NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: I need to preface this by saying that I'm not planning a full on return to NS. I just don't have the kind of time to give RPing the kind of justice I feel it needs to have. I also need to advise anyone that RPs that were on hold previously will not be resumed.

If you want to get involved with this at all, feel free to TG me. Also, please keep this thread limited to IC posts ONLY. I will ask the moderators to delete any OOC posts from this thread.]

The constitutional crisis brought on by the sudden resignation of Mike Sarzo from the presidency of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia and the refusal of Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis to assume the title prior to an election engulfed the country in months of what some historians described as a "cold civil war."

There was scant violence and there were few deaths that came about, but the remaining members of the Incorporated Sarzonian Government found themselves at odds over just how to begin elections. Only one candidate emerged who expressed any willingness to assume the enormous responsibilities of the office, and it was someone who would likely have been dismissed as a minor candidate had all the political parties actually nominated candidates and begin the process of establishing a full election.

Sitting in his office in External Affairs, Mark Lorber looked for all the world like a man with a perennial migrane. He was serving as acting president but still refused to take residence in the Gray House. The woman who deserved to reside there would have nothing to do with the trappings of power, and the founder of the nation had rushed to a residence in suburban Nicksia so he could be near the docks and watch the ships sail in and out of the harbour.

A knock on the door interrupted the reverie Lorber found himself in and he absently said, "come in." The deliberate clack of steps walking in caused Lorber to look up to see his protege.

"Grant, what brings you here?"

"The constitutional committee has just passed on word that a second candidate has formed a presidential council. Seems like we'll have an election after all."

Lorber's eyes narrowed slightly.

"You sound relieved Grant."

Haffner closed his eyes and nodded. Even though he had been the longstanding sole candidate for the office, he didn't want to win it by default. He also figured most of the Sarzonian public would be most likely to vote for the man who applied.

"It's Patinkin," Haffner said evenly. Admiral of the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy Marcus Patinkin, arguably the nation's greatest military hero, had finally thrown his hat in the ring to fill the gigantic void in Sarzonian politics brought on by the Sarzo resignation. "Now the nation can move forward."

"But Grant," Lorber began.

"Mark, it's okay," Haffner said. "I applied for the presidency because I wanted the nation to have someone in office. Even if I lose the election, the nation's going to be in good hands no matter what."

Lorber studied the younger man closely. Haffner wasn't given to saying anything he didn't mean, and with Sarzo gone, the muzzle that kept Haffner from getting the nation's diplomats in major trouble was gone with him.

"All right, what do we do now?"

"Um, Mark, you're still my boss for the time being. You're the one who should be charting the course for the country. You still haven't nominated a lieutenant president."

"Nicole hasn't resigned. She's just refused to assume the title of acting president. The constitution doesn't cover unwillingness to assume the office."

"True," Haffner said, but Parliament is deliberating the situation right now. The Supreme Judicial Court is also studying the law to see how it covers this."

"You'd think we'd have a verdict by now."

"Yeah," Haffner said. "I believe the Court is going to say that if Lewis doesn't assume the office three months after the vacancy that it devolves onto the senior vice president."

"Oh wait, the Bat Phone's ringing."

"Mark Lorber."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The press room in the Gray House quickly filled with reporters from print, broadcast and online media throughout Woodstock as press secretary Heather Lloyd stood at the podium running through mic checks. She exhaled slightly, gazing out with her eyes wider than they'd been at any previous briefing since Sarzo's administration was still in place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer, Mr. Mark Lorber."

Lorber walked slowly toward the podium, doing his best to appear authoritative, but hoping desperately that he wouldn't suddenly vomit all over the press corps.

"My fellow Sarzonians," Lorber said abruptly, trying desperately to get the conference over with. "The Supreme Judicial Court has ruled that the refusal by Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis to assume the title of acting President within 90 days of President Mike Sarzo's resignation amounts to a tacit resignation of office. Thus, by the constitution, I assume the office of acting president. With two current valid candidates for the office of President, I also announce an election within 30 days of today's date.

"I realise fully that 30 days is hardly time for a full consideration of the merits of each candidate for office, but our nation is in dire need of moving forward and providing some stability in a world that has precious little of it. The current candidates for President are Deputy Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer Grant Haffner and Admiral of the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy Marcus Patinkin.

"I wish both gentlemen the best of luck and hope for a quick resolution to our nation's call for a new direction."

With that, Lorber turned away and walked back toward his office.

Haffner spent most of the day examining the information as it poured in from the office. The briefing on the situation between the Sovereign League and Gholgoth was anything but brief, but Haffner realised that he and Lorber would have to be fully aware of every angle of the row between the two blocs before Sarzonia entered the fray.

In the isolationist months that preceded this announcement, Sarzonia saw the Woodstock Pact wither away to nothing and allowed its membership in the Organisation of Maritime Powers to lapse. It also saw longtime stalwart ally Praetonia go in a completely different direction, one that would have caused intense strain had Sarzo remained in office.

As for Sarzo, he and Tyler were firmly entrenched in a comfortable house that was surprisingly far from media attention. The Sarzonian Secret Service didn't allow any media access to the former chief executive, and Sarzo deliberately kept a low profile. But Haffner knew his former boss and he somehow knew Sarzo must have been shaking his head -- or worse -- when Praetonia allied itself with Doomingsland.

Following a restroom break and a jaunt to the kitchen to get a cup of Artitsan coffee, Haffner walked back into his private office to the sound of his telephone ringing. He could tell by the ring it was an outside call and it was for him. He raised an eyebrow; only very few people even knew his direct line. He picked it up somewhat suspiciously. He nearly dropped it three seconds later.

"Grant Haffner."

"Grant."

It took about six beats before Haffner could respond.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sarzo had gotten a call from the Supreme Judicial Court, Lewis, Lorber, and just about everyone known to man in the recent weeks since the election process began. He didn't announce his resignation from office in a fireside chat or in anything other than a short, terse memo that simply said he was stepping down as president. Lewis announced to the nation that she refused to assume the title of acting president because she felt the man who should occupy the office wasn't there. But Sarzo still was receiving briefings on what was going on in world events. He was aware of Pacitalia's new prime minister and its efforts to remold its national government. More to the point, he was well aware of what was going on with Sarzonia's formerly staunchest of allies and he didn't like it.

"Uh, Mike," Haffner stammered. Normally, Haffner would be more than capable of talking matters over with Sarzo, but this was very different. It was the first time he'd even heard from Sarzo since the abrupt resignation. "What, uh, brings you on the phone?"

"I've noticed the whole situation erupting between the Sovereign League and the Gholgoth Powers," Sarzo said. "And I think it's high time that Sarzonia shows its hand."

"Wha-- what do you mean?"

"I left that bill authorising a dramatic military increase on Nicole's desk for her to sign. She was supposed to sign it after Parliament approved the measure. They should be announcing their override of the pocket veto any minute now." As soon as Sarzo said it, Haffner watched the scrolling ticker on the television report that Parliament had, in fact, overriden the pocket veto that resulted when Lewis neglected to sign the bill. The bill also authorised the activation of Sarzonian reserves and the refurbishment of ships that rested in ordinary. In short, Sarzonia was about to embark on its biggest military build up that wasn't preceded by a declaration of war.

"In the meantime Mike, I think you owe the nation an explanation for your sudden resignation."

"I already outlined it in the memo," Sarzo sighed. "I'm not about to make an already tenuous situation more dire. What needs to happen now is that the nation needs to go back to business as usual under whomever becomes the next president." No matter how impossible that must feel, Sarzo thought. Sarzo knew the reason he resigned from office. He also knew why Lewis wouldn't take over. He wasn't ready for the world -- or even his own countrymen -- to find out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As acting president, Lorber still wouldn't take up residence in the Gray House or sit in the president's private office. However, he walked to the chair traditionally occupied by the president in the situation room, where he looked around but could only notice the two faces missing from the briefings.

"All right, what do we have," Lorber asked. It was clear to almost anyone that Lorber was uncomfortable with this role, but he didn't care.

"Adverts for volunteers to join the military have gone out to every print and broadcast outlet," Haffner said.

"The build up is going well," Vice President for Defence John Newman said. "Much better than even our most optimistic projections. We should be ready to bring our forces to bear in a very short time."

