell it. “Scandal: The Tale of the Colonies.” It’ll be a bestseller. Tell Prime Minister Anderson to give up now. We can beat you on the battle field. We can rally more allies. We can out produce you. But best of all, we control scandal itself.”

deRenci's eyes were turning icy; he was well aware of what the Colonials were pushing in Newport, Tarlag. He was also well aware that nothing could be traced to the UIK; they never leaked to the Farminans anything that couldn't be found out by tuning into MNB International News.
"It seems, Ser Peters," he observed dryly, "that you no longer occupy the most advantageous position here."

------------------------------------------------------

"They're five minutes away, Highness."
"Ta," the boy replied absently. "Someone neglected to inform Ser Peters that the right of expulsion rests with deRenci, not him..."

Sir Septimus was talking softly down the phone to Dame Lavina, Secretary of State for Tourism and Immigration, in Arn-Maciska.

"Play the damned tape already, then," replied Peters, in a loud but civil tone. "To me, this is how I see it. The tape, the Commander, the military is all a diversion, becasue Farmina never intended to sign a treaty. That's right. It wanted to engage in a war because of selfishness of her Government, unwilling to protect it's own citizens from any more danger. The Colonial Government, and me especially, does not want to see any more blood shed. From anyone, whether MES, Farminan or Reformed Oceanian. But if the Farminans do not want to sign a treaty, then so be it. The decision is out of my hands, and out of my control."

Peters took a sip of glass, before continuing, this time in a softer tone.

"Now, let's play the tape shall we. Before we hear another of the Commander's story."

Illorin Romano was wondering whether Alexander Peters had undergone a frontal lobotomy and felt an overwhelming temptation to ask exactly that. However he refrained. “Mister Peters, Tobias Grey may be a renowned poker player but this time he is not bluffing. We have a full house and a royal flush. We doubt you can rub together a pair. We’ve even been nice enough to let you have a brief peek at our hand.”

However it was clear Alexander Peters wasn’t moving. Romano’s patience was running out, but there was something curious. Why the tape? That was probably the most damning of all, half the Colonial government caught conspiring with the infamous Rellian Peters to seize the Straight of Rotovia. Illorin Romano had listened to the tape over and over. He knew every fateful word. He felt a slight curiousness all of a sudden; but still did not suspect what had happened.

Slipping the tape into the tape player, Romano said, “For our esteemed audience, I’ll play a small and minor section where Prime Minister explains why wants to break Rotovian control of the Straight of Rotovia.”

Playing that section alone would devastate relations between Rotovia and the Colonies; possibly war. Romano looked at Alexander Peters, “You have underestimated this time. You have underestimated us and you will pay. There is no turning back. This is the fall of the Northern Colonies.”

Illorin Romano pressed play, waiting for Alexander Peters to realise what he had done, for the facial expression to change to sheer horror, but it didn’t. It was Illorin Romano who turned white and then a furious red…

deRenci's expression turned thunderous.
"What in the Seven Hells...? Ser Romano... what is the meaning of this?"
From behind the irate Baron Father Martin glided forward, and placed his hand on the noble's shoulder, his steely gaze sweeping back and forth across the room, before fixing on Romano.

------------------------------------------------------

"And that Messian," the Prince paused, "Messian? Is that the word? Who cares, you know what I mean, that Messian was telling the truth. As he sees it... ah, now for this tape... did something happen to the monitoring system?"
Sir Septimus, who'd finished his calls and remained silent through Nicholas' monologue glared at the technicians, who shook their heads.
"Everything checks out Highness..."
"Hmmm..." the Prince made no response beyond that soft hum.

Romano’s shaking hand pressed the stop button, ending the noise of at least three males copulating quiet ferociously. For a minute he said nothing, just quivering, holding back tears of frustration and humiliation. Anger built up in him, but his own shame checked it. The stern words of Sullivan were somehow soothing. Clear concise instructions. Angry words, yet calm. “Getting emotional won’t help Illorin. Don’t panic, the tape is replaceable,” said Sullivan, “There is only one explanation. And there is only one conclusion. We are going to mail Peters’ unspeakables to the wall.”

Illorin Romano took several more moments to regain his stature and listen to Sullivan’s specific instructions. Finally he stood up, “I apologise Lord Baron, it appears someone has switched the tapes.”

A sudden glare at Peters left no doubt who someone was, “I listened to the tape on the way here. It was in possession for the whole time, until I placed it in the cassette player, when Alexander Peters removed it. I hereby request Lord Baron that you contact the authorities. I have decided to press charges against Alexander Peters for theft. That we have sufficient evidence of; regardless of whether an original or a substitute was returned.”

“However the evidence points to Mister Peters making a switch,” said Illorin Romano, “The Republic has nothing to gain by switching tapes. Mister Peters called a break immediately after the switch. The Republic can prove that its claim to the recording was no bluff by presenting another copy. The Republic finds these smutty noises highly offensive and certainly wouldn’t go to the effort of recording them, to later play at an international meeting. Surely if it was a bluff, wouldn’t the tape be blank, or have music. Why would the Republic play something to purposefully humiliate itself?”

Despite still some nerves and humiliation, Romano felt he had some measure of revenge, “I should also hope that our host has security cameras to examine exactly what Mister Peters did. On a final note, there is talk of a new chapter in that proposed book on the Northern Colonies, ‘Treachery, Lies and Crime: The Colonial Guide to Negotiations’.”

It was Father Martin who answered.
"There is another way, my Lord Baron."
deRenci's colour receded, and he smiled viciously, as guards filed in behind the Colonials.
"True. The Republic has nothing to gain by playing that at this table, and considering the character of that nation, I find it highly unlikely they would," he gestured gracefully. "Father Martin. If you would."
The old priest turned a pitiless gaze on the Colonials.
"Ser Peters, do not lie to me. This is a simple yes or no question: did you substitute that tape?"

Behind Romano a steward slipped a note on the table; SIS is examining tapes right now.

----------------------------

Up in the Warden's office, Prince Nicholas was highly amused.
"Someone get that tape for Tommy," he said, wiping his eyes.
"Highness, the screen; Father Martin's entered the fray."
"Really? Oh, this is interesting...."

Behind them the recordings were copied, and examined, searching for a switch.
"Highness..."
"Mmm?"
"Peters went to his plane, to collect medication."
"Oh, really? Tierce, apparently..."

Foster looked at the Colonials as if they had gone mad. "When I came here, I expected you Colonials to be simply mislead. Perhaps you were more in league with Snyder's plot than I originally anticipated."

Ignoring the commotion, Foster sorted out his papers as he sat down, and pulled out his communicator. "Anyways, charges aside, I have information. According to my double-agents inside of Snyder's elite guard, I have obtained information regarding his actions so far. He is guilty in plotting the Messian bombing by the Reaction Corps. Secondly, he is also guilty of assasinating or defacing the Force Commanders to take command."

Foster paused as he grabbed a page from his clipboard, and passed it down towards the Colonials. "Perhaps the most damning thing of all the information, is this transaction. Apparently, members of the Snyder Guard, dressed in Reaction Corps uniforms, fake-attacked your convoy with Snyder, in order to force your hand on going to war."

Foster then looked directly at the Colonial diplomat. "I'm sorry, but I think you've been had."

Father Martin looked at Foster.
"He speaks the truth," he said. "As far as he sees it."
The Imperials froze, then deRenci leaned forward.
"Ser Foster, are you saying that this whole affair is the result of a plot by Snyder to provoke war between the Farminans and the Colonials? And Peters, you will answer the good father's question."

--------------

"Someone just changed the location of the net in this match..."
"Probably so Highness."
"Highness, Sir Septimus, they're here."
Nicholas didn't twitch.
"Highness," Sir Septimus said, leaning down. "Time to leave."
The Prince stood and stretched.
"Pity," he pouted. "It was just getting interesting," with a laugh that gave Sir Septimus shivers, the youth left the room, escorted by the Temple Guard.

"That is correct," replied Foster. "Snyder knew he couldn't win alone, so he tried to gather all the allies he could."

"Simply, no," replied the Alexander Peters. He said it in such a way that it would have fool even a polygraph. He knew that saying anything further could mean he could be found out, so the Commander talking was a good way to divert the energy.

"What?" He questioned to Foster . "I was there myself, I was the one how made the ID if I remember."

He took the paper from Foster. His face turned into a major shock, horrifed, as he read on. He simply could not believe it.

'Treachery, knew I couldn't trust the bastard," he thought.

He then turned to Foster.

"I need to submit this though to the government ASAP. Do I have permission to send the transcipt to my government?"

"That is a copy, so I have no problem with that," Foster replied calmly. "Now that's out of the way, what should we do about the problem at hand?"

"We must how do they say it...?" Asked Peters looking up the grand roof for inspiration. "Kiss and make up. It seemed to have become obvisious that the underlying motivation has been shown to be a lie."

He sat there slumped, not believing that he was not able to join the dots together. It seemed obvious now that the answer was given, but he had his suspicions.

"If this is shown to be true, and true after scrunity, then yes, the Northern Colonies will commit to war against Snyder. But not before major scrunity of the evidence that Foster has and will give. If you will agree to our conditions for the treaty, we will move the current fleet in Farminan waters into MES waters. Until the evidence is scruntised, the fleet will not conduct military operations. If the evidence shows that Snyder was in treachery against us, then we will begin such operations."

He gave the sheet to one of his officers, and then extended his hand, hoping Romano would return it.

The priest whispered two words into deRenci's ears.
"He lies."
deRenci frowned. Martin was a decent empath, and adept enough to tell that such a pronouncement would distract from the real issue; that a third party (or fourth, fifth, sixth; who was counting?) aimed to provoke war here.
A steward collected a hastily scrawled note and handed it to Peters.
Peters, Fr. Martin is an empath; don't lie to him. Just give back the tape
Meanwhile Sir Septimus was talking to Lady Valdir and Dame Lavina in Arn-Maciska. He could feel a headache coming on.

deRenci leaned forward.
"Ser Peters, we need urgently to call Newport in Tarlag. Stop our neighbours from getting angrier then they already are. We don't want this mess getting any worse."

Foster was giving the Colonials the perfect opportunity to handball the guilt to Snyder. The Republic hadn’t even heard of this incident, but yet the Northern Colonies was pouring all the blame on it. All mention of Palmer and the incorrect flag and the Shadow would no doubt suddenly disappear. Alexander Peters would get away theft and lying in the middle of the negotiations.

Illorin Romano ground his teeth. The Colonies were going to get away with it, despite the stench of war starting there and not the Militia Enforce State. Commander Foster had thrown away so much hard fought leverage. How desperate the Colonies must have been for an escape route and there it was. Illorin could hear a lot of yelling. Tobias Grey’s voice was nearby. Romano listened then took advantage of a pause, “You will also accept weapons restrictions. An easily conned nation with a nutcase threatening to win the next election is not a nation the Republic wants to see with very large bombs. You’ve been responsible for enough disasters as it is. This treaty will be kept hush-hush until our final strike on Alice, when Snyder discovers you attacking his fleet. Previous stated reparations will be made. You will terminate the negotiations in Tarlag and make a full and public apology, stating your government was in error; both in the decision to enter the war, and the method of conducting that war. Lord Palmer will be allowed to live his life in peace. Lord Palmer will continue his legal battle against the Colonial media industry; talking of which you might want to investigate how the Colonial Daily is funding its legal costs. And Lord O’Brien’s life time membership of Casino Verica, by order of Tobias Grey, is to be revoked.”

Romano paused, sure he had covered everything, then added, “And I’ll have my tape back thank you. Should it mysteriously reappear, I believe we have the basis for a deal.”

"That said," Foster continued, noting Romano's obvious annoyance, "I also have information regarding the Reaction Corps assault on the Messian fleet. Apparently, although it wasn't staged, Snyder had forewarning of the attack, and thus attacked it from two angles with two fleets. As well..."'

Foster paused, grabbing a videotape from his briefcase, "As well, the Reaction Corp flags were not only raised before the threat was announced, which is legal in maritimal law, but they didn't even fire the first shot, and this unedited feed proves it."

Foster handed it to one of the Macisikani attendants. "The version you saw, although no want was created through enactment, it was edited to look like the Reaction Corps fired first. This is completely unedited, in its entirity."

The attendant rushed the tape to deRenci, who accepted the tape wearily. It had been a long day.
"Copy that for the Farminans, Colonials, Archives, Santa Claus, whoever needs one..." he ordered.
He sighed, looked around the room and thought to himself now I know why the Greens advocate isolationism... Father Martin cast him an amused glance.
Of course, once Sir Silvanas managed to get a straight answer out of Arn-Maciska, things would be easier. Though there seemed to be a problem...

------------------------------------------

Up in the Warden's Office Sir Silvanas tried vainly to re-establish the link to Arn-Maciska.
Heavy snow continued to blanket the Imperial Capital, and was interfering with communications. Fortunately, there was always the Junior External Affairs Minister in Arn-Arakhan, and the Deputy Minister had flown out the day before.

------------------------------------------

Up at the castle's small helipad, Prince Nicholas climbed aboard the 'copter that had just arrived from Vas-Intaan; one of the Royal Airfleet, it would convey the youth to the Provincial Capital in perfect safety and comfort.

Peters whispered in the Baron's ear.

"Indeed," he began. "If this is all a mistake, then we should."

He then turned his attention back onto the Farminan.

"As I said, that is all the Northern Colonies is willing to cede," began Peters. "And how do you expect us to prosecute a war between the MES if we have no weapons to fight with."

As he was talking, he scribbled a note onto a piece of paper. He passed it on to the servant. It read;

'Later.'

"And as I said, until the evidence is scrutinised, the Colonies with not commit to war with the MES. As a gesture of goodwill, I will ask for the fleet to return to port."

He took a paper, and began to write on it. When he was done, he gave the sheet to Romano, with the pen. On it was the treaty details.

1. The sum of Ten Billion Dollars USD, to be given to the Farminan Government
2. Possible joint action after the conclusion of a major investigation
3. No First use of WMDs
4. Fleet will return to port

In return

1. Palmer to be charged with piracy, serving his sentence in Farmina
2. The dissolvement of Parliament, and the monitoring of elections by an international task force
3. The disbansion of the Moralist Blackshirts and the recreation of the Farminan Police Service

“Considering your history of checking evidence, doing so now would be inconsistent,” observed Romano, “But if you must do so; then you must also do it quickly. We wish your fleet to be part of the multilateral taskforce to strike Alice. We have noted the Colonies are apt at stalling when it suits them.”

