NationStates Jolt Archive

Romano walked over and helped himself to a lean portion of food before taking a seat opposite the Baron, “I can’t see that Messian chap; you don’t suppose he missed the train.”

He then paused deciding that was implausible and took another tact, after a bite of chicken, “What if Farmina were to stall against the Colonies; or abandon its efforts altogether. The region is now betting heavily on Farmina; and if the Colonies aren’t crushed you would be all left with an unstable, hostile neighbour no wants to deal with.”

"Foster is over there somewhere," deRenci waved a hand vaguely towards the rear of the compartment, not looking up.

He did look up at Romano's next sentence though, expression bland, eyes like ice.
"That would be a poor choice." he said softly. "Leaving aside the fact that they would likely hit back at you as soon as you blink, your name would be mud with the entire region for the next twenty years, on average."

"But to answer your question," voice and eyes mellowing sligtly, "I'd say that Tarlag and Rotovia would join their forces together," he counted points off on his fingers. "The rest of the region would likely take a swing. The Colonies would end up either partitioned, or turned into plate glass," he gave an elegant shrug. "I'm guessing, but the Veskans have a very nasty temper, and we don't really bother to monitor what our mercenaries get up to, so long as the enemy is defeated."

The Baron returned to his book; his body language had chilled slightly.

Foster looked around as he sat in his seat. Where the hell are they? he thought. They told me that they'd be coming to these seats. Then it occured to him. "Maybe I'm in the wrong damn car." He got up, headed towards one of the cars, and opened the door. When he opened it, he could see Romano and deRenci talking in the same seats, but different car. Foster shook his head, and walked up to the men. "Sorry, they took me to the wrong car. Mind if I join you?"

“Can’t imagine why I would,” said Romano, taking a bite of his chicken.

Observing the meager portion was gone, he turned back to the Baron as not to allow a point to go unfinished, “The Colonial fleet is now a scuba diving attraction in Farminan waters. Their beachhead at Abbey Ruins is likely to bleed them white but not provide them any strategic benefit. Should the war end now; it would be the Colonials with the most band-aids and the knowledge that they could have been wearing a lot more. Surely they would not meddle with us for some time; if for no other reason, your region would be forced to clean up for itself. And considering your region was only days ago preparing to march to war against Farmina on Colonial say-so; peaceful mud is a rather large improvement.”

deRenci turned a page placidly, waving for Foster to sit.

"Our region was going to march on you because some young idiot in the Opposition fired his mouth off without engaging his brain and the Veskans jumped the gun," he corrected, sounding grumpy. "But... well... there's all sorts of things wrong with your statement," he looked up at Romano seriously and closed the book.

"The biggest problem is you think this region will clean up the Colonial mess," he shook his head "Hardly. The only ones you'll force to act are the Rotovians. They're the only ones with a direct vested interest. And they'll probably be content to just freeze the Colonials out. They actually haven't done anything to endanger the region; Sar'Dahl is an offence to us, and we've handled it our way. The Colonials involvement with you is their right as a sovereign state. Any issues they had with Rotovia... well, even if the will was there, we can't do anything unless asked. So..." he let his voice trail off and shrugged. "Most likely the Colonials will be told "Don't do it again" with a subtext of "If you do, don't bother us about it", and allowed to go on their merry way," he stopped and cleared his throat.

"Now in thinking that we'll all deal with it, you've fallen into a common trap; presuming the region has a coherent policy. We have a Council, for which half the members don't turn up to, and everyone ignores. This region isn't an alliance," he shook his head. "It's not based on a treaty of mutual support. What keeps the peace is a regional non-aggression pact. Technically, legally, every nation in this region, including us, should wash its hands of the both of you," he smiled slightly. "And that, Ser Romano, is an option that the Civil Service is always entertaining."

The Baron beckoned to a steward "Coffee, over here, if you would. Ta."

“It would be interesting to see how Tarlag would wash its hands of us after being attacked,” said Romano, noticing Foster wasn’t saying much, “I admit it would be easier for your nation.”

He paused, “Perhaps a presidential visit is needed to bolster relations.”

Romano didn’t give the President a name; it was now clear that the presidency could easily switch from Grey to Palmer simply because a handful of parliamentarians didn’t get their morning coffee, “It would certainly make for good publicity. Solidarity amongst the great nations. Exempting the Colonials of course; though they were never great.”

"A Presidential visit around the region would do much to drum up support," deRenci mused. He'd also noted Foster's silence, but figured the Militiaman was content to simply observe for the present. "And would certainly pave the way for a more... constructive understanding, rather then this ad hoc arrangement."

Outside the scenery, currently green fields and the occasional woodland, was flickering fast at a mind-blowing rate; anyone who was paying attention would notice that they were descending fast.

"Oh," deRenci noted, "look at that; we're about to go in..."

Outside the scene suddenly changed from trees, to a concrete barrier, then a flicker of black, and then they were shooting through a transparent tube, beneath the surface of a large body of water.