"Splendid," Lorber said, then he immediately cringed. Splendid. What am I, a king for Chrissakes? What the hell is this?

"So what do we actually do from here?"

Vice President for Naval Operations Kathy Bunhall was blunt with her question. The ISN hadn't made many waves in the past few months, but she knew the professionalism of the men and women who served the nation's most famed military branch. She also had heard several rumours, ranging from attacks on former allies to efforts to show the flag worldwide.

"That's what we're here to decide," Lorber said. "My recommendation is that we let the two blocs beat the hell out of each other and then we emerge from that ready to resume our standard course of action."

"Should we make a statement about our take on the whole Sovereign League-Gholgoth row? Or should we let our muscle flexing do the talking?"

"I'm sure our time to make our voices heard will be soon," Lorber said. "Right now, we need to get all our ducks lined up."

"Now look at the mess you've left," the woman said with a very irritated tone. She made no effort to hide the scorn in her voice regardless of the station of the man to whom she spoke.

Sarzo looked up with a scowl of his own. He then took a deep breath. He hadn't told her the reason he abruptly resigned the presidency. In fact, the only person who knew the full extent of why was First Partner Jay Tyler. Sarzo's secrecy was intentional. He didn't want the world to know the full extent of the private battle he was facing.

But this was different. This was the now-former Lieutenant President who didn't know. This was one of his closest friends who didn't know. It was time for him to start spilling the beans, as the old saying went.

"Nicole, I have cancer."

All of a sudden, the leer melted away faster than a snowflake in southern Benatar. It was replaced by a look of shock, then sadness.

"Mike! I had no idea! You didn't tell anyone about this?"

"I told Jay."

"What's the prognosis?"

"Surprisingly good. The doctors believed they got it all in surgery. I just went through a round of chemotherapy. That's why I'm wearing the skull cap right now."

Lewis looked closely at her friend and former boss. The skull cap was on much closer to his scalp than she expected, but she figured Sarzo had just gotten a buzz cut.

"I've just been cleared to resume normal activities."

"What about the Presidency?"

"It's time for someone else to run the country right now. I've had my run in office." Lewis looked carefully at Sarzo and shook her head. This didn't sound right. It didn't look right.

"You don't sound too convinced."

Sarzo lowered his eyes slightly, then said, "I'm not."

"According to the Succession Act, if you withdraw your resignation before six months are up, you can still return to office," Lewis said.

"I don't know if I want to do that Nicole," Sarzo said. "I'd been unable to do even the most basic tasks related to the presidency for months. That's why I resigned in the first place. I'd think it'd be disingenuous if I went back and was like, 'oh, never mind.'"

"You might get a few people like [senator Brian] Delgado or those damn Packies on your case, but who cares?"

"If you remember, Pacitalia and Sarzonia began to repair relations while I was still in office. They're the only member of that so-called Big Three we have even the most basic of relations with."

"Well, we're still technically allied with Hamptonshire."

"That's a technicality," Sarzo said. "They might as well be Doomingsland for all I care."

"What about Oceania?"

"What about them?"

"Uh, they're still a thorn in our sides."

"Not as much as those Hamptonians are."

"And what do you make of that whole Sovereign League-CAD alliance?"

Sarzo's face reverted to that familiar scowl at the mention of the alliance between one of Sarzonia's most loyal allies and its most bitter foes. He spent several moments standing there, considering every option. Lewis watched him, knowing full well that his brain was churning. Finally, Sarzo opened his mouth and uttered words that would change a great many things.

"I think it's time to set the record straight."

Even though Sarzo didn't utter another word, Lewis somehow knew exactly what he meant. Sarzonia was about to make its views on the unholy alliance known, and for a man Sarzo once respected for his ability to bring Sarzo and then-Pacitalian Prime Minister Tim Ell back to the table when it looked like the two would tear their nations' relationship asunder, it wasn't going to be pretty.

The newly-minted Chief Justice of the Supreme Judicial Court had a knowledge that belied his youthful appearance. At a tender 48 years of age, he was the youngest member of the Court by at least 14 years. However, his confirmation as Chief Justice ran into few roadblocks in the House of Delegates. In addition, all the senior members of the court respected him. Besides his tradiational legal background, he was also the son of Pacitalian and Praetonian immigrants, thus his unconventional name.

Even though Decimus Rassonera was brand new to the Court, let alone to the role of Chief Justice, he looked for all the world like he'd been on the Court for years. He certainly had the chops for the job and he knew Sarzonian law inside and out. However, he still couldn't help but be taken aback when he picked up his secretary's phone.

"Your honour," the voice began. All of Rassonera's polish, all his poise, and all his experience seemed to melt away with just the few beats involved in uttering those two words.

"Mr., uh, Mr. President!"

"Name's Mike," Sarzo said. "Your predecessor always called me that. Besides, I resigned a couple of months ago."

"Very well Mike, uh, what can I do for you?"

"I have a constitutional question."

"Fire away."

"Is there something in the Constitution that prevents a President from rescinding his resignation?"

"No," Rassonera began. "But there's nothing in the Constitution that prescribes a President's return to office unless the 'resignation' was temporary."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"Mike, if you wanted to come back, I don't see any legal roadblocks to your return. In fact, I'm sure it would do the country a world of good if you came back."

"But the law doesn't give me a whole lot of wiggle room."

"Constitutionally, there is wiggle room. There always is. If worse came to worse, the House of Delegates would decide who should become President. My political antennae aren't the best in the world, but I'm sure they'd have no problems deciding you should be President. The Court likely wouldn't rule unless an appellate court had a problem with your resuming office.

"If you want to return to the Presidency, it's yours."

Sarzo pondered that for a moment after the exchange of pleasantries. The world could be set on its ear, but at least for the people of Sarzonia, the emotional leader could once again become the nation's chief executive.

August 13, 2006 - 11.30pm

Timiocato's streets were awash with driving rain, the result of a common late-summer electrical storm. The pavement, though simply strips of bottomless ebony, seemed to project that blackness into the sky, as though the city were trapped in a masked paradox, trapped in a universe, between dimensions, between lives. The soul of the city had disappeared. Maybe it was temporary, maybe not. The blackness was choking, reflected on the faces of every Timiocatan, a representation of the dreary uncertainty city and country were about to dive into, headlong.

It was indeed the downcycle. The inevitable part of political life in any country, the ebb and flow that marked the end of a great leader's reign and the beginning of a successor's rule marred by uncertainty, by the possibility of improgress or frightening descent into mass madness. It had already happened here in the republic. The endurance of pain, of regret, and of sorrow was still vivid in the national conscience, the inability to forget the events of a six-month administration that had the feeling of horrifying protraction, of not years, but decades, of corruption, of filth... a stain on democracy.

But in these streets, where the sounds of distant car horns blared in alarm, or tin bicycle bells rang as warnings to unwary pedestrians, where the wind blew through reedy palm leaves and bright lights sang out, softly glowing off the clouds above, where the city was alive, but quiet in its stupor and denouement, there was a drive to recover. There was regeneration in the streets.

But it wasn't just happening in Pacitalia. And it wasn't just Timiocato's streets awash with cleansing rain, with the quiet of a people trying to accept the consequences of the recent past and move on. And perhaps the quiet was not just because of domestic events, but because of the major development of the day: the resignation of a leader who made his country a key component of the international community, and built a legacy in doing so.

Albinanda Serodini looked up from her office. Constitutionally, as an unelected interim prime minister, a Consigliera degli Governmenti, she could not take the office occupied by former prime ministers like the hero Ell and the tyrant Sorantanali, but her success as prime minister was probably more pertinent to the survival of the Pacitalian state, and its subsequent recovery, than either of those two men.

She was still reeling from her first day. It was only her third day in office coming to a close and already she had had to diffuse tension over a suspected terrorist attack in northwestern Margheria, and release a statement concerning the surprise and unexplained resignation of Sarzonia's president, Michael Sarzo.

A message popped up on her screen:

From AEMIS.125c/3000//////1
Signora,

Your presence is required in Conference Room D regarding discussion of the resignation of M. Sarzo. Meeting commences 0000.

Wearily, she clicked the close button to terminate the window, hibernated her computer and stood up, gathering a sheaf of papers and a pen, and stuffing the requisite information for the meeting in a goldenrod folder. Closing the door to her office and setting the password, she began to walk slowly down the hall for the long trek to the conference room.