Illorin Romano then picked up Peters proposal, read it carefully and then tore it in two, “Mister Peters, I don’t think I’ve made myself clear. I don’t think the evidence and the law have made themselves clear. Let me say this very slowly for you. Lord…Palmer…is…going...nowhere. Furthermore we won’t be dismantling the Enforcers. The Enforcers have proved extraordinarily effective at dealing with threats and administration and won’t be abolished.”

Romano wasn’t entirely sure why Peters had used the slang ‘black-shirt’, “We also require you to abolish all WMD stockpiles, a mere paper promise counts for little. We shall however allow you to keep the MOABs. In fact, the Republic shall not allow any demands to be made of it. The strong and righteous do not take instructions from the weak and in error. You are getting off the hook lightly as it is Mister Peters, I suggest you advise your PM not to push his luck. If I was writing the terms, the Northern Colonies would be reminiscent of Humpty-Dumpty.”

Romano paused, “And in case you want any further evidence of how far down the proverbial creek you are, a source at the Tarlag conference has informed us you have just about caused an internal spat in Reformed Oceania. I can’t imagine them being great allies now.”

"Either dismantle the Enforcers, or have them seperated from the Moralist Party," replied Peters. "I would make your country a lot more democratic."

"And let's not tempt fate here. You know that we have the capability to strike the Farminan homeland from our own without carrier. There are not a lot of nations with that kind of capability. I do not want to turn this discussion into some sort of who has a longer penis than the other."

He sat, then remembering the tape incident, began to remind him.

"And as for that smut tape, I believe that the Farminans do not have a large tolerance for... homosexual sex, do they? I beleive it is illegal. You see, dear Romano, this conversion is being recorded. By me."

From his right pocket, he pulled a PDA out. Putting his earplugs on, he pressed a few buttons. The PDA replayed the tape incident again. He then pressed a few more button, before showing the screen to Romano.

"See," said Peters, patronisingly while pointing at three buttons. "This button, sends it to the Prime Minister. That is what I'm supposed to do. But see, this button will send it to the Colonial Daily. And this, will send it to the Farminan News Service."

He moved his stick, and clicked on another button.

"And this, will send it to all three."

He hovered his stick around the 'SEND' button.

"Your choice, it's your rep on the line."

deRenci surged to his feet.
"Sir Septimus!" he bellowed "Jam all transmissions from the conference hall! NOW!" he turned a ferocious glare onto the Colonial.

"That is blackmail sir! And I will not have it! Not in these United Kingdoms!" the man was livid. "This entire conference is under record by us, and such records will show that you are threatening to tarnish the reputation and attack the personal integrity of Ser Romano by attacking his cultural sensitivities! Blackmail his country? That is diplomacy. Blackmail the man? That is beyond the pale. Put that device away right now. This conduct is most dishonourable, and I will not allow it."

Behind the Baron Father Martin was smiling dangerously and staring at Peters. Anyone could see that he was close to announcing the truth of the tape to all and sundry.

One of the Protocol Officers whispered into one of Peters' aide's ears, very softly "Your Minister is a hair's breadth away from breaching the King's Peace."

-----------------------

Sir Septimus leapt across the room, eliciting an outraged squawk from the screen he'd been standing at, flicking up a plastic safety cover, and slamming a switch in one balletic movement. Immediately a set of jammers, designed to interfere with extremely powerful military transmitters, activated, smothering the conference room in electronic noise.
"Cor Sir, that was amazing..." murmured one of the guards.
The knight nodded, glancing over to the techs who gave him the thumbs-up; the Imperial monitoring systems were cable-wired, and shielded to withstand a reasonably powerful EMP. They kept functioning.

"Joint action?!" Foster exclaimed. "I agree in some sort, but I need some assurance you aren't planning on sinking our entire navy, not just Snyder's."

Foster then looked at the Northern Colonist. "Peters, you're in no position to make demands. I'd say cut your losses, and help the Farminans. You don't want to be ejected now, do you?"

"Oh, and please give that tape back, unmodified. I don't want to see an international incident." Foster sighed.

Romano had been just about to laugh off Peters threat when deRenci acted, and suddenly Illorin was very cautious about laughing. Something had just change. The dynamic had shifted again. Alexander Peters was running out of room to move. The Northern Colonies now could not justify continuing a war against Farmina, although it barely could before. If rumours out of Tarlag were true, Mister Peters would be less than pleased with the Colonial push there. In fact, that Mister Peters failed to deny it only firmed his suspicions.

“Worry not Commander Foster,” said Romano, “No ship flying the flag of the Republic beside its own will be fired upon. The Republic will want all the friends it can get in the drive against Snyder and will barely fire on its best chance.”

He turned to speak to Peters, but then noticed his ear piece wasn’t working, so he decided to allow the Colonial a little more time to stew over the situation.

'Rats,' Peters thought. 'The bluff didn't work. Think something quickly'

He put his PDA back into his pocket.

"What I am saying," he began. "Is that we will continue this senseless war if you are not willing to agree such terms. Do you realise that things still have to go though parliament after this. And if they don't agree, then this treaty is as good as dog's breakfast. I have a personal interest to assure that this war does not continue. No one from the RO will go defend you Farmina, unless it seeks to earn the region's condemnation and possible retribution. No one from the RO won't declare war on the Colonies for the same reason."

"The points listed are the bare minimum we are willing to take Romano. I would rather see you shamed then see your citizens, or anyone's elses for that matter die because we can't come to a deal today."

He then looked that Foster.

"Romano has a minute to decide if he is willing to budge, or I'm ejecting myself! If I could though, I must talk to you later."

Illorin Romano couldn’t help the desire to throw something at Peters. The Colonial fool couldn’t comprehend that he was transparent; his hand was empty. The Colonial Parliament was facing election within a year, and if the government continued to persecute what they admitted was an unjustified war then it would surely lose the election. Reformed Oceania’s presumed unity was seeming more of a myth. Farmina was strong, Northern Colonies weak. Farmina had the dirt, the Colonials didn’t.

Romano paused, as though thinking for a little over fifty seconds, before declaring loudly, “Bluff.”

Peters turned around and nodding to his guards, walked off. The guard followed him out.

Illorin Romano removed his diary from his briefcase and began writing notes in it, while speaking aloud, “Monday, sink Colonial fleet. Tuesday, bomb the Northern Colonies. Wednesday, bomb Colonies. Thursday, bomb Colonies. Friday, have lunch with friends…”

When Peters was out of sight, Romano lent over to the deRenci and said quietly, “Lord Baron, I hope you organized for authorities to investigate those allegations of theft. In case Mister Peters isn’t bluffing, I’d hate for him to leave the country with that tape.”

deRenci looked up into one of the monitoring cameras.
"Sir Septimus," he said pleasantly. "Detain Ser Peters at the airport, and ground his plane. When he demands to know what we're doing, have the sergeant inform him that there's a little matter of theft to be resolved."

Father Martin's face transformed into a rictus that had nothing to do with humour.
"He lied when he denied the theft of the tape," he said. "I, Father Martin Isilid of the Holy Maciskan Orthodox Church declare in my capacity as an empath that Ser Peters did steal a possession of the Farminan state."

One of the officers slipped a piece of paper in front of deRenci while Sir Septimus relayed the orders to the airport; Peters would find over a hundred soldiers between him and his plane.

"Oh dear," deRenci mumured. "It seems that the law is a double-edged sword in this case. Ser Foster, Immigration is going to detain you for illegal entry to the UIK when you leave Sar'Dahl. It seems that the MES was blacklisted when Snyder came to power, so as a citizen of that state, you're here illegally. SIS is choosing to ignore the fact that you waltzed into a secure zone, so at least you needn't worry about that..." he tapped his chin. "Actually you probably needn't worry in any case; they'll probably just expel you to the nation of your choice. And Ser Romano," he turned to the Farminan "Congratulations on your appointment, your Excellency," he waved a hand, and the electronic jamming stopped.
"It seems that you are to travel to Arn-Maciska after we are done here, to present your credentials to the Court of Light as the Farminan Ambassador to the UIK. Well done," he held out his hand.

"It failed," replied Peters on the phone to the PM. He then pulled his PDA out. Suprisingly, it worked, and Peters pressed the three buttons. He gave it to one of his guards, who proceeded to press the SEND button.

Meanwhile on the plane, one of the guards, who was assisgned to the guarding took the tape out of the cabnet. He moved swiftly to the kitchen area, where after consultation with the cook, proceeded to dump the tape in the hot, boiling pot. That waste was put into the rubbish tip.

OOC: On the behalf of Farmina, I'm declaring a Godmod. First and foremost. They have massive MILITARY jammers in action. They would cover probably a good two kilometers in DIAMETER.

Secondly, Makistan's men would probably have you stopped long before then.

And lastly, and as a polite act of goodwill, doing this will probably get you wiped off the map. Trust me on this, Farmina knows what he's doing.

"If it is at all possible," Foster said sheepishly, "If you can escort me to the airport, I will leave the country under my own power, and without a fight."

As Foster collected his things, he looked at the royalty in the room. "But I greatly appreciate, and thank you and the state for hearing what I had to say."

He then turned to Romano, "And thank you for not judging me on the spot."

OOC: I’m going to disagree with MES’s call. The jamming is said to “cover the conference room.” Peters has left the conference room and is heading for the airport; I doubt the jamming covers the whole route. Furthermore, Peters is only going to be detained at the airport, giving him plenty of time. So unless Macisikan disagrees, I suggest that NC is in the right.

However could NC clarify whether he’s sending the order for the tape to be boiled; or if he is carrying out on his earlier threat to Romano to show he means business?

OOC: Farmina's right; the jamming was focused around the conference room. Anyway, if you look at my post immediately above NC's, while deRenci is talking to Romano the jamming is switched off.
Of course, some little bugger in the SIS will be telling Septimus right now that a signal was sent from the car by Peters, and deRenci will put two and two together and hit the roof.

IC:
deRenci shook his head regretfully.
"Afraid not, Ser Foster. Immigration wants to know how exactly you got in, so they can stop it from happening in the future..." another slip of paper was loaded into deRenci's already full hands. "... and then they'll just show you the door and give you 6 hours to step through. No charges, no prosecution. I expect that's due to his Excellency here making you an honourary part of their delegation."

“I am?” stuttered Romano, the first he had heard of his new job, “I mean of course.”

He tapped his earpiece a couple of times, waiting of Sullivan to confirm the appointment, “Lord Baron, perhaps we should all retire for a drink? The negotiations will not achieve much with Mister Peters absent. Events can play out with a glass of fine whisky in the hand.”

He turned to Commander Foster, “My government will be stating strong objections if any punishment should befall you, Lord Commander, surely you can stay for a quick drink before they drag you off.”

"But of course your Excellency," deRenci said with a broad smile, "And Ser Foster too. I think a little something wouldn't go astray," his stomach rumbled, and the man laughed. "Seems someone agrees with you. Oh, and your earpiece should be working again; the jamming's off. Just tell the Protocol Officers what you want so that the kitchens can send it up; they've only got snacks ready and waiting, and I feel the need for something more substantial. Follow me," setting a quick pace, the Baron led the short distance to the Castle's Great Hall.

Set into the long walls were four roaring fireplaces, while tapestries and shields hung from the walls. Looking slightly out of place was a modern buffet table, with stewards already delivering food.
One stood next to a trolley which had several crystal decanters set on it; another one was being wheeled in.
"Gentlemen," deRenci, every bit the genial host again, said, as he walked around the first to face the others. "We have most things here. What's your poison?" his hands hovered over the bottles.

Father Martin followed at a slower pace, but immediately attacked the buffet.

After finally getting a response, Romano listened to Sullivan’s congratulations over the new job, although he wasn’t completely convinced it was promotion as much as exile. “Lord Baron,” he observed, looking over the feast, “You are much the host. I should hope that I feed here many times again.”

Pouring himself a glass of the Baron’s scotch, he turned to Foster, “Lord Commander, once you get out of immigration, where are you heading next?”

"I'm going to head back to my Task Force 4 to try to intercept Snyder's fleet," Foster replied. "Any help you could spare would be appreciated."

Foster paused, noting the drinks and buffet. "Speaking of help, mind if I help myself to some of this?" he said, smiling. "Your generosity is incredible."

OOC: He's sending the order to the plane to burn the tape. He's also sending the transcript to the Department of Foreign Affairs for archiving. Of course, there's a lot of people who work at the Foreign Affairs offices. Some of them might like the prospect of using part of the transcript as a sort of sex tape. And they will get 'encouragement' from Peters.

“The Republic won’t be able to help you pursue Snyder, as we will be throwing its full wait against his positions in Alice,” explained Romano, “But everyone knows that. Even Snyder knows that. However this time he has underestimated.”

Grabbing some chicken from the buffet, he commented to deRenci, “It seems, Lord Baron, the Northern Colonies is really following through with their bizarre plan for war. Could your government possibly summon the ambassadors from all the members of Reformed Oceania, excluding that of the Northern Colonies? The Republic will now require military access to the Northern Colonies.”

He paused speaking in a lower tone, “And should rumour of the meeting reach the Colonial Parliament beforehand, whose to complain?”

deRenci heaved a sigh, motioning for Foster to help himself to the food and drink. He'd just been delivered the note from Sir Septimus; SIS had detected a signal from the car carrying Peters to the airport. Which meant he'd probably carried out his threat to blacken Romano's name.

Of course, if that involved insinuating that the UIK promoted orgies for diplomats, the Colonies would face reprisals from Arn-Maciska; the First Minister was not a lady known for her sense of humour.

"Before I say anything else, I should tell you that SIS picked up a signal from the car carrying Peters; he's probably gone and sent that ridiculous thing off to his ministry," the Baron bit back a comment. "Sadly we cannot help you out in this affair; we are neutral by law, which means that we'll happily leave hang the colonies out to dry, especially after this fiasco... if that's how they behave under bond of peace..." he trailed off, then brought his mind back to the matter at hand.

"However, if you desire to get the rest of this region to tell the Colonies to sit down and shut up... understand that this is Tierce deRenci speaking, not the Lord Baron, I'd suggest calling President, no wait, he's an Emperor now, Dionysus Bacchus and petitioning him. Bacchus may not be the most forgiving man, but he is not unjust; he'll hear you out at least. And the Tarlagi aren't anxious for a war either; they're already involved elsewhere..." he tapped a crystal stopper thoughtfully.

"The Veskans shoot first and ask questions later, and no-one's heard a peep out of Aran maf in years... the Rotovians are your best bet then. Remember to offer your sincere condolences on the recent death of the Empress Helena though," he sighed again. "And if you must attack the Colonials, try just bombing them back to the stone age and reducing their industrial capacity to nil. The second the first Farminan solider sets foot in the Colonies the Veskans will turn you into so much slag..."

“I would not be concerned,” said Romano, “Any recording of a tape being played would be vague at best. Peter Sullivan is planting to hint to the tabloids that the man on the tape begging for it harder is in fact Alexander Peters. I’m sure the tabloids can invent the rest; they usually do.”

He paused, “Farmina and Rotovia have a long history; but with that tape, along with our photograph collection we should be able to move them. Veskaland we are aware of. Our research shows that they have mastered the frontal charge. Strong and numerous; with no sense of competence or diplomacy.”

He added for any listening device, “However that is my personal opinions and the opinion of the Democratic Republic of Farmina. I should hope Lord Baron, that your nation, combined with Tarlag and Rotovia, would have enough voice to speak soothingly to Veskaland. Macisikan has much influence and I hope it is used to propel peace.”

“Bombing targets have long been drawn up,” continued Romano, taking a sip from his whisky, “To use you word, this ‘fiasco’ the Republic will not tolerate. And I’m not sure if I’ll be able to tolerate this snow. Is it always like this? I come from a land dominated by desert, one that is warming rapidly.”

deRenci snorted. He could already see the tabloids, Honestly, what some people print these days...
He gave sort of a one-shoulder uni-shrug and a smile to indicate that yes, he knew all about the Rotovians. He didn't voice an opinion though.
At the comment about the UIK's influence, the Baron looked embarrassed. Once Romano had said his piece deRenci answered, looking into his cup.

"Actually, to tell you the truth, the only one of our regional neighbours we have an embassy with is Rotovia. The government, a coalition of the Greens and Imperials doesn't consider the rest of the region worth their time. In fact, they don't consider the rest of the world worth their time," he took a sip. "You must have done something that they like for them to be willing to exchange embassies with you. But what I said before; generally Arn-Maciska doesn't care what the region gets up to, so long as they don't bother us. We've found life to be much easier that way..." he paused again, staring into one of the fires; the staff were building them up.

"No, your excellency, it's not always like this. In fact, it's unusually cold; snow rarely sticks to the ground in Sar'Dahl, but now we're getting serious drifts. And Arn-Maciska is completely snowed under. I hear that the harbour is freezing over, something that hasn't happened since the 1500's... they closed the Parliament because of it." he took a drink, and continued staring into the fire. "The White Winter, they're calling it in the papers," he murmured, "rumour has it that the Dark is rising again, and the cold is just a symptom..." his words were soft, but they carried to the edge of the hall; stewards, guards, protocol officers alike shivered, and a few crossed themselves.

The Baron shook himself and seemed to suddenly come back to reality.
"Got every part of the region in the Southern Hem affected," he said in a more normal tone. "Eastern Rotovia's being devastated by it, and the Southern Covenant is having nasty ice storms. Peters was actually an idiot to go outside; the sun will set in under an hour, and it's not safe on that road, in this weather, at night." As if to punctuate his words, the distant howling of the wind could be heard; Prince Nicholas had left Sar'Dahl less then an hour ahead of the storm front.

Romano was about to say, “I would have thought your people were beyond fairytales,” but he had heard different stories, yet with a similar sinister ring. Farmina was alight with rumours of a power growing in the west; waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Even in government circles, tales of a man called the Puppeteer, the forebear of evil, the person who had created the whole chain of events ending in Farmina fighting on two fronts. Justinian loyalists spoke of the ‘Dark’, but they were referring to the Moralists and their Enforcers, mockingly called ‘black-shirts.’

“Tell me of this Dark,” said Romano, after chewing a bit of chicken thoroughly, “Strange things are occurring everywhere. With desert set to reach a new high; perhaps one should keep an open mind.”

deRenci looked at the Farminan for a moment, as if weighing the chances of looking like a lunatic, then nodded.

"I ought to start with the basics," he said, "There are other intelligences in this world then humans. Surely you know of them. The President of the Federated Klatchian Coast is a walking, talking fox. And the Dyellians have fought a genocidal war against the elves in their nation. While in the northern FKC, the Glorious Kingdom of Vrak is ruled by an elite consisting of Walruses," the Baron paused to signal a Protocol Officer, who left the room, then resumed.

"Those are the nice ones, the ones like us; grounded in science and reason. But there are others that are... not." he paused to take a sip. "Have you heard of the British author Terry Pratchett? In one of his works, he gets very close to how things are here. There's a quote: "Somewhere, all stories are real and all dreams come true. All the monsters from under the biggest bed in the world." All the reasons why you shouldn't step off the path, why you should throw salt over your shoulder, touch iron," he snagged a pastry from a passing plate and continued.

"From ghoulies and ghosties, and long-leggedy beasties, and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us," Father Martin interjected. "Traditional Scottish prayer."

"And they are all too real," deRenci said, nodding. "I suppose you can say that we've always been on the borderlands here in the UIK. Between the "real" comforting world of everyday life that passes in most of this world and the world that is... not so..." the Protocol officer returned, wheeling a trolley covered in a sheet. "You see, your excellency, Ser Foster, there are things that go bump in the night..." the trolley was halted in front of them, and deRenci reached forward; a door opened to admit Sir Septimus, who frowned slightly as he took in the scene.

"And they are here, in this nation. They exist in the deep glades, at the bottom of crevasses, among the high peaks, in the shadows where animals won't walk, in the dark of the night which children fear, out on the moors above the cities... And this is one of them," he peeled back the cloth, to reveal a massive wolf's head; it was several times the size of an ordinary wolf, shaggy and menacing even in death. The lips were drawn back in a snarl, and blood stained the teeth. The worst thing was the eyes; filled with rage, they were all too human, and horribly alive.

"I know what it looks like," deRenci said. "And yes, I wish this was something we'd knocked up while bored one night in a special effects lab. But it's not. This is a creature of the Dark, Father, what's the English word?"

"Werewolf," Martin answered. "Ser Romano, you should try the lamb; it's superb..."

The Baron grimaced. "Yes, but in the European legend they only transform one night every month; these ones, once changed, stay changed. And that business with silver doesn't work. The Dark is the name we give to creatures like this, to the force that created them, to the whole package," he refilled his glass; the eyes of the head seemed to follow movement.

"We do have some blessings though; the Dark isn't actually a unified force," he continued. "These things will attack eachother if no human or ordinary animal is around. And they are very sensitive to light; the reason is biological there, as they are nocturnal," he counted on his fingers. "They're as vulnerable to steel and bullets as us, mostly. They tend to find the touch of seawater painful, no idea why, and of course there's our biggest advantage of all... They are, frankly, stupid."

An astute observer would notice that the Baron was carefully avoiding looking at the severed head, and his hands had shaken slightly when he refilled his glass.

It appeared to Romano that deRenci had just told him the Macisikan was about to have a wolf; a bad wolf problem. As Romano finished off his chicken, before grabbing some lamb Romano remembered that wolves didn’t have machine guns, bombers and ships. “Lord Baron, your hospitality has been so great, I would hate to request more; but I am sure that the King’s Government hear me. Would it be possible for the Hawk Coalition to use Macisikan land and seas and ports; in a completely neutral fashion of course. No weapons will be fired from your waters; just as I am sure the Colonials would not be as foolish as to fire in. Speaking of Colonials, has Mister Peters been arrested yet. I would hope we can recover that tape.”

Then again, after the night’s debacle, one could never be sure what a Colonial would do. It only then occurred to Romano that he should explain the Hawk Coalition, “The banner of the Hawk is rising. The President is moving quickly to secure the allies he needs to bring a final conclusion to the conflict. One great banner to unify us. Commander Foster, I should hope that you too will fly the banner of the Hawk.”

Turning his mind back to the Dark, Romano commented as the scotch exited his throat, his tone possibly a joke, possibly not, “Have you consider poisoned bait? When we had foxes on the farm, we poisoned them. Worked like a charm.”

"Well, first of all I, ah, thank you Sir Septimus." deRenci donned an earpiece of his own; black and quite small. "Damn thing's been on the blink all day; thank goodness for the spares. Now... ah, yes assistance to the Hawk Coalition. To be blunt; no," he shook his head. "We cannot aid or harbour any military force of any belligerent in any way, shape or form. We can facilitate refugees and assist humanitarian efforts in combat-affected areas though, including your devastated city. To change that would require an Act of Parliament, which has dissolved because of the weather. They're worried about the structural integrity of the House of Reps. However," his earpiece buzzed. "Yes, the Rotovians have hung the Colonials out to dry in Tarlag, and Tredyen, bless him, is throwing mud at the Colonials over the incidents here... now, tape... what's up with the tape?" he put a hand to the earpiece and nodded.

"Ah, yes. Seems that they're having trouble on the roads; Peters' car's been slowed by the snowfall and isn't at the airport yet. No matter. There's nearly a thousand soldiers at the airport now, and the runway's snowed under. Even if we were going to let him go he couldn't... Of course, we have a sticky situation if we do detain him. Foreign diplomat and all that; most of the time they just get kicked out, but he's been a very naughty boy," the Baron cracked his knuckles and smiled. "But this is a Castle, and castles have dungeons. I think that the Colonials could afford to loose his services for a while in repayment for his transgressions and abuse of our trust in him... and the wildlife here isn't... friendly. Now... as for this..."

deRenci glanced hurriedly at the head, then gave Romano a Look.
"Seriously, bait? For these? I said they're dim. I did not say they were animals," again deRenci's hands shook. "And these, ah, "wolves", they aren't all we have, and they certainly aren't the worst. Most parts of the country are safe, but if you see on a Tourist Map the sign "Here there be monsters", well, they're not joking."

Father Martin, who had sidled up to Romano while the Farminan been speaking, murmured "And the werewolves prefer their meat to be alive, fresh, and human... or whatever original species they were," he looked at Romano and whispered "our Lord Baron here dispatched that one on the trolley with that sword, the same one he's wearing."

“I knew the beast looked familiar,” said Illorin Romano lightly, emptying his scotch glass.

Moving to decisively finish off his lamb, Romano glanced around the room, “With regard to the issue of Mister Peters; I’m afraid his nation might be under blockade for quite sometime, not that you heard this from me. He may have to stay longer than he wants, and longer than you want him, I’m sure. Tobias Grey is seething over what has happened here. The President will apparently be demanding nothing less than an unconditional surrender from the Colonies. Not even the Messians have been confronted with a demand like that.”

As Romano swallowed the last bit of lamb, Romano walked up to get another drink, “I do hope Macisikani hospitality is always this good.”

deRenci hurredly gestured for the head to be covered again before answering Romano.
"Peters might be enjoying our hospitality for longer then he thought he would? What a pity... I'm sure they'll give him the finest French bread and fresh mineral water," he smiled weakly as the trolley was wheeled away; Romano's comment about the food dragged him back.

"Always this good?" the Baron shook his head. "No, the hospitality of Sar'Dahl is poor fare compared to what you can expect at the Court of Light. My advice is don't eat the day you go to present your credentials; the cooks there believe if you can clean your plate, they haven't done their jobs," a plate was presented to him. "Ah, Chicken Tika Masala, excellent. Gentlement, shall we be seated for a proper meal...?" he gestured to where a circular dining table had just finished being set.

================

Out at the airport the Colonel in charge smiled. It was bloody freezing and the sun had set. The wind was whistling around the buildings and hangars, and the snow had buried the runways. But still he smiled. He'd just been told that Peters' car and escorts would be arriving in under five minutes.
He glanced at the runways; re-assuared that the Colonial plane couldn't take off even if the weather allowed. Very few planes can use a runway blockaded by old fire engines.
Around them, the wind howled.

“Poor fair!” exclaimed Illorin, “Lord Baron; considering what is on offer here, I can see an advantage in this storm never lifting. It is on that note, I will not only accept your invitation for a full meal, but insist upon it. I should, though inquire about the formalities relating to dancing and other after dinner activities.”

Carefully, with all the dignity he could muster, Illorin Romano took his seat, trying not to stumble or do anything else to cause himself any embarrassment at the Baron’s table. That task seemed reserved for the Colonials.

Foster smiled. "I may sound like a broken record at this point, but your hospitality is both appreciated, and greatly admired...especially for someone that's supposed to be blacklisted."

He then sat down next to the Romano very discreetely, and turned to him. "Regarding joint action, I doubt that my people would want another war after Snyder's tyrannous actions. That said...I'm sure that I can support you somehow, and honestly, at the way the Colonists have been acting, it wouldn't be much to convince people that they're a part of his Dominion."

Foster then looked at the huge feast in front of him, then looked back at Romero. "Before I get discreetly 'escorted' out of the nation, could I speak to Tobias Grey on a secure line?"

Illorin Romano passed Foster his ear piece, “They are just getting the President know. Talk nicely; a certain Colonial has annoyed him a great deal and he is yelling blue murder.”

"Kicking you out without feeding you would be rude," deRenci remarked, in between bites.

"Well, the first rule is assume nothing. Guessing, for example, at the correct address for the Prime Cardinal will only get you in trouble. At any function, at any event, the MEA will provide you with a protocol officer to help you, now, poppadams," the Baron selected one from a turntable in the middle of the one they were sitting at was piled with a variety of dishes; clearly the intention was to pick and choose. Rich Indian spices filled the air, along with the crunch of a poppadam.

"With the after-dinner etiquette, it's many and varied. Perhaps I should start at the other end of the day," he took a bite, chewed it, and swallowed before continuing.

"Most etiquette you only need bother with if you're out to impress someone with your grasp of Macisikani manners. Otherwise your PO will coach you beforehand on the right amount of flattery required. Oh, and they'll also steer you away from things that might cause mental scarring," his tone was half-serious. "When it comes to meals, breakfast is a quiet meal, often light, and you never, ever discuss business over breakfast. Lunch is a substantial meal, served just after noon. Often a business meal. Dinner varies between business and not,. Depends on the host," he took a drink. "Mostly after dinner we split in two; people preferring alcohol go to one room, those preferring caffeine to another. The latter is more popular, so that group tends to stay put while the drinkers leave." he took a few moments to demolish his plate, then continued.