So this is what it's like to be prime minister, she mused, smirking inside. She was exhausted more than she could have possibly imagined, from the tips of her flowing black roots to her toenails, every single bit of her was tired, drawn out. She was slightly nauseated from a lack of sleep and a creeping hunger that had stuck with her for days as a result of her shock change to a schedule of unintentional undernutrition. She paused and headed into a recess in the wall, depositing money in a vending machine and pulling out a granola bar.

Serodini munched ravenously and instantly felt a wave of energy pass over her. She thought about having a cup of coffee but passed figuring it might just upset her stomach. With a bit more confidence in her step, she took a deep breath at the doors to the conference room, steadied herself in mind and body, and pulled open the grand, dark-brown walnut doors with their ornate, anodised chrome handles.

She was ready to face the demons. She was ready to face politics.

Her only hope was that her countrymen were ready, too.

13 August

Deep within the confines of the Citadel, Lord Salisbury quietly massaged his temples to let his callused fingers rub out the latest news from New Albion, another suicide bombing and another twelve civilians dead, countless more injured. He longed to feel the breeze roll over the crests of the Pacific waves, flowing into then spilling out of the canvas sails of his private boat. For far too long the air of Imperium had become increasingly stifling. It had been incremental at first; none of it truly noticeable until the dreadful affair over the United Kingdom’s admission into the Union of World Powers. Even then, Salisbury mused, his eyes seeing sparks of white pain as the fingertips moved over his eyelids, he could not be certain as to whether or not the heavy weight was real or a figment of his imagination, an attempt to transpose the present onto the past.

Things had, quite simply, not gone according to plan. As Salisbury opened his eyes, the blur of his vision searching frantically for his chinaware upon which sat a simple cup of steaming tea—his own blend from his estate in Sarnia. He knew not where to start, perhaps even there, in the teeming plains and forests and jungles of Sarnia, a far-flung outpost of Oceanian civilisation, a settler colony struggling to implant itself upon a wild and untamed environment. Progress had been made, Port Royal and Atherton thrived—but the remainder of the colony sat mired in the mud, a result of incessant tropical storms that deluged the rivers and swamped the alluvial plains. Yet, part of that stalled state could be attributed to another state, a state of an undeclared war fought not with rifles and tanks nor planes and ships but words and ideology and nuances and dictates.

It was a war not between a rival, not even the Khailfah that continued to posture and threaten the similarly struggling colony of New Albion so frequently now in the news. Rather, a state that in any other circumstances could be seen as a logical ally and friend of the United Kingdom. Salisbury found his tea, wrapping all but his pinky around the tiny handle and lifted it to his lips, chapped by the fire crackling in his small, undisturbed sanctuary. He inhaled, allowing the strength of the tea to envelop first his nostrils before his tongue. After a moment, he tilted the cup and let the amber liquid fill his mouth, letting it calm his nerves almost on contact.

No, history preferred to fashion itself through intricate tapestries so finely woven so as any thread was inextricable from the whole. And so it was that a war with a small nation had aroused the fury of another, of another with whom the United Kingdom should have been partnered in defence. It was a quirk of history that an aggressive war waged by a small nation known as Novikov would lead to a bitter chill between the United Kingdom and Sarzonia; a bitter chill that ultimately stalled the development of Sarnia, where the two nations shared a terrestrial border.

No, as Salisbury laid the cup to rest once more upon its saucer, he knew that history would not be so kind as to change its story. Even more, he knew that while broadly the two nations shared a great deal in common they differed greatly on a few finer, but no less important points. Perhaps top amongst them the single issue of dictatorships. The President of Sarzonia occupied his post for life, only his successors were forced to submit themselves to the consent of the governed. While similar arguments could be made of the United Kingdom and its Sovereign they differed in two key respects: one, the separation of head of state and head of government, and two the head of government being chosen by the will of the people. In Sarzonia neither situation existed and thus the claim by the UK Foreign Office—and even Lord Salisbury himself on several occasions—that the Incorporated States of Sarzonia were ruled by a de jure dictator for life.

At that moment a most unwanted rapping could be heard upon the door of the Prime Minister’s private study. Salisbury closed his eyes and took a deep breath before standing and after straightening his tie and suit coat, then proceeded to open the door to reveal his bald chief of staff, obviously out of breath. “Good evening, Howard, what can I do for you?”

“Your Lordship,” the man offered in near-ragged gasps. “I think you will find this most interesting,” the chief of staff added while handing over a folded piece of paper. “This just came across the wires.”

Salisbury smiled politely and took the piece of paper, his small slender fingers peeling apart the lightweight paper before his eyes cast themselves upon the laser-print text.

Reports of President Sarzo’s resignation confirmed by Sarzonian government sources.

“It is breaking over KBC International as we speak, Prime Minister,” the chief of staff continued with a more balanced speech.

For a long moment, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom stood between the posts of the door, his hands reaching up to scrape the wood of the lintel as his eyes searched the back of their eyelids for something, for anything. “Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself.

“Excuse me, Prime Minister?”

“Nothing, Howard. It simply a fortuitous though entirely unexpected occurrence.” Salisbury smiled slightly, “the dictator has resigned, Howard. All our efforts have not been in vain.”

“It appears, Your Lordship, that no, they have not. God save the King.”

“God save us, Howard.”

“Your Lordship?”

“Not all victories are sweet, Mr. Robertson. For some release a bitter, bitter poison.”

Sometime in the Day, Late Mid 2030 Year, Between Afternoon and Evening
Office of His Right Honorable Prime-Executive Leadership
Emerald Executive Recluse
Triumvirate Square
Singapore
United Sovereign Nations of Southeast Asia


Alliances are formed for a purpose: for nations to receive benefits. The Sarz-Southeast Asian alliance was formed when the Imperium Doomanum, the Heavily Armed Hippies of MassPwnage, the then Democratic Imperium of Praetonia (now the Crown Commonwealth of Praetonia) and the Questarian Empire had intervened in the ViZionarian Civil War. President Villian once was a kind man, but as the old saying went, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Villian launched a coup attempting to crush the ViZionarian Congresspersons who were unloyal to him (those who were loyal to Villian would be so dubbed as the "Presidential forces"), thus causing civil war to commence.

International tensions inevitably manifested. Villian had the military support of the Doomingslandi Empire, and the Heavily Armed Hippies. The Questarian Empire, under the reign of the late Queen Clarantina the First, condemned the regime and thus capitalized on the civil war to unveil a technology that would have been revolutionizing the arms industry: the Hood. While outnumbered, the so-called "supercapital warship", some stated to be the next step up from the super dreadnaught, she proved to be worthy of her so-called name, the "Mighty Hood". The Praetonian Imperium would soon follow in their ally's footsteps, unveiling the Iron Duke. And many others.

The Southeast Asian Ministry of Foreign Affairs officially held a neutral opinion of the Questarian Empire, but unofficially, it was a strong candidate for embassy exchange. The Praetonian Democratic Imperium and the United Sovereign Nations had sent letters of credence to one another, but they only had so much progress. The Questarian Aviation Engineering public limited company did not appear too much to the Minister of Defense, thanks to the impression of a traditionalist admiralty in Questaria. The Imperial Praetonian Shipyards, once a state owned and controlled firm, now a private corporation, had limited progress. What truly caught the Ministry of Defense and military in particular, naval) commanders of Southeast Asia was the Portland Iron Works. The Incorporated States and the Union had exchanged embassies, and with the ViZionarian Civil War going on about, it had sealed the Sarz-Southeast Asian Pact in solid concrete: it was destined to form.

However, it would cause a conflict of interest. The United Kingdom and Oceanian Empire, formerly the United Kingdom of Azazia, Juristan, Kingsland, and the Indian Islands, had long been at odds. The name change from the United Kingdom of Azazia, Juristan, Kingsland and the Indian Islands was a result of the Union Act of 2006, which created the United Kingdom of Oceania, following the incorporation of the former Royal Crown Colony of Novikov into the Home Country of Novikov. A new national identity was needed, as Imperium saw that ethnic tensions were a factor that could cripple the empire. Nevertheless, the United Kingdom of Oceania and the Incorporated States still stayed at odds. Partly, because the Democratic Capitalist Republic of Pacitalia and the then Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire (when Oceania had not came formally into existence) were fired out of a diplomatic catapult by Grant Haffner himself, quote: "Economic TERRORISTS!". And partly, as the UKAJKII had hurt the Incorporated States via orchestrating it from receiving economic aid, during the so-called "Panic of 2006", which had occured, like the ViZionarian Civil War, in early 2006.

Perhaps it is not absolute coincidence, that Questers, Oceania, and Praetonia, have so much in common. His Right Honorable Prime-Executive Leadership thought. He wish he knew why, but Nelson Neo Yao Yang could simply not place his finger upon it.

I know for sure that the Questarian Empire and the Empryean Society of Doujin do have very much in common - both gloated about how potent their respective warships were (the Hood and the Doujin, respectively speaking. Neo contemplated yet again. Both are having history repeat itself - a dictator takes charge and uses his or her nation's power to maximum utilization, and desires more, and ultimately causes his or her country's descent from grace in near to all entirety. Such is being demonstrated with the so-called "Mighty Hood."

As Neo contemplated, analyzing the reports with Sarzonian return to the global community at large as time continously and endlessly flew by, his mind reflecting the past of the year. The Southeast Asian calendar was different, and the Universal Calendar of the World yet was 2006. He did not know quite so why, yet feared it. But kept it to himself.

The Grand Archduchy of the United Realms of the Hamptonian Empire, the successor state to the Grand Duchy of Hamptonshire, like the United Kingdom of Oceania and its predeccessor, held a dislike for the Incorporated States of Sarzonia. Haffner's little comment had near to entirely destroyed positive relations with the Hamptonian state - relations with Hamptonshire and Sarzonia had been better in the past, not something like the Pacitalian-Hamptonian friendship, but warmer nevertheless.

Southeast Asia also does hold something in common with Oceania, Neo thought. Like the United Kingdom, the United Sovereign Nations does possess a young relationship with Hamptonshire and in a short period of time, has earned an especially noteworthy close friendship. This was demonstrated in the Kravenite-Southeast Asian crisis, where the United Realms dispatched expeditionary forces. The Incorporated States would have been in quite a pickle as well if it were not for its isolationism, with the Hamptonian Empire and the Oceanian Empire, if not the Kraven Corporation. Pacitalia had also offered assistance, but thanks to Serodini being tossed out of a catapult and the Pacitalian Social Coalition gaining the prime ministership, it had appeared that the Democratic Capitalist Republic had eschewed conflict and chose not to save Southeast Asia in favor of stabilizing its own constitution and system.

Neo and the rest of the Executive Cabinet was not concerned about Pacitalian-Sarzonian relations - they would recover soon enough eventually after the blackened reputation of FPD prime ministership under Constantino Sorantanali. What the Executive Cabinet was truly concerned about, was the state of Hamptonian-Sarzonian relations and Oceanian-Sarzonian relations. Neo and the rest of the cabinet, Leong, Lin, Kanter and all - figured that the second former President of the Incorporated States Michael Sarzo found out, he would quite possibly have to deal with two fronts, one against the increasingly appearing to be treacherous Praetonian Commonwealth of the heidious Sovereign League-Coalition Against Democracy/whatever the Doomingslandi Empire wished to define the acronym the CAD alliance stood for amalgamation that was the Alliance for the Preservation of Civilization. The Executive Cabinet knew that Sarzo would never accept it.

What was rock-solidly within Southeast Asian interest to reconcilate Oceanian-Sarzonian relations and Hamptonian-Sarzonian relations, in spite of the low probability. After all, Hamptonian business firms, like Oceanian business firms and Pacitalian business firms, had a presence in the large market Southeast Asia possessed.

Southeast Asia's alliance with the Incorporated States and its friendships with Hamptonshire and Oceania could prove to be the key for it to rise into higher oppurtunites beneficial to the overall global community and the Union of Southeast Asian Nations itself. The only problem was, the United Sovereign Nations had been hampered. Hampered by what?

It was hampered by a lack of movement and activity in a major way.

And His Right Honorable Prime-Executive Leadership knew that. Could this be the moment where Oceanian-Sarzonian ties and Sarzonian-Hamptonian ties recovered? Certainly yes. And certainly not. A risk had to be taken, for better or for worse.

Finally and at last, the Prime Minister of the United Sovereign Nations responded to his staff secretary: "Inform the rest of the Executive Cabinet for a discussion. Southeast Asia shall be making a movement."

[OOC: Sarzonia, apologies for this post if I made the wrong assumption over at my The NS Draftroom Inbox confirmation, IGNORE it if you do please. If I made the right assumption, then do feel free to respond.]

Tyler had grown used to Sarzo's quirks by now. He normally paid little to no mind when Sarzo began pacing around the house. This time, however, there was something decidedly different about Sarzo's pacing. The clack of shoes on the wooden floor carried a decidedly more urgent air of late. Tyler looked up and saw the anxious look on Sarzo's face and knew he had to do something.

"Mike, what is it?"

Sarzo took a look at his partner before uttering his standard answer of "nothing." He knew that answer would never fly with Tyler. He began to try to come up with something else then, but before he could, Tyler answered for him.

"You're worried about what I'd say if you want to resume the Presidency, aren't you?"

Even though Sarzo figured Tyler had it in mind, the fact he actually came out and said what he suspected all along still stunned him somewhat. But he realised there was nothing to do but confirm Tyler's suspicions.

"Yeah. Part of me, okay, most of me wants to go back to Woodstock, but," his voice trailed off. He looked out at the window with a faraway expression, staring aimlessly toward the only commissioned warship in the Incorporated Sarzonian Navy not to carry the ISS prefix. It was his decision to bring USS Constitution over from the now-defunct United States. It was his decision to support the ISN to an extent that it became one of the world's most feared military units. But he wasn't sure if his return would be a popular move.

"You're worried," Tyler said, stating the obvious. "You're worried that you'd somehow be inviting criticism upon yourself by returning to the Gray House after resigning, especially without an explanation."

"Yeah."

"And you're worried about making the wrong move with Praetonia."

Right, Sarzo thought. As much as anyone in the world, he knew how Praetonians thought and operated. He knew the sort of subtleties they employed. He knew the game they played. For Sarzo to make his first speech in the event he regained the Presidency have the sort of impact he wanted to have, he would have to beat the Praetonians -- and Prime Minister Tiberius Polax -- at their own game.

"If anyone in the world can beat them at their own game, it's you," Tyler said. "But I think what you'll have to do is to take a page out of your old playbook. The one you used before you hired Grant as the deputy senior vice president."

"And return to a more pragmatic foreign policy," Sarzo said, continuing the thought of his paramour. With APOC in mind, pragmatism would be necessary. Sarzonia could ill afford to fight a multi-front war against nations some considered hyperpowers, even if the world considered Sarzonia a hyperpower -- which Sarzo doubted.

But there was always an element of maverick behaviour somewhere in Sarzonia. There was always the willingness to buck the odds. This was a nation that was able to intimidate much larger countries back in its smaller days. This was a nation that stood toe to toe with a nation most considered far more powerful and lived to tell the tale. However, this was also the nation that saw its military dealt a humiliating blow in Inkana. Even its much stronger performance against Pantera wasn't enough to quell the doubt that seeped in Sarzo's mind.

Before Sarzo could continue the dialogue with Tyler or pondering the ramifications of his next move, and the country's, he heard a knock at the door.

Both Sarzo and Tyler looked at each other with startled looks on their faces. Sarzo left explicit instructions not to reveal the location of his house to the media. Only a very few people even knew where Sarzo lived, and most of them were Sarzonian. Sarzo slowly walked toward the door with a feeling of impending dread. He knew what lay behind the door would change something, but he wasn't sure what.

Sarzonians...I hate Sarzonians...

Maximus had been sitting up in bed for the past hour or two, simply staring at the meticulously hand-carved oak-paneled wall across his bedroom. There was an eerie aura about it; with the curtains left partially open, a hint of desert moon was able to seep in like a plague, reflecting off of the polished marble floor, allowing for Caesar to see himself in a darkened, tainted view. A thin veil of sweet-scented smoke hung about the room; one of the few things he'd always enjoyed was a good Generian cigar.