"Here, we'll occupy some dangerously comfy chairs, sip caffeine, and relax," he re-loaded his plate. "I don't know about you two, but it's been a long day, and I'm calling it. Peters can cool his heels in the guest quarters, under guard, until the morning. I don't have the patience to deal with his idiocy now," he took a sample, chewed it thoughtfully, then added, "Or see why I should spoil a good meal by bringing aggravation along as a guest. Can we get some milk over here before my mouth explodes? Ta," he gestured with his fork and a jug was set down.

OOC: Macisikan, just pretend the convoy has made it to the airport

OOC: OK, ta. Was just waiting on your say-so before I had the colonel do this....

IC:
The Colonial convey drew into the airport, to be halted by the gate guards. The sergeant in charge stepped forward into the snow, and rapped on the window of Peters' driver; the window rolled down.
"Airport's closed; snow's obliterated the runways!" the guard shouted.
The driver, provided by the MEA nodded, shrinking back as the cold air cut into his compartment.
"What should I do with this lot?!" he shouted back, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
"Take 'em back to the Castle! Ain't going anywhere until this clears! And there's been sightings two k's south!" the Colonel hadn't deemed it necessary to tell anyone else that Sir Septimus was waiting to "have a quiet word".
"Sure thing!" the driver tipped his hat and put the car into reverse, while the guards explained to their counterparts in the escort, and relieved them. No-one wanted to make two trips in this weather.
The driver meanwhile thumbed on the internal speakers.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the MEA regrets to inform you that due to adverse weather conditions Sar'Dahl diplomatic airport is currently closed. We regret that due to security concerns we cannot allow you to remain at the airport overnight. We will convey you back to the Castle, where suitable accommodations have been prepared. We apologise for the inconvenience."
The convoy headed back out into the night.
Behind them at the gate, the sergeant shivered; not all that howling was caused by the wind, and his imagination was running wild. When he'd returned to his post, he thumbed in a call to the Castle.

--------------------------

Down in the Great Hall Sir Septimus stiffened and smiled slightly. Turning his head to the side, he gave the order for the security escorts to jam transmissions to and from the convoy.
"Ah, Ser Foster," he said, looking up. "You may wish to hurry. Said aggravation is on its way back here, and when it arrives we'll be jamming transmissions from the Castle to make sure he can't cause any more trouble."

Foster chuckled as he took another bite from the tasty meal. "You know, normally I don't find politics to be amusing, but in this case, the Northern Colonists are acting so imaturely. Before I was wondering how a quality democracy like the Northern Colonists could have gotten involved with such an insane dictator, but now...honestly, I can understand now." Foster took another bite, then turned to deRenci. "By any chance I could stay the night here? It looks like I'm not leaving here tonight in this weather."

Ryan Dailey moved through the snow near the palace in Macisktan, moving slowly with his white camoflauge clothing, that was included with the assasination pack that he was issued. He noticed a patrol walk by, and when they passed, he snuck to the bushes. He could see multiple cameras around the building, and guards stationed all over the place. He was thankful about the horrible weather; it made visibility very limited.

He saw cobbling on the walls, and after checking around, he made a quick dash to the wall, fired a grappling hook into the battlements, and climbed up the cobbling with the assistance of the rope. At a window, he carefully slid open the window, and slipped inside. Once inside, he tied his rope back, and shut the window. Inside, he could see Romero, Foster, deRinci, and others inside the great hall room. He laid down as stealthily as he could on the ledge below, and set himself up.

Snyder gave him orders to shoot at his discression, at what would cause the most uproar with the Macisikanis. He randomly aimed his sniper rifle at the various targets, which was a Northern Colonies made M82 Barret sniper rifle. He took aim at the man ransacking the buffet, who he didn't realise was the royal telepath, Father Martin. He started to pull the trigger...

... and Father Martin yelled and threw his plate into the air, diving around the buffet.
deRenci, who had already started cowering at the sight of airborne food, dove underneath the table as Martin screamed "ASSASSIN!" at the top of his lungs.

Immediately the stewards pushed the other delegates beneath the table, shielding them with their own bodies, while the protocol officers drew weapons; some sort of cross between a tazer and a pistol. Designed to incapacitate, not kill. Food rained down. Underneath the table deRenci was swearing profusely; he'd caught his knee on Sir Septimus' boot, and it hurt. Reaching into his jacket, he pressed the "panic button".

The sniper cursed. "Damnit! A telepath!" he said under his breath. He fired at the group that was diving under the table, but the shots were absorbed by the table. He saw the arm of Lance Foster's sticking out of the table, grabbing something.

Foster cursed and jumped at the reaction of the telepath when the protocol officers pushed them down. Foster the heard the gunshots hit the table, and Foster cursed again in response. Using his bad arm, he grabbed one of the Protocol officer's pistol-tasers, and swung his arm to cover.

"Up there!" the angry clergyman yelled pointing.

Suddenly, a shot rang, and his Foster in the arm. Foster screamed from the shock of the fifty-calibre bullet. He then grabbed the pistol-tasers from his useless hand, and took aim at the sniper, along with the other officers. They opened fire, even as the doors burst open and soldiers rushed in.

The sniper got up and started running, as Foster climbed out, took aim, and fired another shot at the sniper. He could see him shake from the shock, and slumped over the railing, then falling over it, falling to the ground below in a sickening thump.

Illorin Romano’s mouth fell open as the engagement unfolded; diving under the dining table for cover when Foster was hit. When the firing stopped, Illorin emerged from under the table and looked around for a moment; realizing he was still clutching his earpiece firmly in his hand, “Commander Foster, the President is getting impatient.”

He looked at Foster’s injury briefly, “After that, you should probably see a doctor; but more importantly don’t waste the President’s time.”

There was silence after Romano's comment.
"Can I get out from under this blasted table now?" deRenci snarled. "Thank you," he stood, brushed himself off, and glanced sorrowfully at the table.
"A fine meal interrupted," he grumbled, walking to the fallen body. "And would someone look at Ser Foster's arm please," supreme annoyance filled every line of his slim body. Sir Septimus leaned over it, then smiled.
"You're lucky. We can replace that," looking over at the Baron he called "It's his cybernetic arm milord, needs replacing."

Towering over the assassin the Baron nudged it with his toe.
"Dead," he pronounced. "And I know he's dead because living people's brains are inside their skulls." Using the same toe, he flipped the body.
"But the face is still good. Ser Foster, when you've finished sparking, can you tell me if you know him?"

Foster walked up to the corpse. "I'm afraid that I do not," Foster replied.

"Bugger," the Baron said absently. "Oh well, someone clean that up, secure the roof, and let's get back to eating. I'm still hungry," he turned and wandered back to the table.

He unzipped it, to reveal a certain nation's uniform. "A Northern Colonies assasin," Foster said out loud. "It would explain the weapons he was carrying."

deRenci looked unconcerned.
"He could be Guild for all we know. Doubtful, but possible."

"Ah rats," Peters replied. "Jesus."

He smashed his hands together.

"Let's get back to the castle," replied Peters.

OOC: Don't let the wolves eat him. I have a suprise I want to do with Peters when he gets back to the castle.

OOC: Don't worry, he's safe from the wildlife

IC:
The Convoy wound its tortuous way back to the Castle; the wind died down somewhat, but the snow was falling more heavily, and the air was alive with howls.
The drivers were moving as fast as they dared; out of the corners of their eyes they thought they'd seen a few slinking shapes on the edges of the road.

Fortunately the only real scare happened about five minutes away from the Castle, when Peters would have felt his limo swerve then accelerate; the driver was avoiding something on the road. No-one felt like slowing down to check what it was, though the first car in the convoy had an impression of teeth.

(((TAG))) I like to keep following this...

Alexander Peters bumped he head as the car swirled. He felt a headache, a massive pain in the front of his head. He ignored it though.

After the convoy made it back to the castle, Alexander walked into the the meeting. Straight into the room with the body of the assasin.

"Holy Shit!" he shouted. "What the hell happened here?!"

Illorin Romano was quickly, but gracefully, burrowing into his food, “Mister Peters, will you be joining us?”

Romano gave a quick thought to the assassin, “Colonial assassin. Probably trying to remove an embarrassment to the government.”

Who Romano meant by ‘embarresment’, he gave no clarification about other than a long look into Peters eyes. He paused putting down his fork, “I must also inform you that your country is now officially under blockade. As such, the Hawk Coalition is reserving the right to blast anybody they deem fit out of the sky, when they eventually get themselves organized. To put it another way; trying to go return to the Colonies is not advisable.”

Romano picked up his fork, but then put it straight back down, “I know Lord Baron that your government has dismissed the possibility of stationing troops here. I would however wonder if we could hold prisoner exchanges in these lands. A neutral nation would be preferable. Perhaps, in the name of efficiency, you could look after our POWs, while we try to organize the exchanges with the Messians and the Colonials.”

deRenci didn't glance up from his meal for several long seconds; he was hungry and had already been interrupted once.
"How stupid do people think we are?" he snorted and took a drink. "An assassin. Wearing a colonial uniform, using a colonial weapon, and ten rachmas says he's carrying colonial documentation as well. Am I the only one thinking that it's entirely too convenient?" he returned to industrial digestion.

Sir Septimus offered an answer to Romano's question while the Baron polished off his second plate.
"We'll have to ask Arn-Maciska for such an arrangement... actually, I think it would be best if you were to go there yourself and ask in person. My Lord?"

deRenci looked up.
"Yep. If it comes through us, then the Daíl... that's the parliament of the United Imperial Kingdoms, who will have to give the green light on anything, won't think you're serious. Peters, sit down. You're looming."
The Baron's mood had apparently improved with the addition of good food.
"You see, Parliament has a lot of clout... and it's not the most clear-cut, simple system in the world. But it works perfectly for us."

Peters examined the weapon. It had a trademark from Colonial Armements.

"Heh," replied Alex. "Interesting theory there, Romano. One problem. We don't manufacture your weapons at all. As most informed people know, we don't have a large enough manufacturing sector to make our own weapons, despite we trying. So either this is a pre-production model, in which case, we would know if they are missing, or someones just scratching markers to make it look like that."

We then looked at deRenci.

"Remember, this assumption is, I, like Romano have dipomatic immunity. Macisikan would not like to risk international ridicle by attempting to arrest me."

He took food and then sat down to enjoy it.

deRenci looked at him, astonished.
"Actions have consequences," he said calmly. "You broke the King's Peace Mister Peters. Under the last High King your head would be even now winging its way back to the Colonies, while the rest of you was riveted upside-down to the walls and damn the outcry. Fortunately for you, Constantine Augustus, the Light Bless Him, believes everyone is allowed one mistake," Sir Septimus spoke softly into his earpiece, and a hurricane of jamming blanketed the Great Hall. Unnoticing, deRenci continued.

"You agreed to be subject to the penalties before you came here, and I did tell you that the penalties were extremely severe when you did get here. You will therefore be our guest for a period of time, and be deported once we're done. You'll also be questioned, by a panel of three to find out if you did nick off with Romano's tape, and if you did, you'll be punished for that one too," he took an elegant sip. Sir Septimus smiled thinly, and whispered to Foster that a secure link to the Farminan government would be made available at his request, or he could take Romano's link out of the room. The Baron rolled right over the top.

"And if anyone tries to bust you out, your life is forfeit, along with the lives of your entire delegation, and any accomplice," deRenci shrugged. "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but you should have thought about that before you tried to get Romano to break faith with his King. Sorry, President. On the bright side, it means that you'll probably make it through this war alive."

Alexander felt, quite suddenly faint. He could not hear the Baron's words.

'What the hell is going on, are they drugging me?' Question Alex, in his head.

He saw black, then the Baron, then black.

He collasped onto the floor.

There was a second of stunned silence.
"Get a medic in here, now!" deRenci snarled, pushing away from the table, First Aid training coming to the fore.
Assisted by two of the Protocol Officers, the Baron carefully laid Peters out on the floor, then began to check the other man's vital signs.
"Does anyone know if Colonials are allergic to anything?" he called, two fingers on Peter's neck, checking his watch.
Sir Septimus and Father Martin both shook their heads. No-one had informed the UIK of any dietary requirements.

The doors burst open to admit a team of paramedics; a crash cart was already being opened up, and one of them had readied some sort of diagnostic device.

"Secure his plate," Sir Septimus quietly ordered. The possibility of poison could not be ruled out.
"And search the Castle and grounds. Our corpsey friend over there-" he indicated the assassin, which had been covered with a spare tablecloth, "- might have brought a friend to the party."

"Not that I know of," replied the lead guard.

He talked on the radio to the rest of the bodyguard unit.

"All teams, deploy, Search and Detain. Looking for suspect entities."

At once, the bodyguards pulled out there MP7s and began a search of the castle. Four men stayed with Peters.

While deRenci talked with the medics, Sir Septimus stood from his plate and sidled around to the Colonial guards.
"Some of our men will accompany yours. No offence, but this place is a maze; you could get lost, and in any case, tonight is a bad night to be outside."

The medics were carefully lifting Peters onto a stretcher, while one of them now examined the Baron. Poison didn't seem likely, as they'd all eaten from the same kitchen, the same pots, the same dishes, and only Peters had been affected.
"Does he have any prior medical condition?" one of them asked the other Colonials. "Anything at all?"

“I think my theory still holds,” said Illorin, wiping his chin daintily, “However, perhaps a certain embarrassment just tried to eliminate himself.”

He paused considering deRenci’s idea that the original attempt was too convenient. Normally he would have been of one mind with the Baron, “Lord Baron, you have noticed that the Colonials are in the habit of making it too easy. Theft in broad daylight. One assumes the assassin at least expected to avoid capture.”

He paused looking at Foster, “But there is another government known to have scores to settle.”

"Roger," replied the bodyguards.

When they disappeared in the maze, that was the castle, one of the senior guard responded to the Baron's question.

"Not that I know of that could cause something like this," replied one of the guards. "He was taking tablets for his autism, but it wouldn't cause this."

As the bodyguards were also trained FIB agent, they knew investigation techniques. Thus they started to examine the scene.

"We should have the bowl of food tested, just in case."

The Baron pushed away the blinking instrument that was being waved over his body irritably.
"Of course the food will be... pardon?"
A medic had whispered in deRenci's ear.
The Baron straightened and turned to look at Peters, now being wheeled out.
"He has a tumour. In the brain," he grimaced and titled his head; the air outside seemed silent. "OK. The wind's died down; airlift him to Arn-Askal, get the doctors to stabilise his condition, then have him flown back to the Colonies. I hate the bloody Healer's Dictate..." he glanced up at Romano. "Any party which suffers from an illness during King's Peace, like say, collapsing from a tumour, shall be returned to his lord as soon as possible, no matter what. in this case, it means that we send Peters back home as soon as we can... and then put him on the red list."