Ever since assuming the title of Caesar, he had been nothing short of restless. He had known nothing but bloodshed from the moment he'd taken the throne: the past six years were bold evidence of that.

His face had a sinister red aura about it from the flame from the cigar, and he had that same look he always had when in the company of enemies. His face conveyed no emotion; his eyes betrayed only a slight hint of malice. The world had changed so much in the past few years...

Only a month after assuming the throne Maximus had led Doomanum in what was said to be its greatest military success: the Arretii Crusade, better known as the Last Good War. It was a conflict that had left him a changed man: more cynical than ever, and yet, at the same time, all the more experienced and hardened.

At only thirty-five years of age he felt as if he were an old man; already he had begun to grow grey hairs. The amount of killing he had seen his lifetime was nothing short of unnatural, the amount he himself had done even more so. He remembered every one of their faces, those of the men he had killed. Especially those he'd killed with his bare hands...

As he took another sweet puff of that soothing smoke, he looked beside him towards his wife. Instantly the malice seeped from his eyes. He had never imagined he would ever make a Praetonian his empress, and yet it had happened. She was one of the few things that had ever made him truly. The world had truly changed, and, he believed, it was for the better.

He'd even managed to kill enough Questarians to deem them worthy of making them family, and so he had. He was both brother-in-law to King Richard and grandson-in-law to King Sarius: again, six years ago, such a thought could have been considered blasphemous!

Looking away from Elizabeth, more thoughts filled his mind. Darker thoughts. Again malice seized hold. This was the first night he'd been home since he could remember: he was a man who led his own campaigns, for was not one to waste time idling in a palace like some decadent, fat hypocrite. For him it was a cruel necessity, one he had been cursed to by birth.

It was his nature; it coursed through his veins surely as his wife's heart beat beside him. It was this nature that had originally led him into direct warfare with the Incorporated States of Sarzonia a little over ten years ago in a land called Inkana. He remembered as if it were yesterday...

He'd been young then. So brash and arrogant that just thinking of it now made him almost want to laugh. Even before that war he'd seen his fair share of killing but the amount of carnage he'd basked in those few months simply trounced anything he'd witnessed before. It had been a bloodbath for the Sarzonian Army, and it was because of him; he took heart from that. They had been his first true enemy. The only enemy he had truly hated.

Just why it was he felt such rage towards such a... ridiculous foe was simply beyond him. Call it instinct. Divine intervention, perhaps.

He knew for a fact that God's Will and the Global Crusade doctrine dictated that the blood of Sarzonians flow like rivers, but as time went on, these hated enemies of his had simply faded into obscurity, possibly directly resulting in the things that had followed. This glorious alliance he had forged; it would not have happened were it not for the absence of the Sarzonians.

And now they were on the verge of returning. Puffing his cigar a bit, he decided he’d finally had enough. He plunged the cigar into the ash tray that sat on the ornate nightstand beside his bed. Looking at the skull that he’d turned into an ash tray, he could not help remembering that the skull had once belonged to a Sarzonian officer. As the cigar entered it, the eyes and mouth were illuminated as the fire was snuffed out.

Save for the desert moonlight, he was basked in darkness. Perhaps more death would come, but he suspected not. While they may be heathens of the lowest form, they were not that foolish as to seek war with the Imperium Doomanum. He suspected more of that political maneuvering he oh-so-despised would follow; what would come of that he could not predict. On the watch of Emperor Maximus III, they would not return to the state of power and influence they had once possessed. Not as long as he drew breathe.

The gray dust of Luna had once been a pristine desert. Untouched by man save for a select few locations where some nations had laid down a base or two, it had changed radically in the last few years. As the Directorate member gazed at the display, he sighed. The desert had been torn up by the wheels and treads of vehicles, footprints, and mining activity.

The Daemonfels facility itself had grown explosively in the last few years, himself among the immigrants, and it showed. But of all places Izistani, you simply could not get more remote then here (bar the lonely far side astronomical bases). The man who had once been Admiral Currie of the Izistani navy blinked and switched the exterior camera view to that of a news feed from Earth.

The Sarzonians were stirring from their slumber, that much was certain. Currie and the rest of the Directorate had of course anticipated this, it just occurred earlier then anyone had thought. And at such a problematic time too, with a limited nuclear exchange just days old, Kraven bearing down on Southeast Asia, and a bush fire war with some alliance from the fringes of civilization. No one in the higher echelons of the government really wanted to see what a resurgent Sarzonia would think of the post-Robertson Izistan, expansionist Militocracy and all.

Granted, Currie did not fear any intervention by Sarzonians; if they had the support of Gholgoth perhaps. But on their own? Central Haven was a fortress compared to most locations in the world, and the Sarzonians wouldn't want to cause harm to the civilians that had formally been their allies. It was sad almost, the Izistani had no ill will towards the Sarzonians, but politics always fucked such things up.

Currie switched back to the exterior cameras. He had no love for politics, being forced into this job at the request of the initial coalition of politicos and military men. As a result he was pretty much exiled to the moon, insurance against decapitation strikes against the other eleven members of the Directorate. He got back to his observations, it was best not to think too much about it.

[ Joint post by Sarzonia and Pacitalia ]

13.24 SST, 4th January 2007
Nicksia, Benatar, Sarzonia

It was well past the morning hours but cool dew still clung defiantly to the vibrant green grass, on the pristine front lawn at the home of Mike Sarzo and Jay Tyler. The dew was the kind of picture-perfect beads that made a person thirst for a glass of water, even if they weren't feeling parched. Such was a commonality in the rainy, mild winters of Benatar, and more specifically in Nicksia, Sarzonia's largest city. The nimbostratus clouds, a dim gray dusted with flowing wisps of pale periwinkle from another imminent rainfall, hung low like a comforting quilt over the massive city, an eerie quiet still befallen the city since the country's self-imposed isolation. In fact, the only consistent sound was a light, warm breeze blowing off the sea.

The footsteps of a stereotypically 'tall, dark and handsome' man tapped methodically on the damp concrete sidewalk. He was dressed in a nice Pacitalian suit with a pressed shirt that was such a pale shade of green it looked almost pure white, and a neutral tie to complement his decidedly olive skin and eyes. His hair was greased back, but not so much that it looked unnerving and ominous, just like any other old hairstyle. A thin, dark goatee framed his thin-lipped mouth, where an even more skeletal-looking cigarette hung almost weightlessly, smoke drifting out of the one end. The smell of the velvety Turkish tobacco, laced with rosewater and myrrh, engulfed him and he gratefully breathed it in. A silver marionnette earring dangled from his right lobe and gleamed bright, freshly polished.

He ambled nonchalantly, and seemingly, innocently, up the inviting street towards the Sarzo-Tyler home. An affluent neighbourhood, the drive was lined with tall, old-growth oak trees whose charcoal-coloured branches scrambled towards the sky tapered with moss-coloured foliage. There was a luxury sedan in every driveway and some of the manors along the avenue had sprinklers going full-force, water droplets and mist dancing over the cool grasses, despite the rains of the last few days. The man breathed in the sight, hoping to retire to a place like this sometime soon. But the work was not yet done. There were still things to do.

Things to do, things to get done.

He reached the walkway up to the home but kept walking, his briefcase in tow as he charaded around pretending to be a realtor surveying the neighbourhood. He feigned a look of pleasant surprise at the security guard posted outside the door but kept walking as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Reaching the next house he continued walking, making certain he was out of sight of the security guard, and then, quick as a fox, crouched noiselessly behind a line of hedge cedars watching both the house on the lot he was intruding upon, and the Sarzo home next door. Through the large bay window he could see what looked to be Jay Tyler, the former secret service agent, standing and pointing at someone else in the room, probably the former president. The mystery man outside smiled, his targets confirmed.

He set back to work, still crouching as he reached the side walkway between the neighbouring house and the fence separating the two residences. Reaching an electrical box concealed under the fence he opened it and simultaneously pulled out of his pocket a device with a pair of blue wires protruding from one side. Calmly, with some nearby garden shears, he snipped the wires powering the closed-circuit camera system around the house and immediately attached the device to the wiring, where a tape stored inside the small object would play a loop of normal footage, indicating to the Sarzonian Secret Service headquarters that nothing was out of the ordinary. He got up, closed the box and made sure it was fully concealed once more, and returned to the cedar hedges, this time half-crouching as he made out his first contact standing guard on the porch directly ahead.