He half-turned to glare at the Colonial guards; the medic resumed pointing the infernal device at him.
"They're clearing the runway. You lot get to go back on your plane. You can fly over to Arn-Askal and collect your Minister once the doctors have him stabilised. Or go home and let us shift him. I don't care. But except for you four who get to travel with Peters to keep him safe, you're leaving. Now." he paused again as one of his aides whispered in his other ear.
"Oh, and you're going by air. There are... wolves on the road... would you get that thing away from me!"

Illorin Romano nearly choked on his meal, but avoided doing so, “Lord Baron, I hope you are not trying to say that Macisikan is contemplating an attempt to break a legitimate Hawk Coalition blockade. Some would see that as an act of aggression; and to do if for him would be most annoying. I see your government’s reasoning and no doubt it holds true; in the absence of a blockade…”

Romano couldn’t help wondering whether this latest incident had been arranged by Macisikan to get rid of a problem.

"Damn fool of a man," the Baron was muttering after Peters. "Damn, stupid, sick, fool of a... what?"
A Protocol officer repeated Romano's words.
deRenci looked at him, then at the Farminan.
"Three things excellency," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Number one, diplomatic flights are immune and exempt from blockade actions; number two, that plane would also have a big red cross on the side; and number three, unless you lot have been practising FTL manoeuvres in the atmosphere or have been setting up the blockade while talking here, it won't be in effect yet; this conference failed today after all." He paused. "On that note, you have grounds for action against the Colonies and the MES for harassing your flight over here. Oh yes, we do monitor these things. And I daresay you could bring charges of war crimes against the Colonial government for that little display in your city... hmm..." the man's attention drifted off into the distance.

Of course, if Romano remembered the severed head, he would also remember that the UIK had far easier ways to get rid of problems then this.

Romano paused and consider his words carefully, “It is the opinion of the Republic that the Northern Colonies no longer has the right to diplomatic relationships as it cannot behave appropriately in them. Physically, you are correct, we cannot prevent you returning Mister Peters. However, let me put this bluntly, the Republic shall take it incredibly badly if you allow Alexander Peters to return to the Northern Colonies, especially in the absence of the return of a certain tape that was sent to with me to these negotiations, from Farmina.”

deRenci looked slightly put out at Romano's opening sentence, then snapped his fingers as the other finished.

"Thank you, I'd quite forgotten about the tape," he said. "Sir Septimus, put in a call to the Colonel. Peters isn't in any condition to give a reading or whatever, so lets keep that plane where it is until we know what happened to the bloody thing. I strongly suspect its still there... but as for that other subject you mentioned... diplomacy? OK then, fine. But some method of getting him out of this country needs to be contrived. Before I get an angry call from Arn-Maciska, not afterwards."

"Next time let the wolves have him; toss him out the gate and be done with it," Father Martin sneered suddenly. "Problem solved."

There was a shocked silence. The cranky clergyman rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he snapped. "Operate to cure the thing as much as possible, then keep the idiot in a chemical coma until he can be sent home, freeze him if need be."

deRenci recovered.
"Not a bad idea that... Sep? Arrange it."
The knight looked slightly startled, then nodded and backed away, calling the hospital in Arn-Askal.

One of the agents snapped back. "I don't think Farmina would like to be peceieved as shooting down Red Cross aircraft. It won't do wonders to the legitmacy of the Coalition."

deRenci half-turned.
"Sergeant of the Guard," he said firmly, "escort our Colonial guests to the quarters assigned to them. And keep them there."
The guards, who hadn't left the room with the death of the assassin, stepped forward, clearly in no mood to brook resistance. The Baron had ordered the Colonials taken to their quarters. He hadn't specified in what condition.

"But the man has a point excellency," the Baron said as the guards ushered the Colonials politely but firmly out of the room. "A big red cross on that plane makes it a medical thing, not a diplomatic thing. But I think the good father had the better idea. After all," his tone turned mock-serious, "brain-related problems are dreadfully serious, and the patients shouldn't be moved."

“Indeed,” agreed Romano, “Certainly not, the type you would fly around. I suppose the Republic better find reason a way to prevent medical flights into the Colonies. I fear that our enemies will be using every means possible to bring weapons into the Colonies. Peters himself commented on the weakness of Colonial arms manufacture. If they want to keep fighting, they are going to have to bring them in.”

He then added, quite firmly, if not annoyed, “And my name is Illorin, not Excellency, please stop calling me that. I have yet to take up my post as of yet, and when I do, I think I’ll have to rattle a few cages over the formality.”

"You may rest assured that no Imperial Arms have been sold to the Colonies. We limit the sale to a select few," the Baron chuckled dryly. "Anyway, it's not like they can afford anything we make."

The Baron shrugged.
"As you wish, Ser Romano," he reverted back to the former address. "But I wouldn't take that tone in Arn-Maciska. Excellency is the honorific accorded to Ambassadors, no matter other ranks, and there you will be addressed as such, unless you have another title. My superiors, like myself, will only call you Illorin if we grow to be familiar with eachother on a personal basis," his mouth quirked. "Welcome to the tangled thicket of Imperial Ettiqutte, a quagmire designed to befuddle the mind and ensare the unwary."

Father Martin's glare showed that he didn't think it funny.

"Thank you, Baron" replied the lead guard. He turned around and bowed at Romano.

"Your Excellency."

He walked off, telling the guards ahead to start packing up.

Romano leant over to the Baron, “Shouldn’t someone point out to the Colonials, that thanks and packing are not what they should be doing. In reality your latest decision makes them prisoners.”

deRenci didn't smile, but he was clearly amused.
"That's what the guards are for," he replied. "If, no, when they try to leave, they'll be politely turned around. If they refuse or resist, they'll be stunned, and then returned to their quarters. If they force the issue... it'll be painful," now he smiled. "Don't tell them. I want them to find out on their own."

A thought passed through Romano’s head, an altogether unpleasant one, “What if we discover the tape was destroyed? Would that make the charge espionage?”

In Farmina at least; Romano was aware the government had no qualms with executing foreign diplomats found guilty of espionage. The idea that someone he had met personally with would cease to be was a little off putting.

deRenci blinked, then looked over at Sir Septimus.
"Uh, no Ser Romano, it would just add "destruction of property" to the charge of theft. Espionage only if he actually listened to the thing, or otherwise extracted data from it."

deRenci looked mildly disappointed, and Father Martin snorted.
"Tell them the rest boy," he growled.

"Of course," Sir Septimus hastened to add "Thanks to the onion-layered laws of the realm, he'll get hit with theft of property, destruction of property, theft of property of the crown of a foreign state, theft of property of the crown of a foreign state under seal of peace, destruction of property, with both the two "foreign-crown" supplements, attempted extortion, and breaching the King's Peace by attempting to force an envoy to break faith with his King," the man paused to breath in. "If of course, you complain on all counts... just say "I complain on all counts" to the Baron here. Now, normally he would be protected by diplomatic immunity, but it's the King's Peace Breach charge that makes the others valid. As soon as you get whacked with that, you forfeit your immunity."

"And young man," Father Martin added, limping forward to look at Romano, "You are also under that proviso until you present your credentials to the Court of Light and formally become the Ambassador. However, because of your particular status, as Ambassador-in-waiting, you get a little more leeway then an ordinary envoy under seal of King's Peace. Lucky you," the man stalked back to the buffet, favouring his right leg.

"He's always grumpy," deRenci murmured, "but I think he twisted his ankle when he dived, and it's making him worse. Sorry."

“I complain on all counts,” said Romano cautiously, “That should prevent Mister Peters returning to the Northern Colonies. It is the hope of the Republic that removing the Peters cog will cause some disruption and unbalance the Colonial government. Hopefully the Colonials will realise they’ve made a mistake and run up the white flag. However, their judgment has been poor so far.”

The Baron clapped his hands and rubbed them together.
"Excellent. Chemical coma it is until you finish beating up the Colonials. And we'll have to do something about those agents. Deport them to another nation or something," his lips quirked.

"And Ser Romano, surely you jest there; poor judgement? I say, rather 'What judgement'? It's likely you'll have to actually arrest their government. Well, what does everyone say to dessert? And then maybe coffee?"

“I could settle for something sweet,” said Romano, “It has been a long day; yet I expect no more surprises. I must say, I’ve never heard of a conference like it.”

OOC: Pokes MES.

OOC: "He was taking tablets for his autism, but it wouldn't cause this."

FYI, I just happen to be autistic, and I know from being autistic, and knowing autistic people, the chances of a true autistic person of becoming a diplomat of any kind, is incredibly slim.

And no, I don't mean aspergers. I mean autistic.

--------

IC: Snyder was checking his console when a message came through. He opened to find a heavily encoded message come through.

--------
Agent 44
Objective: Complete
Agent 62: Deceased
--------

Snyder smiled. Although how much Northern Colonist equipment the man was carrying was overboard, it would at least add more pressure to them. How dare they failed him. They will pay dearly.

OOC: "He was taking tablets for his autism, but it wouldn't cause this."

FYI, I just happen to be autistic, and I know from being autistic, and knowing autistic people, the chances of a true autistic person of becoming a diplomat of any kind, is incredibly slim.

And no, I don't mean aspergers. I mean autistic.

--------

IC: Snyder was checking his console when a message came through. He opened to find a heavily encoded message come through.

--------
Agent 44
Objective: Complete
Agent 62: Deceased
--------

Snyder smiled. Although how much Northern Colonist equipment the man was carrying was overboard, it would at least add more pressure to them. How dare they failed him. They will pay dearly.

OOC: Alot of people who dont have a clue about the exact nature of either diseases would mistake the two (alot of experts can do it too, btw). The agent doesn't have medical knowledge, so he just called it that. Remembering that aspergers is considered a form of autism.

OOC: Before this becomes a fight about who has the bigger mental illness…MES what happened to the conversation between Grey and Foster?

IC: “Lord Baron,” said Romano, “I have heard that this situation is seeming to cause an internal collapse of relations in Reformed Oceania; or am I mistaken?”

The Baron smiled.
"I am not permitted to devulge such matters. However, I believe the tone of the Regional Gazette says it all."

“I think its time to call it a night,” said Romano, “It has been a long day.”

The Baron smiled again.
"Indeed. Anna-Marie will show you to your room," an older, matronly woman stepped forward and smiled tightly.

"Good evening gentlemen," the Baron stood and Sir Septimus and Father Martin moved to flank him. "Peace be upon your rest tonight," he added with a nod.

Accompanied by the other two, the Baron walked from the room, no doubt to his own quarters.

The Hall burst into a flurry of activity as the stewards began cleaning up. The Assassin's body had been disappeared some time earlier.

"Right this way, gentlemen," Anna-Marie said politely, gesturing for them to follow her.

Foster placed Romano’s earpiece onto his ear as they were guided up to their quarters, “Lance Foster here.”

“And I am President Grey,” said Grey, “I assume you have an offer for me.”

Foster cleared his throat, “Yes I do mister President. We both have a situation to deal with; Snyder. I must appoligise for what Snyder has done to your country. Once we regain control, I promise full payment in both equipment and monies as compensation.”

“That will be one very large bill,” commented Tobias Grey, “Especially if you plan to replace the munitions we use. Would you also call the Colonies damage done by Snyder?”

Foster mused, “In a way, yes, but they're responsible for their own actions, and how they've behaved here is a sure sign that they aren't ready to pay the piper.”

“Your offer is very generous, especially from such an improvised nation,” said Tobias, “So I must assume you want something very large in return.”

Foster chuckled, “I don’t really want much in return. This is to pay you back for damages, and we owe your people as such.”

Foster paused, “But if we do not deal with Snyder, he will threaten the entire globe.”

“Let me assure you Snyder is about to get his just desserts,” said Tobias, “I know that he is with his fleet just outside of Alice. He knows that the Republic is preparing a huge offensive there. He has made a simple miscalculation; the offensive is not huge, its massive. This will be the single largest offensive I’ve ever heard of. Lord Snyder will realize his mistake too late. He shall spend the rest of his life in a nice remote island prison. It'll built just for him.”

Foster shook his head grimly, though Grey wouldn't see this. “I highly doubt you'll ever catch him alive, to tell you the honest truth,” Foster muttered.

“Alive, dead,” said Grey, “Seven pieces. They all sound good to me.”

“I mean,” Foster said, “You’ll never find him. I can almost guarantee that once he sees this trap coming, he's going to jump ship and head back to the MES.”

“That we put big flashing lights on the trap and a sign saying ‘This is a trap’; suggests it will just test Snyder’s arrogance,” said Grey, “It would look like another massive bluff.”

He paused remembering that Snyder had just come into possession of Dan Rickhart; who understood somewhat how Grey’s mind worked. The President however decided not to mention it.

“That is possible,” Foster said, “But the man is very smart. By the way...do you know what happened to Ackvick, Dasch, and Alana Makion? They went to your nation for some reason, and I haven't heard much since.”

“They were in hospital,” said Tobias Grey vaguely, “Then there was something about an ex-chancellor and a batty house keeper, and now they seem to be stuck on the Final Victory.”

“Ex-chancellor?” Foster said with interest, “What one?”

“No comment,” said Tobias Grey, “He was dead before and he must be dead again.”

“Alright, what do you want from me?” Foster asked.

“That you fight,” said Grey, “The same you expect from me. You fight with everything and on all fronts.”

“...All fronts? What fronts are you implying?” Foster said, making sure he didn't miss a base.

“If you have anything to spare against the Colonials,” said Grey, “It would be much appreciated.”

“Alright, tell you what,” Foster said, “I may not have a good hand to play against your nation, but with our terrible history as two nations, I think we can possibly negotiate not only a treaty, but perhaps more. I think we could all learn something from this, and I don't want to be on anyone’s bad side any longer.

If you want to at least try to settle our differences, and give us your terms of repatriation, I’ll give you as much air support as you need against the Colonials.”

“Also if you find any ex-chancellors on your travels, I would like to know,” said Grey, “And I won’t mind if you use necessary force to dispatch them, perhaps even advise it.”

“With regard to terms,” continued Tobias, “I am not willing to lock any in now; other than to say it is my intention not to claim any territory in the name of the Republic.”

“Alright,” Foster said, “You got a deal.”

“I have work to attend to,” said Tobias, “But I am glad we have an understanding.”

“Yes, and I hope we can work together someday,” Foster replied.

“Goodbye Commander,” said Tobias, and then there was silence.