The man considered for a minute whether or not to just walk up to the front door and ask to speak with Sarzo, but now that he had installed the footage rerouter on the electrical box it was certainly a bit too late. Pulling out a dart gun, he loaded it with a LSD/QNB hybrid-tipped dart and carefully aimed at the neck of the agent twelve yards away. By the time he had pulled the trigger he was already at the man's side, supporting the slackened but muscular agent in order to prevent the thump that would have absolutely alerted the pair inside the home to something suspicious. He dragged the agent over to the edge of the porch, and hoisting him up, tossed him off the side and down into the heather bushes ringing the deck on the front of the house. The time-release, incapacitating, non-lethal nerve agent would keep the man down and out for a good six hours if all went well. He straightened himself out, brushing down his suit, wiping down the dart gun, disassembling it and throwing it into the trash can nearby. He trodded pleasantly to the door and knocked sharply, three times. He heard the voices inside abruptly cease.

With uncertain steps as deliberate as someone undergoing a death march, Sarzo reluctantly walked toward the door. Thoughts about who could possibly be at the door swirled through the former leader's head as the door loomed ever more menacingly. He didn't wait for the Sarzonian Secret Service agent to get to the door, but he thought as his hand touched the cold knob that he somehow would soon wish he had. A slow breath escaped Sarzo's lips as his right hand began to turn the knob in the direction needed to open the door.

Here goes everything, he thought, as his right arm exerted just enough force to pull the door open slowly and regard the figure looming outside the door. Sarzo froze as he took in the sight of an unbelievably dark-skinned and handsome man, and likely would have been attracted to him in normal circumstances had it not been for the fact that this mystery man was now pointing a handgun directly at his heart, and doing so with a broad grin on his face.

"Ah, good afternoon," the mystery man said, with a pleasant smile. "I take it this is the Sarzo home, no? I would shake your hand but I fear I am not as good a shot with my left hand as with my right."

Normally, now would be the time for Sarzo to don his trademark scowl and say something sharp. It was in his nature, and he could feel the muscles in his face begin to harden. However, he knew that if he said the wrong thing, he'd likely never come out of this alive. He kept a gaze at the man, doing his best to give an even expression, even though he felt right now wasn't a good test for his poker face.

I don't usually talk to people when they have guns pointed at me, he thought. He continued to look at the man as the only sound he could hear was that of his heart racing. Even Tyler's steps behind him were drowned out by the sound of his heart in his ears, in his mind, in his soul.

"Ah-ha, I can see the cogs of the legendary Sarzo wit churning inside your brain as we speak, my dear friend," the man replied, watching the former Sarzonian president amiably. "Now, I know you are not a fool-- nor, you, sir," seeing Tyler appear in the doorframe of the living room and making a verbal effort to stop the former secret service agent from alerting the authorities, "and I know neither of you are particularly rude hosts, so I suppose now would be the time to let me enter this wonderful home of yours to enjoy some coffee together, and, some of what you Sarzonians call 'snacks', if I'm correct?" He held up a bag of rich, Fincasso coffee beans. "I brought the coffee; I hope you like Pacitalian beans."

Sarzo exhaled slowly, fixing the closest to an even look at the man who was standing at the door. "I don't usually feel comfortable letting people in my home when they have guns pointed at me."

"Ah, yes, totally understandable," the man said. "Well, as a sign of my trust in the both of you, and as an assurance that I am not here to harm you in any way, I will put away the gun right now. It's really just a measure of personal security, though it certainly does have it uses, don't you agree?" He depressed the safety lever and uncocked the handgun, reholstering it. "See? I told you. We have much to discuss; let us begin, shall we?"

Sarzo's well-masked fear turned to a hint of suspicion as he muttered, "guess I don't have very much choice." His right arm slowly raised itself to shoulder level and extended out roughly 120 degrees behind him to an old style chair.

"Excellent, thank you," the man smiled.

"Have a seat. It's been a long time since I've had Pacitalian coffee."

"I'm sure it has been a long time," the mystery man replied, taking in the warmth of the home and remembering how mutual sanctions had cut Sarzonians off from Pacitalian coffee shipments, forcing them to drink Artitsan product instead. He paused to see whether Sarzo would say anything else and continued. "Ah, and I see I'm being a bit impudent. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Ando Riccardo Bardoroni. I'm better-known in political circles as... the Puppeteer." He paused again, waiting for the inevitable sign of recognition on Sarzo's face at the mention of the nickname.

Sarzo turned back at the name "Puppeteer" and raised his eyebrow. He indeed knew the name but thought better of saying anything at the moment. Sarzo and Tyler exchanged glances that said are you sure, but Tyler followed Sarzo's cue and sat down on the love seat facing the chair where the mysterious man sat down. A middle aged woman walked into the room and stopped short. She made no effort to hide the debilitating fear that permeated her body and mind. Sarzo could almost hear the what the HELL is going on in her mind.

"All right, let's get right down to business. Gladys, it's okay." I think. "Care to make us a pot of coffee?" Sarzo asked, motioning to the Fincasso coffee beans.

Hope it's decaf, Gladys thought as she gingerly grabbed the bag, so nervous that she almost dropped it and spilled the contents on the wooden floor. She turned and walked briskly back to the kitchen. So much so, in fact, that Sarzo and Tyler noticed it was much more brisk than her usual walk. Sarzo could see the fear in Gladys's eyes as she walked back to the kitchen to brew the coffee.

"What did you have in mind?" Sarzo said, glancing back at The Puppeteer. He gave Tyler a look that Tyler returned, as if to say, whatever it is, it's going to be a doozy.

"To be frank, I am breaching a difficult subject, one that will likely confuse you more than if I had said nothing at all and had not showed up here today. I am, at this point, putting myself in great personal risk to be here and tell you what I am about to tell you," Bardoroni replied. "I trust that, until the time is right, whatever I say will be kept within the walls of this house. The matter is very serious and very, very important. You are well within your rights to be angered, frustrated, perhaps even betrayed by what I will say, but my intention is to draw for you the big picture of the past year."

Sarzo leaned back slowly, trying to let the words sink in. He figured what would come next would hit him like a tidal wave, so he figured he'd better brace himself for its ultimate impact.

"I'm listening," Sarzo said warily, as the sound of the coffee beans grinding began to recede in the background. They're smelling really good, Sarzo allowed himself to think for a brief second before bringing his mind back to the task at hand.

"Right you are. My visit to you today deals, of course, as you know, with the administration of Signore Sorantanali, and his handling of the relations with you and your country. I need not say that a serious malfunction of logical thought, and a mutual failure to remember our shared history at the most crucial of times, is the reason our two countries' interests diverged and our friendship disintegrated, albeit temporarily. But, haven't you ever wanted to know why?"

Sarzo's back arched straight. He'd always chalked up the fissures between Sarzonia and Pacitalia to be the result of extreme national pride on the parts of both nations. Sarzonians didn't take kindly to "the Packies" arrogance by intimating they were better than Sarzonia, and Pacitalians considered Sarzonians too boorish and aggressive. However, The Puppeteer's statement suggested there was much more to the story than what Sarzo believed. Closing his eyes for a second and drawing in a slow breath through his nose, Sarzo exhaled, then opened his eyes.

"Yes, I would like to hear why."

At once, and with somewhat of a flourish, Bardoroni pulled a manila bankers'-box folder filled with a pile of papers from his suit jacket inside-pocket and offered it to Sarzo. Watching with inquisition as Sarzo flipped preliminarily through the papers in the stack, he continued speaking. "This is partially declassified information, therefore the only reason you're touching such paperwork today and the only reason I could retrieve it. The Chiovitti government is making an effort, and a very respectable one at that, to become completely transparent and open regarding the mess of the first eight months of 2006. What you see here is some of the most crucial evidence concerning what the Sorantanali administration called--" (he began to pause between words for effect) "-- Operation: Falling Star."