Foster handed the earpiece back to Romano; who didn’t dare ask what was discussed and continued to follow the guide.

Though the signals were detected by the Imperials, they neither recorded them, nor attempted to listen in, out of courtesy to the Farminans, whose conduct had been exceptional.

=========================

As the various groups departed the Great Hall, Sir Septimus was intercepted by a worried protocol officer, and called up to the Warden's office.
"What seems to be the problem?" he asked as the two entered.
"Sir, we seem to be having more trouble reaching Arn-Maciska."
The knight turned and stared in unparalleled disbelief.
"You called me up for that? The White Winter-"
"-doesn't cause that" Father Martin said, staring at the screen. The old man must have followed him.
"Cause what?" technicians and the knight were confused now.
"That, right there..." the old priest pointed at a streaming weather report, which had suddenly dissolved into computer code, before cutting out.
"Where does that feed come from?" Sir Septimus asked.
"Um... Sar-Macsa'an," was the reply.
Martin cursed in three languages; the others stared at him again, then started as several more monitors followed the first, descending into computer code, then either static or nothing.
"Tell everyone to snuggle down, and keep the fires lit tonight," Father Martin said softly.
A chills raced each other up Sir Septimus' spine.

Romano shuddered for a moment, “Hmm, I just had a chill run through me. I’m glad that Macisikan won’t always be this cold.”

For a moment he thought his earpiece was playing up. “Strange,” he muttered, but thought nothing more of it as he reached his quarters.

By the next morning dark clouds were racing northwards, heavy and menacing; whenever they slowed a new flurry of snow was released to blanket the ground. The southern areas of the Empire were completely out of contact, and the radio blackout was moving north; shortly after breakfast it reached Sar'Dahl, then Arn-Askal, a few kilometres north. There was a brief flicker of electric lights, and radios, TVs and mobile phones cut out, but anything relying on landlines continued to function perfectly.

To the outside eye, nothing had actually changed beyond the odd weather; but the Imperials were walking around in pairs, and no-one was able to venture outside alone. The hours after breakfast would find the Baron seated in comfortable chambers before a roaring fire, with Father Martin, playing cards.

Romano nodded to the Baron, passing directly in front of the fire, “What are you playing Father? Want to play a something two-handed perhaps?”

He then turned to the Baron, “Is there something going on that I should worry about? People concerned, more concerned than just about wolves.”

Out at the airfield, the Imperials had surrounded the Colonial plane, and simply waited for them to come out. They'd run out of food and fuel eventually. And it had gotten cold out there.

=======================

The priest looked up from his hand; the atmosphere was completely informal.
"Just Go Fish," he said with a shrug. "We were playing Five Hundred, but the Warden and Sir Septimus had to go off and do something. Don't know what. And there's a chill in the air. I can deal you in if you want"

"You had to say that," the Baron glowered. "Nothing much to worry about, except that all wireless communication past a range of a few dozen metres is down, across the entire Empire, planes can't fly, and everyone, well, everyone has woken up with the creeps," he made a face at his hand. "And there's more then wolves in those hills. Something's shifting. Ah, this is the wrong time of day for horror stories. There is something..."

The Baron put his cards down and took a sip of coffee, then pointed to an end table.
"Ser Romano, there's a cable from Arn-Maciska for you, from the boss-lady herself. Valdir wants something..."

The cable was rather informal in tone, but succinct.

To: Illorin Romano, Sar'Dahl Castle
From: Office of the Minister, MEA, Arn-Maciska
SECURE LINE

Dear Sir,

Firstly, allow me to congratulate you on your appointment to the position of Ambassador of the Democratic Republic of Farmina to The Court Of Light. His Most Serene Majesty's office is working in conjunction with my own to work out a way in which we can have your offices and Embassy set up in the Diplomatic Precinct as soon as possible. In that area, the Secretary of State for Ambassadorial Affairs, Baronet Julius Madarr, would like you to forward your specifications as soon as is convenient for you, so that his department may plan accordingly.

Secondly, it is the wish of His Most Serene Majesty's Government that we conclude a non-aggression pact and an extradition treaty with Farmina at the earliest convenience. Standard form-fill versions of both treaties can be found on our official government website. It is our wish that relations between our two nations be normalised, and our belief that these two additional treaties will greatly assist the development of relations between our two peoples.

Thirdly, I regretfully inform you that air traffic across the Covenant has been grounded due to the same phenomenon that is causing a radio blackout. Most planes in the air at the time were forced to make emergency landings; unless you wish to travel by car then TransNet, you will have to remain at Sar'Dahl for now. On the other hand, it is easier for Baron deRenci to seize the Colonial plane, as they can't go anywhere.

I hope to see you soon in Arn-Maciska,
Yours,
[seal of the Minister]
The Lady Justina Valdir, The Most Hon. The Marchioness of Valdester, Minister for External Affairs

OOC: Err... I'm not in a plane. Unless your raiding it.

OOC: Err... I'm not in a plane. Unless your raiding it.
OOC: You still had a plane with the cabin crew sitting on the runway. They've been there all night without any contact with the outside world; we airlifted Peters to Arn-Askal before the storm closed in; he's taken four bodyguards with him. The rest of your security team are being held politely but securely in a wing of the castle. I'm not going to hurt anyone, unless your guys do something stupid like try to fight, in which case they all die.
My security won't storm the plane; they're just going to sit there until they get permission to come aboard, which will happen sooner or later (when the people on the plane run out of food to eat and fuel to keep warm)

One of the men went out of the plane.

"We have recieved permission for you to search our plane."

“I don’t suppose you are allowed to play poker Father,” said Romano, placing a large roll of Farminan currency on the table; wondering how one plays against a mind-trickster.

Taking the cable off the Baron, he thanked the man, read the note and placed it in his pocket. Pulling out a notepad he wrote:

Lady Valdir

Thank you for your congratulations. Find attached my specifications for the ideal embassy.

Sullivan reviewing pact. Interests in attaching access to Macisikani markets to any deal.

Shall remain until normality returns.

Illorin Romano

On a second page he made scribblings that seemed to be the specifications; with something that resembled a map. However specifications included a café, multiple bars, hundreds of slot machines, gambling tables, a revolving restaurant, several dance halls, gym, spa, sauna, massage parlor and an indoor swimming pool; with reference to anything vaguely related to diplomacy mentioned second.

“Lord Baron,” said Romano, “Could you have this typed up formally if you please?”

OOC: Many apologies to you both for neglecting this thread.

IC:
Out at the airport, Imeprial troops instantly boarded the plane, accompanied by forensic teams; within a matter of minutes, under the watchful protection of the guards, the teams were going through everything with a fine-tooth comb. The guards gently prevented anyone who wasn't in the forensic teams bodysuit from touching anything but the clothes they were wearing. Thorough as they were, the teams carefully placed everything back the way they found it, and everything they did was recorded. Everything they combed through, which was everything, was photographed. The toilets, the baggage, the carpet under the seats, everything.

Even the bins, where a certain melted pile of plastic and tape waited.

*********

The Baron glanced at the scribblings, then gave a small smile. Baronet Madarr would pitch a fit about the pokies, mainly because it would cause headaches with the leviathan Ministry of the Interior, but apart from that it was a reasonable compound.
"I'll have this sent off, Julie...?" a protocol officer was waved over. God only knew where they came from; they all seemed to have been made in the same factory somewhere.

"Oh yes Ser Romano, I play poker," Father Martin grinned and gathered the cards. "And non-empaths tend to loose by the way. Badly."

The Baron, having finished with Julie the protocol officer, cast a glare at the old man. "You're incorrigible," he muttered. "Father, before you take the shirt off the man's back, how about we give him a few pointers on dealing with the boss-lady?"

"Are you empathising Tierce?" the priest replied, flipping a card to face with the rest of the deck.

"I have an inkling that the Farminans are going to try to lobby... people usually do..." the Baron crossed to the sideboard, while Martin looked up at Romano seriously.

"First thing's first I suppose; Parliament. Ser Romano, if there's one thing I've learned," the priest leaned back and stretched, "it's never, ever, attempt to get a Parliament of this Empire, any of them, to do what they don't want to do. It doesn't matter which one; the UIK's Daíl. The Akmadari Moot. The States-General. Arguing with them is like arguing with the sun; you won't win, but what you will get is burned. Remember always that if you really want them to do something to help you out, don't try to threaten or force them; sell it to them," he spread the cards, and then collected them again.

"Argue that it isn't necessarily in your best interests," the Baron took over, "but it would benefit us, the Covenant. Threats will only earn you contempt. A sales pitch will always get an attentive audience," he took a drink absently. "Their attitude towards foreigners has been the same since 1750 or so..."

"In blunt terms," Father Martin abruptly said, "it can be summed up as "Yeah, whatever, everyone has problems, now fuck off or sell us something." What?" he asked at the Baron's shocked stare. "You were thinking it. Very loudly."

The Baron blinked and took a very healthy sip.

“I’ll try to remember that,” said Romano, watching Father Martin shuffle, then speaking to no one in particular said, “However there will be some ill feeling towards Macisikan in Farmina. You promised nice secure negotiations. We did not get them; this could be easily taken as a betrayal, though nothing compared to that provided by the Colonies.”

"Naturally" Martin murmured, the cards flying from hand to hand. "Of course we expect ill will. The one truism in politics is that no matter what the decision is made, voices will be raised in opposition and someone will hate you for it."

The Baron, seemingly recovered from his shock, continued; the two might have been brothers the way they kept passing the ball back and forth.
"The thing is that no matter how much the bosses in Arn-Maciska like you, they have an election coming up, and they like being in government far more - one of the coalition campaigns on isolationism every time, and it's quite a success. And States-General... they're contrary by definition; while Arn-Maciska will at least try to find a solution that gives you some satisfaction, Arn-Arakhan couldn't care less, and won't bother to disguise that attitude. I feel sorry for Sir Edmund, I really do..."

"Getting States-General to cooperate... cats. Herding a large mob of cats. With sore teeth." Father Martin looked sad for a moment. "King's Peace basically boils down to mean that as long as you don't physically assault anyone, you're pretty safe. They never anticipated someone like Peters back when the rules were drawn up; it's just not done," he dealt out five cards, one set to himself, one set to Romano. "Single draw, aces high, no wilds; a simple game," he sounded bored.

"You'll loose," the Baron commented wryly. "He'll know what your cards are as soon as you see them. Can't help it. Peters will get punished for what he's done, once the Tribunal in Arn-Askal is finished deliberating; we didn't anticipate his conduct when drawing up the rules all those centuries ago, but Lady Valdir did anticipate stupidity when she offered to host this conference, so all the things necessary to prosecute are ready and waiting," he shrugged. "We'll probably stick him in a chemical coma so that we can "imprison" him here and satisfy you, but in a way that the Colonials don't complain, we don't want to have to deal with their... hot air, but he will be kept here for the duration of the hostilities after that... display... perhaps longer. There are ways and means..." he drained his glass.

*******************

On the plane one of the forensic teams lifted a twisted mass of plastic from a bin; totally beyond repair, but still would be identifiable as the tape brought from Farmina.
Once they'd had it analysed in a state-of-the-art laboratory of course; for now it was just put into an evidence bag and taken away under escort.

“War is on Macisikan’s doorstep,” said Romano, “This could hurt trade, by fearful merchants. That could jobs. That could hurt votes.”

Romano knew that no one who mattered was listening; but that didn’t matter, it made him feel better. Romano then purposely appeared to look at his hand; but he did not see them. Instead he conjured in his mind a full house, trying to clear other thoughts; before placing a small bet in the pot.

"Au contrare, Ser; arms contracts," the Baron replied. "Weapons sales. Facilitation of mercenaries. Air coverage on Prime Time. Sales of medical supplies. Currency speculations. War, Ser Romano, is exceedingly good for business. And it's not like they're actually on our doorstep; Rotovia's? Yes, but not ours. Only one other nation is that geographically close to us."

"Oh, but we do matter," Martin replied suddenly. "You don't think that we actually miss out on being interrogated by the Ministry on what you say, do, act, react?" The priest was smirking, and produced a small pile of coins, several of which he placed against Romano's bet.
"Any changes?"

"Now you're just being intrusive," the Baron muttered.

"You're a loud thinker," Martin replied in a dismissive tone, not taking his eyes of Romano. "Shows a great strength of character."

Although Romano didn’t know his own cards, he observed Father Martin’s bet and quickly matched and raised the bet, with his own currency. He didn’t bother pointing out that the exchange rate was in his favor, “The Republic will be incredibly upset if you try selling anything to the Colonials or anyone who dares abet them. Currency speculation is barely the most certain way to make money; nor the most profitable. I accept Rotovia will certainly feel the brunt of war more than anyone; but how do you say, there would be a domino effect.”

Watching the kitty while trying to think about the fictional hand he had created, Romano added, “Farmina is old school about these matters. We didn’t walk out of these negotiations the Colonials did; and if Aricar gets his chance he will make them hurt. However Tobias Grey wants to hit the Messians and settle with the Colonials. Now being old school we treat our friends well. There is going to need to be a lot of media coverage of the Messian conflict; not to mention reconstruction.”

To be honest; the MES needed reconstruction before a single bomb had fallen, the MES was a third rate economy and it showed, “The fighting being further from your border isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

The good father didn't care about the outcome in reality; there was a saying amongst Macisikani gamblers; never bring to the table what you're not prepared to loose.

"You're going to sprain something if you keep that up," he said conversationally. "Dealer changes one," he slid coins across to match Romano's wager. "And the distance from our borders... let's just say that our alignment in Reformed Oceania has more to with politics and electronic commerce then actual geograpy... And I'll see you."

"Sell the Colonial things... heh, sure, right," the Baron sniggered. "The building has nine floors, and each floor has nine doors; it's true. There are eighty-one levels of bureaucracy. And you are damned if you have to go through every one of them. The Colonials are at door number one..." he sniggered again. "Letting you buy and use Macisikani-made weaponry isn't a violation of our neutrality; it's commerce... and Farmina's been vetted as a nation that can use them "responsibly", whatever that means... And by remarkable coincidence, you'll find the business cards of our leading weapons contractors on the table behind you." he walked back to the sideboard; someone had placed an urn there, containing industrial-strength coffee.

"Oh, and the contact details of several mercenary associations are on the pad underneath the cards," the Baron added without turning around, "Along with the protocols for contacting the Guild of Assassins. I really ought to tidy up in here once in a while..." there was definite smugness in his tone. Both he and Martin were avoiding looking at the table indicated.

“I think it would be most inappropriate to call on mercenary organizations,” said Romano, “Farmina is already throwing every last penny into producing weapons at home. Tanks and planes are rolling off the production line at a truly unprecedented rate. Thank the Lord for our motor vehicle industry it seems.”

That didn’t stop Romano grabbing the cards, “I would however wonder if there would be a private conglomerate in Macisikan that might forcefully push a certain outcome in the Colonies. Especially considering that Chancellor Sullivan is now seriously considering giving everything we have on Colonial weapon smuggling, among other things, to the Rotovian authorities.”

He then signaled that he didn’t want any cards, before placing a mediocre bet, “If Rotovia moves to secure its eastern sea border, by smashing the western Colonial sea border; I could imagine it would put you in an uncomfortable position. The Colonials would cry foul if you assist; though they’d be getting nothing less than they deserve. Others would call it the last straw. Am I correct?”

"Suit yourself," Martin shrugged and matched Romano. "C'mon lad; show and tell."

"Depends on how the Rotovians do it," the Baron answered, turning. "If they call upon regional assistance, then we'll all pitch in. They are the Regional Council at the moment, so..." he shrugged. "But if they go it alone, then we'll have to do any backing we do behind the scenes. Officially we must stay neutral; there is a regional non-aggression pact in force, which means that without Council sanction, now that we've recognised them, we cannot legally move against the Colonials. Even discounting the neutrality declaration. Her Ladyship is very particular about these things.* he took a sip of whatever it was he had. "On the whole, you're wrong. What the Rotovians do with the Colonials, unless they say something to us, is between them and the Colonies, much as what you do is between you and the Colonies. Arn-Maciska's interest in the outside world, never very large, tends to wane before elections." he paused.

"And to answer your wondering about a private conglomerate; doubtful. Last night's dinner probably cost more then our total investment in the Northern Colonies... which is why they had such a hard time convincing us to help them; there wasn't anything in it for us to begin with, and they tried to push an agenda..."

"As subtle as a pregnant elephant on acid," Martin interjected scornfully.

"Pretty much," deRenci said. "The long and short is that as long as it's over quickly, preferably with that incompetent fool they have in charge out of power, you'll find very few here willing to act either way out of the goodness of our hearts. If you're offering contracts in the MES, or in the Colonies, you'll have to demonstrate, on the battlefield, that you can deliver. Then rachmas will start to flow into your wallets, shells into your guns, and possibly motions in the Regional Council to assist your valiant peacekeeping effort."

Romano turned over his cards, still not paying attention to what they actually were, “I doubt Tobias Grey wants to be involved in an occupation of the Colonies; too messy. If a massive air campaign can’t be launched; then the next best strategy would probably be letting the Colonials make the moves and the mistakes until Farmina is ready to hit the Colonial heartland. The Colonials will fail; mark my words gentlemen.”

Father Martin shook his head and smiled as he turned his own cards over.
"Keep your currency Ser; it's just a bit of fun," he said with a smile. "In fact, take these, and familiarise yourself with the Pan-Imperial Rachma. Or "pir" as it's sometimes called." he slid ten coins across the table; each denomination that used a coin was represented.

"That the Colonials will fall is undoubted," deRenci commented. "You are the greater power, with more resources, more money, more men. The only real wager is over how long it will take. And you have a point; occupation would be a messy business... so once you have that nation, what are you going to do with it? If you don't mind me asking..."

“Outright conquest is not the goal,” said Romano, inspecting the currency, “But it is certainly a question of timing. A harsh treaty or surrender would suit Farmina’s interests well. If the Colonies must be occupied, then so be it; but then the Republic will be expecting more than just profit making out of Reformed Oceania.”

Those words could have so easily been laced with malice or spite; but Romano was simply stating the facts as he saw them; Farmina would expect Reformed Oceania to the bulk of the occupying or face a Northern Colonies in a state of anarchy; destabilizing the region. Romano paused out for a moment, “And I assure you that the terms will be harsh, the Colonies must never be able to hurt Farmina again. Let me speculate here; and I assure you that is all I do. The Colonies will pay the full cost of the war. The Colonies will be banned from the possession of carriers, battleships, battlecruisers and submarines. The Colonies will be banned from possessing WMD and MOAB. The Colonies will be forced to withdraw from space. Aircraft numbers would also face severe limits. And if I were to have my way; that would just be the beginning.”

The expression on his face suggested that his words were exactly accurate; Romano, like many Farminans would like to see the Colonies crushed; turned into a third world economy with a military and political sway to match.

Naturally Martin knew that Romano's words had no bite behind them, and a quick glance let deRenci in on the secret.

"Of course your position is completely understandable," deRenci said dryly. "They held out the hand of friendship and then attacked you with it. Same as the MES. And others. Which is why you are so guarded with us... although unlike them, we are not offering you friendship," he drained his mug.

"What you are getting from us is neutrality, and receptiveness to engaging in a... professional business relationship," he continued. "Your currency is solid. You have our attention. Promises, we've found, you are now finding, are so much hot air until you get to know the character of the people you're dealing with. Currency, on the other hand, is real. And tends to focus people's minds more then appeals to honour or morals," he smiled thinly. "You can trust us because we do not pretend to be your allies or friends; we are entering into business with you, we are making contracts and engaging in commerce. All that we've done so far for you in these negotiations is down to our traditions of hospitality. Beyond that? Well, we do not make promises at this stage; we conduct business transactions."

While he'd been speaking, Father Martin had stood, stretched, and called for refreshments; pastries and hot drinks were delivered in short order.

Selecting a croissant Martin turned and looked at Romano seriously.
"In God Above we do trust... everyone else has to produce an end-user certificate and supply character references. And get it in writing."

=============================

In the Secretariat of State for Immigration and Tourism a secretary frowned at the directive he'd just been handed. It was retro-active, unusual but not unheard of. His frown didn't fade as he read it, and he paused, staring reflectively out the window at the terrible weather outside. Then, with a shrug, his frown faded, he corrected the spelling of "Secretariat" (twice), and clicked the button that would put the instructions on the screen in front of him into effect. By the time lunch was served in Sar'Dahl, the directive had been executed with the flawless precision and machine-perfect precision typical of the Civil Service.

“It certainly seems we should have adhered to the Rickhart Doctrine more strongly in foreign affairs,” said Romano, not particularly comforted by the promise of Macisikan not offering friendship, “Let us hope that the Colonies do not suddenly find a great hoard of gold that they need to ride themselves of.”

Romano sighed and helped himself to a warm coffee, “Mistakes have been made. The worst mistake however was not ours. Air raid sirens in the Colonies might help Mister Anderson realise that. It will certainly prove that we Farminans are more than ready. After this war, the Colonies shall be weak, dependent, possibly on the Reformed Oceania it betrayed. Perhaps the Colonies will have to rely on the teat of the Republic.”

Then Romano added words, inappropriate yet somehow reflecting his sentiments, “The Colonies will be a whore so desperate it will take us whenever we are in the mood; satisfying whatever pleasure we so have; for the few scraps from our table.”

"Colonial currency isn't worth the paper it's printed on, or the metal it's minted from," Father Martin sneered. The expression was ugly on him. "In any case, they don't have enough to get our attention after this little stunt. We're a casual pair the Baron and I. You should meet his wife; cooks for her guests herself," he paused an inclined his head. "The people who Sit in Arn-Maciska? Not so much..." he'd managed to accentuate the capital "S".

"They do have a higher regard for propriety..." the Baron murmured.

"Higher regard...?" the good father stared in disbelief. "Higher regard my foot! Tierce, the standards of propriety are rigid! If Peters had tried this stunt in the presence of the Holy Monarch he'd have been going home in a box! Thank the Living God that Prince Nicholas has a sense of humour..."

The Baron shrugged noncommittally. While every word Father Martin said was true, the Cenobriach also took perverse pleasure in being very casual with his friends, or unexpectedly.

"As for making the Colonials dependent on your charity..." he let the matter drop. "You are entitled to your just vengeance for the crimes against your nation. But beware that you do not push affairs beyond the point where your actions become simple vindictive hatred. And if you make the Colonials too desperate, you could upset the Rotovians; they tend to be a mite touchy about large numbers of starving people on their doorstep."

“A very fine line,” commented Romano, knowing full well that he had crossed it into a desire for revenge as he sipped casually on his coffee, “Rotovia however I feel will benefit greatly from any peace settlement. I should imagine their complaints would not be too loud; but certainly we would not want to make them yelp.”

Romano chuckled as a thought came to his mind, “The Colonials warned of the threat of the Republic getting a foothold in Reformed Oceania. Now Reformed Oceania seems keen for the Republic to gain a foothold in the Colonies. Ironic…perhaps even self fulfilling.”

Finishing up his coffee, Romano put the cup down, “So when will the horrid weather let up. And when will something long term be decided about Mister Peters?”

The priest and the Baron exchanged a glance, and the Baron invited Martin to speak with a gesture, while he refilled his own cup and offered the pot to Romano.

"Peters?" the older man said. "Well, when he's found guilty by the investigating tribunal, they'll pass a sentence... the severity of which in theory depends on a very complex set of political and judicial factors... but in fact depends on which side of the bed Valdir got up on this morning..."

"As for the weather..." deRenci took over "They say the front will pass some time in the early hours of tomorrow morning, and it'll turn from horrid to overcast. You'll be able to make your way to Arn-Maciska via the TransNet; air traffic is down until the... whassit called again?"

"Dark Haze. Heaven knows why; you can't see it..." Martin grumbled.

"Right until that goes away, no-one flies anywhere in the Covenant. Leaving aside the fact that Arn-Maciska airport has been shut for the past month because of the snow. Oh, don't worry; everywhere is centrally heated. You'll get a full military escort too. Don't want you to be eaten before you get there."

“Being eaten is certainly not on my list things to do,” said Romano, “And though I have certainly enjoyed may stay here; I understand that this situation will have Arn-Macisika calmly filling out all the forms to instate a diplomatic crisis and a representative from an interested party will certainly not go amiss. From what I understand of your bureaucracy you probably have forms that need to be filled out before officials are permitted to panic.”

Both deRenci and Father Martin laughed at Romano's comment.
"Civil Servants aren't allowed to panic until after the fact," Martin said, mirth in his voice.

"It's politicians who panic. It's their substitute for achievement," deRenci said, chuckling.

"I know where you stole that quote from," Martin murmured, standing and gliding across the room to collect his own coffee.

"Whatever," deRenci replied. "The thing is that within minutes of Peters pulling that stupid stunt of his the wheels would already have been set in motion... thank goodness he has a brain tumour, otherwise I'd have to say his behaviour is what passes for rational in the Northern Colonies."

OOC: http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=497402 is the location for the Tarlag conference; you posted the incorrect one on your regional board.

IC:
Romano gave a soft and polite laugh, “It would be a nice to assume that Peters is the only fool. But could you imagine he hid what he was doing from Anderson in all those phone calls? Would Peters have organized those weapon shipments to Crete behind Rotovia’s back while kissing their shoes when in clear sight? If there is any proof that this is what a Colonial calls rational behavior; there was a large Parliamentary majority for war in the Colonies and it still hasn’t sued for peace.”

“We shall give Mister Anderson and the Colonial Parliament ample reason to reconsider,” added Romano, more sternly.

OOC: Tarlag was slightly vague as to whether he'd created a new one, or recycled the old one. Problem now fixed.

IC:
Father Martin raised an eyebrow as he poured.
"Shipping weapons to Cretan separatists I take it? Anderson plays a dangerous game..."

"Peters lacks the intelligence to come up with such a complex scheme like that, much less implement it," deRenci said, moving to stare out the window.

"And Anderson doesn't?" Father Martin snapped back. "No, actually Anderson probably has the intelligence, just lacks the common sense that would have told him it was a damn stupid thing to do, pardon my Klatchian."

Silence for a moment as the good father passed a fresh cup to the Baron, who took it and delicately sipped.

"There are certain groups and peoples in this world..." he mused, "which, while they do have the right to self-government, lack the capacity for capable or reasonable self-government. Such groups and peoples, it is generally agreed, cannot be permitted to govern themselves; someone more capable has to do it for them."

The priest's eyes darted from the Baron to Romano then back again; while his lips curved in a slight smile, he held his tongue.

“Did I say that out loud? How silly of me thinking out loud,” said Illorin Romano, referring to the comment about Crete, “Then again all thinking is heard anyway.”

He put aside his empty coffee cup and moved closer to the warm fire, “I understand what you say Lord Baron. In Arandior, Tobias Grey was forced to take extensive measures after a handful of religious extremists and socialists threatened to cause us great problems. I hope a repeat is not called for here. The Federation of Northern Colonies should learn from its mistakes and take tutelage from its region. Stiff punishments make for good educators and stiff punishments are certainly in order.”

Martin just smiled at Romano, "I do try to respect your privacy, but sometimes you're very loud..." he murmured.

"Did I mention the Colonies?" deRenci asked without turning. Without waiting for an answer he continued. "The Covenant, from time to time, faces certain problems in the Minor States," the cup was lifted and swirled. "A government incapable of keeping order. A government that tries to re-ignite an ancient feud. At that point an intervention is sometimes required," the cup was set down. "His Most Serene Majesty likes his Covenant to remain... serene. Violence is not our first choice," he took a sip, "Yet sometimes it is unavoidable."

Martin's eyes flickered from one to the other again; that smile was back. Oblivious, deRenci continued.

"No-one can be allowed to threaten cohesion, and the tranquility of the realm. Once we must employ force..." again the cup lifted, swirled, set down. "There can be no question of the outcome. If the state in question cannot govern themselves in a serene manner, then we shall simply have to choose someone to do it for them," another sip. "Someone to our liking, not necessarily theirs. It must be done. For the greater good, of course..."

“There can be no question of the outcome,” said Illorin Romano, repeating the Baron, “A polite way of saying, that Macisikan will join the war once Farminan blood and Farminan industry has already won it.”

There was no annoyance or displeasure in Romano’s tone or thoughts. It was the most help the Macisikani at had hinted at so far. Romano did however think, in a very loud manner, that should Macisikan think that it should have equal claim of the Colonies at the end of the war, it was very much mistaken.

Romano paused a little longer then added, “Your government also knows how to ensure the Colonies pay without interfering too directly for now. Provide the Farminan build up in Rotovia with every bomb, bullet and scrap of food you can spare; no strings attached. I believe the Farminan military may also have a very interesting proposal if your nation ever wants to take a more direct approach.”