As Sarzo began to read more indepth, and with Tyler now reading fully interested over his shoulder, Bardoroni explained. "A deliberate decrease in the percentage of import and export between Sarzonia and Pacitalia. Paying or dealing private interests to yank out share value from your companies like a Jenga tower, while forming plans to sell off your currency or interests in key corporations in mass quantities with the promise of investment opportunities in Pacitalia. Visible distancing of the Pacitalian government from its Sarzonian counterpart including deliberate opposition or presentation of a different viewpoint in which it did not believe. Subliminal messages to your people. Elimination of vocally non-conformist agents both within Pacitalia and within the Sarzonian Federal Bureau of Investigation, agents that would have alerted you to this massive operation before the damage had been done, an alert which would have saved the friendship and allowed you to save Pacitalia from its awful government. This operation, Mr. Sarzo, this is the primary cause of the Sarzonian recession."

He paused to take a breath and continued. "Now, I assure you, no such operation exists today. The change in government has been good - it meant that all MPPs, all executives, all advisors, all civil servants, all those that could have possibly been involved in this operation, have been removed and replaced with Chiovitti's handpicked staff. And I can tell you that since Chiovitti has taken office there has been an equally intense counter-operation called Operation: Pentacle designed to reverse the damage caused to our friendship, and to eventually work our way to apologising for the brutal effects of the operation, even though it's not Chiovitti's responsibility to do so as he was not in power at the time. Chiovitti's counter-operation is much more public, as you've seen plenty of its work already being done, simply by watching television news."

For one of the few times since the whole encounter with The Puppeteer began, Tyler spoke up.

"You've explained the how of this whole operation and the effects. I'm still trying to get my head around this being more than a Doomie operation," he began. "However, more to the point, you really haven't explained the why. Namely, why did Sorantanali's people choose to travel down this path to create this stain on relations? What was his motivation?"

"And," Sarzo jumped in, "forgive me for being blunt, but how can I be sure you're telling the truth now? After this what amounts to economic terrorism against my people, how am I to know for sure that this Operation Pentacle really is an effort to repair relations between our countries?"

"I can also assure you there was not even a drop of involvement on the part of Doomani authorities, Mr. Tyler," Bardoroni calmly replied. "As your partner here will tell you, I used to be a leading section director for the Pacitalian Central Intelligence Commission... in other words, a spy. I got my nickname, The Puppeteer, while in the PCIC, for my high rate of success in controlling the governments of smaller states through clandestine operations. That is what my section did. I was transferred to work at the New Prado on executive order and informed of what Sorantanali wanted to do to your country. Though, as usual, we cannot give him any credit for this. He is and was never a smart man. He did whatever he was advised to do, and unfortunately, this aspect of his personality somehow never made it onto the airwaves during the election campaign last January. This case was no different. It was a group of people around him that he had carefully assembled, a group who were telling him the best course of action, the way to quietly assert his leadership over the free world. With a Hamptonshire reeling from its political and Regency crisis, and the United Kingdom already essentially following Pacitalia's lead in diplomatic affairs the only perceived enemy was you. Following the Pomentane Ballistics debacle, our relations were clearly on the mend, but they were not yet back to normal, and so Sorantanali and his clique chose to strike at you and your country first, while the time was still right and while they thought there was still an excuse to do it. They set the plan in full motion with the intention to secretly weaken the Sarzonian economic and political structure, and thusly, assert their dominance over the liberal-democratic world while appearing to still smell of freshly-cut roses."

He turned back to Mr. Sarzo, specifically, to answer his question. "I expected you to be sceptical, do not worry. I realise there is nothing I can really tell you to convince you, because this is a rare case where nothing can really be done to mend the damage when your country has pretty much done it on its own. The only thing we can do is stand there, embarrassed, sheepishly apologising and admitting the wrongs of our forebears. And, as you are well aware, that is not a comfortable place for a Pacitalian to be. The only thing I can tell you, Mr. Sarzo, is that by apologising for everything, the Chiovitti government is doing exactly what you had asked all along: admit our part of the blame. You will be the first to assert that no such overture occurred during Sorantanali's or Serodini's clipped tenures. Operation: Pentacle is not nearly as complex as Falling Star. It is simply a recognition of our past mistakes, an admission of our wrongdoing, to allow not only Pacitalians to move on, but to allow our friendship to resume their traditional levels."

"And if I may submit something as proof that you may trust me and what I say, perhaps let it be this," Bardoroni continued. "Operation: Pentacle is currently a diplomatic salvage initiative on the part of the Pacitalian government. But, previously to this, few know that it was a true counter-initiative by the then-opposition leader Chiovitti to stop the damage. The operation is now in stage two. Stage one, as you and many Sarzonians like you are aware, was to engineer the total resignation of the houses of parliament in July. But it was also something slightly more sinister. Shall I continue?"

"Yes, go ahead."

The Puppeteer turned to the dowager lady, Gladys, who had at this point just re-entered with a tray of freshly-brewed coffee, cream, sugar and what looked to be sliced carrot and bran muffins with soft butter. She also pulled out two yellow packets and set them next to the only green cup sitting there: It was Sarzo's, and just like he'd always requested, it was Splenda. "Thank you," the three men said graciously, smiling at her. She looked away quickly, though managing a nervous half-smile, and quickly exited the room once more.

Sarzo's eyes narrowed slightly. All of this was a great deal to take in. Here was Chiovitti's government doing something Sarzo demanded of Sorantanali, but never received: Admission of guilt. Here was the Pacitalian government laying bare everything, and truly everything. Or was it? What was the reason for this newfound openness? Was the Puppeteer's presence here a genuine act of remorse by a Pacitalian government that seemed to do so only in dire cases? Or was there something else at work?

"More sinister," Tyler asked, his eyes widening slightly as he also drank in the information as he began to his coffee.

"No true Pacitalian government would ever turn its back on its friends the way Sorantanali did," Bardoroni said, seeming to know what was going through Sarzo's mind at that very minute. "There was no justification for that, let alone to that extent. This is why Chiovitti sees it so important to apologise. To restore the balance, if you will. But I digress, and will continue with my explanation.

"A short time after the resignation of all 939 members of the Pacitalian parliament, Chiovitti gathered together his three closest advisors and friends: Diego Zuna, Stefanos Megarsis and Fiadono Nemassore. Coincidentally, it was those four men who, essentially alone, engineered the shift of the Pacitalian Social Coalition to liberal, centrist politics. Strangely enough, on a walk past the Sotto Muro and the Camera dei Santi in the government district, in a desperate attempt to get some fresh air and clear my head for the first time in what felt like months, a man in trenchcoat and fedora approached me and passed me a telegram, disappearing into the darkness as quickly as he had appeared. I had been invited to share in the new phase of the Chiovitti-envisioned operation. It involved a secret plan in coordination and cooperation with the Oceanian government. Together, Pacitalian and Oceanian special forces devised a plan which would ultimately end in the kidnapping and concealment of Sorantanali's family as a bargaining chip to try and wedge him out of the prime minister's chair. We had the loyalty of the Pacitalian military, as you know from the news reports, from the moment that Sorantanali killed off Sancatto Serra. It was the final domino, the successful offensive, as he did indeed resign upon learning of this. You, like most others, believe the family was murdered. No such thing ever happened. They are currently still being concealed somewhere in the United Kingdom and will be returned to Pacitalia pending a guilty verdict, which is likely, in Sorantanali's trial later this year."

Now Sarzo's mind really began to churn. Not only was this economic terrorism on the part of Pacitalians -- the very statement that Haffner uttered with such impolitic directness -- but this was legitimately an act of war. Had Sarzonian intelligence officials gotten wind of this, Sarzo would have had every justification to ask Parliament to declare war.

But now wasn't the time for war plans. Now was the time to figure out just what the next step was in Paci-Sarzonian relations... and how to start taking that next step.

"What do you want me to do now," Sarzo asked. "I'm clearly not going to ever understand every detail of these operations and why they were put into place, but I think it's time we find out what that next step is and why you're approaching me about this after my resignation."

"Believe me, I do not even, for one second, believe that I understand it all. But I do agree. We need to figure out what to do next. But I must admit my disappointment that you, a man of intelligence, has not already figured out the reason for why I have come to you, especially as out-of-the-blue as it is."

"More like he's probably figured it out but is hoping you won't say what he thinks you're going to say," Tyler blurted out. Sarzo looked askance at Tyler, but realised his partner was dead on.