"No Ser, I am not saying that," the Baron murmured. "I am saying that in cases where a Minor State of the Covenant disturbs the tranquility of the realm, they must be made... to understand that there is a price for such... disruption. And there must be no question as to our resolve to follow through on the commitment we make," he took a sip. "In such cases, our execution must be flawless, so as to minimise disruption to other parts of the Covenant; if there is an error, the problem is compounded, not corrected." he paused, lifted the cup, swirled it and then drained it. The entire time he stayed facing the window, then abruptly turned, crossed the room and refilled his cup.

Martin rolled his eyes. deRenci couldn't say what he wanted to say plainly; it would be a breach of neutrality for him to do so. Hopefully sometime in the near future the penny would drop and Romano would realise that the Baron was trying to say "If you're gonna do this thing, be our guests; you have the green light. We'll help out, much as we're willing. Just don't screw it up. And I didn't say that, OK?"

What the priest actually said aloud was; "The Covenant has no desire to directly rule or govern a territory that is literally halfway around the globe. However, we do find it beneficial if Rotovia's borders are secured by stable, friendly, and rational powers," he noticeably didn't elaborate which powers those were, but the angle of his head indicated that, for the time being, Farmina was on that list. And the Colonies were not.

Romano sighed then thought, “If I could present Arn-Macisika with a decisive, but interventionist proposal, to end the war, what is the probability of their acceptance?”

He pulled out a map and made some quick squiggles on it and passed it to the Baron. He expected the Father had already borrowed the map straight from Romano’s head.

“Supreme Commander Aricar thought of trying something somewhat like this,” said Romano, “But it would require manpower that the Republic does not have.”

He pointed very inaccurately at the map, “After the destruction of Colonial airpower, if Macisikan was to place troops here; then it would put the Colonies in a very bad position. I might say.”

OOC: If you want to see what I the Baron sees Macisikan; I’ll give it to you on MSN.

Martin's smile didn't fade, but it did become rather fixed, while deRenci's face solidified.
"Would you excuse us a moment...?" the Baron not-quite-asked in polite tones.
There was a brief, low-voiced conversation in Macisikani.

"Martin, he's talking military deployments, what is he thinking. No, really... what is he thinking?"
"Something about getting the Crown Seven to get involved... end the conflict... I suspect, from his emotional state and his nationality that he means in such a way that it's beneficial to them."
"I see..."
"Tierce, you know we don't have the authority to promise anything except dinner."
"I know.... he'll have to plead the case before Parliament, which-"
"-will take years. No... hang on, what's this?"

The two broke off as a protocol officer hurried into the room, delivered a mult-page message to deRenci, then left.
"Hmmm," the Baron mused as he read the cover page. "It seems that Immigration has already taken the first steps. No new Colonial visas, no renewals of Colonial visas, all visas longer then 21 days total duration revoked, immediate cancellation of any visa where the holder isn't already here... and it's retroactive too... effective for "48 months or until reviewed by the department"... well, well..."

While the Baron flipped through the rest of the missive, apparently the actual directive, Father Martin sidled up to Romano.
"We actually don't have the authority or clearance to make any sort of military decision; we can only refer you back to the neutrality declaration. I can tell you personally though, that until the, well, the thing clears, support from the Covenant directly isn't going to happen, unless you want to wait a few weeks while we sail across... although" he added happily, "I think what can be done is to tell you that sometimes we are called on for a more... supportive role shall we say? After all, when we are forced to take action, we prefer our troops be allowed to fight, rather then fill in the forms..."

Again, if Romano read between the lines of what Martin was saying, the Cardinal had more or less said that the Covenant would fill in the paperwork, butter the bread, etc. and free up the Farminan troops and resources for actual combat. Of course, none of that could be seen at face value.

“I realise you have no power Baron in this affair,” said Romano, “However, you do have the ability to whisper in ears. And even if the ears at the top of Macisikan won’t man such a decisive strike; perhaps someone else in your region will. However, the Farminan government will be accepting any logistical help supplied; and perhaps you could have a whisper regarding; how should I say…law enforcement…police.”

Romano checked a small black box he kept in his pocket, “I should probably soon pack my things and attend to small matters of business. The government is currently drawing up a potential peace agreement and I am to confidentially present it to your government for official approval.”

The smile that graced the Baron's face in response had far too many teeth in it.
"I do... and I have the feeling that such whispers would be heard, as they echo thoughts already in motion..." he winked, fast. "But of course, the hypothetical situations we are discussing are merely academic in nature... I believe we understand each other," he murmured.

"If you wish to travel to Arn-Maciska, I believe you ought to pack now, and be prepared to leave in about two to three hours..." the Baron drained his cup and set it down. "A few calls will need to be made, and if I can offer a free tip; when they ask if you would like a complete protocol briefing, before you present your credentials say yes. It's one of the most mind-numbingly boring experiences you'll ever have, but you'll regret it if you don't." he paused, then added, "And accept the offer of an earpiece."

Father Martin, who had resumed his seat, looked up. "Oh, and no matter what anyone says, only speak to the Cenobriach, the Protocol boys and girls, and Lady Valdir. Aldreset and the Cenariph will ignore you. Don't try to draw any member of the Court of Light into a discussion. Especially my fellow men and women of the cloth."

“I must thank you Father, Lord Baron for your hospitality and kind advice,” said Illorin Romano, “Though I doubt your protocol briefing could be much more boring than Lord Zimia’s speeches. I recall on more than one occasion; even the Lord Zimia has fallen asleep during them.”

With that Romano gave a brief nod and proceeded towards his room to pack his things.

After Romano had gone Martin stood and wandered over to stand next to the Baron. Together they stared out the window.
"Well?" the Baron asked.
"As long as he doesn't try to lobby the Holy Monarch, he should be fine."
"My opinion exactly. So, about the Aldet trials..."
The two turned away from the window, and wandered to the Warden's office, discussing the finer points of an upcoming equestrian competition.

Two hours later, the military escort had arrived for Romano, Immigration was waiting to speak to (and detain then remove) Foster, and the Baron and Father Martin were just leaving to return to Arn-Maciska.

Above them, the clouds were whipped into strange shapes by conflicting winds.

Romano was packed and prepared, his military escort ready and waiting. Illorin looked back to his hosts then into the sky, “This trip has poor bodings.”

Martin and deRenci both looked up into the sky.
"Strange," Martin murmured. "Very strong winds up there, but it's dead still down here..."

deRenci cocked his head to the side.
"Very quiet too..." he murmured. It was; aside from the sounds of human activity, the only sounds were a few birds darting around the Castle's eaves. "But it's winter after all..."

"And the sun's up," the good father added, suddenly cheerful. "So are we going to stand around or get into the car..." it was not really a question as the older man suddenly strode towards the open door of the provided limosuine, a spring in his step. deRenci smiled and shook his head as the clergyman's voice exclaimed "Real leather seats!" from inside the car.

"Little things," he murmured, following Martin into the car. "Ser Romano, will you be joining us or taking a separate car?" he called as he climbed in.

Above them the twisting clouds split open and sunlight shone down; the gloomy atmosphere quickly fading.

Illorin Romano jumped into the car with deRenci and Martin, “Does that answer your question gentlemen?”

He looked out the window and watched the clouds opening, “That looks like a better sign; although I feel that this darkness has not truly passed.”

He turned back to his two hosts, “Any further advice or questions? Best to devise as many answers now; in case I am asked a surprise question in Arn-Macisika.”

"Indeed it does..." deRenci said. Martin was rummaging underneath a seat.
"Eminence?" a voice from the front of the car asked uncertainly. "We can't move until you put on your seatbelt..."

The old priest, who had found a black case straightened up and with some grumbling strapped himself in facing deRenci, who was in the back seat.
"And now," he announced as the car began to move, "I'm going to be very rude and ignore you both," from the case he'd produced what appeared to be a portable DVD player and a disc. Popping one into the other, and a pair of headphones into his ears, he leaned back and settled to watch.

Bemused, deRenci shook his head.
"Advice? Well, that depends on what you're thinking of doing... I'm not the most experience courtier, but I have been attached for a while to them... do you have any questions about the court? Oh, and you're right; only the visible darkness has lifted."

Questions. Romano supposed he didn’t have any; he wouldn’t until too late. “Should I have brought a pistol or a sword with me?” said Illorin, “I should hate to encounter some foul beast unarmed. It would be like going to town without a watch; but with excruciatingly painful dismemberment.”

deRenci smiled and shook his head.
"Laws governing guns are extremely strict. Only security personnel are permitted to carry or discharge weapons outside of a hunting preserve; and in many cases it doesn't seem to help against the beasties. They're usually large enough not to notice. Now a blade would suit you better, but as a rule envoys are unarmed. In any case, once you're in Arn-Maciska, the mob will protect you," he settled back into his chair. "Honour demands that those of us carrying blades defend those without. On that topic, and I can't stress this enough, never, ever, ever, wear a weapon of any sort in the presence of the Cenobriach or any member of the Royal Family. The Royal Guardsmen tend to shoot first and ask questions... never, come to think of it," he frowned. "And never carry a weapon into a church or chapel; deposit it with the doorkeepers."

He paused; his own sword hadn't been with him when he climbed into the car. Instead he twisted the top of his cane and drew forth a slender blade. Out of consideration that they were in a vehicle that was actually travelling at speed, he only drew it out a few inches.
"Ones such as this are legal, but you'll need a permit," he slid it back in. "I can recommend several smiths in Arn-Maciska that service the diplomatic community. You, as an ambassador, are permitted one blade of any length you wish. I can also recommend a few instructors should you require it," he twisted his neck; there was a clicking sound and he winced slightly.
"As for the things, well, part of it is behavioural patterns; you are far more likely to have an encounter in the forests late at night alone while the wind howls down from the mountains then you are taking a stroll down the Imperial Green at mid-morning."

That last comment made Illorin Romano smile, “At one time; it would have been in Farmina that a stroll in the Imperial Green or the Parliament would see you dead far quicker than a walk in a dark woods.”

He paused, perhaps that was still the case, a thought he quickly dismissed. “Farminans are not forgiving and rarely polite in matters of politics,” said Romano, “The Farminan people and their leaders take everything rather personally. That is a lesson the Colonials will learn the hard way. It a lesson we have taught Arandior more than once. It is a lesson we taught to the Messians; but they seemed to forget. Tobias Grey is of the mind that they need reminding what happens to those who cross him.”

Romano continued his pointless rambling, moving from the example of nations to a personal level, “Even the great Dan Rickhart fell from the dizzy heights the commoner reached; when he placed himself at odds with Tobias Grey.”

He then paused, “Anyway since my rights to chop things up have been curtailed; how long till we arrive?”

The connection within the final sentence; appeared not to exist, though coherently linking concepts was never a strong point of Farminan politicians or nobility.

Romano's comment about the infighting in Farmina caused deRenci's face to darken for a moment, but he set it aside, and compared Farmina's leaders to his own. But first a question had to be answered.

"About fifteen minutes to Arn-Askal; there we'll board the TransNet and take a government train straight to Arn-Maciska. Total travel time should be about two, two and a half hours..."

"Interesting the differences between our nations... you see, we do forgive in matters of politics. Eventually. When we think things are in balance again. Forgetting is another matter entirely," he smiled primly. "When you've been around as long as we have, you tend to have a very long memory."

"And the style is different also," he added. "Taking things personally...? Well, not so much. In the past? Maybe. Depending on who sat on the Throne of Light, who ran the government, that sort of thing. These days it's more... mechanical I suppose you could say..." he waved a hand vaguely, trying to describe the situation. He gave it up and moved onto a more solid topic.

"Politeness is another matter again. Imperial leaders are unfailingly polite. But never confuse manners with weakness; I've seen the party whips completely destroy people without raising their voices or using a harsh word. If they're ever being rude, it's not an accident; it's done with design and purpose. On the other hand, unless you're upset, being rude will get you labelled as a JAFIB. You don't want to know what it stands for. The point is that you'll be seen as trying to provoke them; it's considered both ignorant, and infantile," he paused again to clear his throat.

"They also take exception to people who let ideology get in the way of common sense... institutions such as a monarchy or a republican form of government shouldn't get in the way of our two nations pursuing our joint interests. If you let the fact that our head of state wears a funny hat get in the way of business, then it's your hip pocket that's going to hurt. Incidentally, I think that issue's helped endear you to the higher-ups; your nation suffered a rather nasty monarchical ruler, and is now a republic, but we are clearly able to work together on the Colonial problem. They, on the other hand, having only just found out about fire, shouldn't be left alone in a room with carpet."

OOC: Oops. My bad.

((OOC: Dude, they're in a limo going at roughly 80km/hr down the road; Foster was bundled with Romano's assistants in a separate car - until indicated otherwise, he's counted as part of the Farminan delegation))

“Actually we busy explaining the wheel to the Colonials when they decided they didn’t want to be friends anymore,” joked Romano, “Must have thought they could kill us; take the wheel and work it out later. We’ve given them a bloody nose for trying; now we just have to neuter them.”

He paused trying to recall everything he had just said, then spoke calmly to the Baron, “Recent times have been rather tiring and significantly aging. I hope you will not mind if I nap for part of the journey.”

OOC: After a sabattical from this thread, I'm ready to return to it. If at all possible, put me back into the loop. :p

OOC: Yes, you can be worked back in. Once my essays are written and submitted.

"No problem at all..." deRenci said, producing a rather tattered paperback and opening it up to a bookmark while Romano drifted off. Father Martin was wholly engrossed in the movie.

The rest of the journey to Arn-Askal passed silently; once in the city the convoy threaded its way down quiet streets, stopping briefly to allow Father Martin to vanish into the local courthouse, grumbling about "grubby rustics".

When the convoy arrived at the TransNet terminal the various groups were let out; deRenci gently woke Romano, and led the way to the waiting maglev. The Baron didn't seem surprised in the slightest when a functionary informed him that Foster would like to join them for the trip to Arn-Maciska. He simply shrugged and nodded.

The interior of the maglev was all subdued red velvet and gleaming, smooth, white surfaces; curved and streamlined, and very simplistic. The carriage was a single compartment, with several clusters of seats facing each other over tables in one half, while the other was dominated by a single long table.

deRenci, who had deposited himself at one of the small tables, re-opened his book as the train rose into the air, and then sped away from the city; looking out the window anyone could see they were moving very, very, very fast indeed.

As was typical for the UIK's treatment of its guests, snacks and hot beverages were being distributed.

OOC: *discretely pokes MES and Farmina*