Bardoroni frowned at Tyler, then returned his gaze to Sarzo.

"I suppose you're going to tell me I need to rescind my resignation," Sarzo said. "Before 13th February when it's constitutionally impossible for me to do so."

"I absolutely am," Bardoroni said, smiling. "The world needs its leaders back, and I daresay your resignation was a result of your spinning head after the betrayals, the double-crossings and the madness of 2006. Chiovitti is close to realising this, but I will tell you first: Pacitalia needs you back. In the face of absolutely terrifying organisations like APOC, who do not seek to promote what they claim, the Big Three are just not strong enough in number to counter or undermine that. We can only do so much as three states. And, I'm sure you are not exactly pleased to see one of your staunchest allies crossing the proverbial political river, as it were, and joining up with your mortal archenemies on more than one occasion during your isolation. Our two nations reuniting will send more powerful a message than you or I could ever imagine. It will tell the world that remembering who your friends are is more important, more crucial, than keeping track of your enemies, and it will tell the world that two states that are certainly more like each other than they would probably prefer to admit are mature enough to forget their old misgivings, their old trespasses, and work together to ensure stability, and to take the lead. The only way Sarzonia will be able to do this is with you back in power, Mr. Sarzo. And I know if anyone is up for the challenge, it's you. But, as I've said, time is short. If you would like my help in returning to office, I shall be honoured to provide it."

Sarzo's trademark scowl finally returned after an extended absence, both at the mention of APOC and the Big Three. For Sarzonia knew that Big Three also included a nation with which Sarzonia's relations had never been close: the United Kingdom. It also included a nation against whom most Sarzonians felt a particular scorn. Sarzonia considered Hamptonshire a virtual Doomingsland after the Panic, an economic crisis that saw Sarzonia pick up the pieces only after Isselmere and Praetonia stepped in where Sorantanali's Pacitalia had betrayed the Sarzonians.

"I'm not so sure about this," Sarzo said. "As you well know, Oceanian-Sarzonian relations have been rather like a Woodstock blizzard. As for Hamptonshire, the less I say about that nation, the better." Sarzo leaned back into his part of the love seat, but for some reason, he couldn't relax. This was all too much for him to even consider relaxing.

"I understand, and I figured you would bring those points up," The Puppeteer replied. "But perhaps I can put it all into perspective by saying that mending the fences with us is but the first step? Doing so would definitely show a willingness to work with Oceania and Hamptonshire, a move that would be seen as honourable, as a taste of what is to come, and as an indication of what they're up against. It's a cliché, but it holds true: united we triumph, divided we don't."

He took a muffin half, buttered it and took a bite. He smiled gratefully. "Delicious. My compliments to the chef."

"I'll pass on your compliments," Tyler said.

Sarzo stood up with a look of steely determination on his face. It was a look that had been missing ever since the sudden resignation. Even though it masked Sarzo's impending feeling of what the hell am I getting myself into?

"Very well," Sarzo said. "Jay, get my phone. I need to arrange for some transportation to Woodstock." Tyler raised an eyebrow, but he knew that it would soon be time to start packing up and moving back. Pretty soon, the jet that would be transporting Sarzo back to the nation's capital would be once again known as Sarzonia One instead of Sarzonia 346.

And once again, Mike Sarzo would be back in the centre of Sarzonian politics. And the world would never again be the same.

Bardoroni stood up, offering his hand to both men. They shook hands. "As I promised, you are confused, Mr. President. Your mind is reeling with decisions, with possibilities, with likelihoods, and with the sharp stun of learning of our foolish betrayal. But where our governments have harboured distrust and hate these past few months, our people have wanted to remain friends, and they have. It's time for our governments to follow their lead. Again, I wish you luck. I have probably overstayed my welcome, no?" He walked to the front door. "Oh, and once again, I apologise about brandishing a gun in your face, but you know, it was the only way this would have ended up an enlightening, yet obfuscating, discussion." He winked at Sarzo, the man who would once again become president and noticed lines of character, maturity and wisdom returning to the familiar face.

"Thank you for your most enlightening visit," Sarzo said. "One final question, though. Who sent you here? And how did you know where to find me?"

"A mutual friend of both you and I," Bardoroni replied knowingly. "You would best know him as Timotaio?"

Sarzo's back stiffened. Ell. One former national leader opened the door for another to return to the seat of authority where he belonged. As much as Pacitalians needed Sarzo to return to the Gray House, Sarzonians owed Ell thanks for returning the popular leader to office and for restoring a sense of order to a nation that sorely needed it.

Bardoroni passed the threshold and stepped onto the porch, but turned back around, remembering the encounter with the security detail.

"Oh, uh... your guard... he is lying in the bushes below the porch. I tapped him with a stunning agent." Checking his watch, Bardoroni said, "He'll be awake in about three and a half hours. Please offer him my sincere apologies." One final smile crossed the face of the Puppeteer. "Good day to you both."

And as quickly as he had rather unceremoniously arrived, one of Pacitalia's most talented spies and administrators had disappeared down the street and around the corner, with the sun peeking forcefully over Nicksia, through a stubborn mass of monotonously gray cloud.

Semling House, 12-14 Finbury Lane, Tarnbrook, Daurmont, UKIN

Geoffrey Middleton was pleasantly surprised by the situation report before him. Since President Sarzo’s unexpected resignation several months before, there had been little from Sarzonia that brought a smile to the prime minister’s face. The Sarzonian government politely rebuffed attempts by His Majesty’s Government, even by such a friend as the foreign minister, Sir George Fredericks, to ascertain why its head of state left office and why the Lieutenant President refused to accept her constitutional responsibility. When Grant Haffner – or, as Brian Watson, leader of the Liberal Democratic Party called him, Sarzo’s bulldog – announced his candidacy for the vacant presidency, the Cabinet caught its collective breath. Even Thomas Blakeney, leader of the so-called Loyal Opposition and never a friend to Sarzonia or Isselmere-Nieland’s other capitalist allies, expressed his dismay at the absence of other presidential candidates. But now … Now with Marcus Patinkin there was a candidate who could restore Sarzonia to its former glory.

If only we had better intelligence gathering assets in Sarzonia, Middleton thought. The strength of the bond between the Incorporated States and the United Kingdom meant that the Government Signals and Information Service had but a tiny footprint, forcing Middleton to rely on official Sarzonian explanations and reports from the ambassador, Sir James Kinlock, and journalists. In the present circumstances, it resulted in uncomfortable silences. Yet now it might as well be a triumphal hymn issuing from Woodstock.

Patinkin’s announcement of his candidacy offered the hope of improved relations with Pacitalia and perhaps even Hamptonshire, especially after the departure of President Sarzo. There was even the chance of a rapprochement with Oceania. Praetonia, however, had veered off course so far that His Majesty’s Government now viewed its ally with deepening suspicion; not so much as to necessitate the breaking off of relations, but very close.

Middleton rose from the oxblood leather upholstered chair near the window overlooking Semling House’s small inner courtyard, the curtains allowing insufficient natural light to re-read the report, and ventured towards the secure telephone to Wentworth Palace.

–––––––

Wentworth Palace, Isling, Daurmont, UKIN

King Henry V, although still saddened by the absence of his ‘cousin’, Mike Sarzo, and enfuriated by Nicole Lewis’ reticence to become President pro tempore, sighed with relief upon learning of Patinkin’s declaration. Like the government, the Royal Household was unable to reach either the former president or his partner, leading to speculation both within the Royal Family and His Majesty’s Government as well as the Isselmere-Nielander media about what had happened to Sarzo, yet to no-one’s satisfaction. A successful Patinkin would blow away the winds of uncertainty if not fear that hovered over Sarzonia. The unpredictable Haffner offered no such hope.

Christine, the queen-consort, sat under a portrait of Hortense II with Jane Austen’s Persuasion perched in her lap, disturbed from her reading by her husband’s utterance. ‘What is it?’

‘Patinkin proclaimed his candidacy,’ the king muttered managing a brief smile.

‘And the election?’

‘Within a month, I believe.’ It was not much time at all, but for someone with Patinkin’s reputation, it was more than enough to secure victory.

The next few days after the visit by The Puppeteer began to build great tension within Sarzo. Even Tyler began to feel nervous about the trip back. What if the Sarzonian people didn't take well to their leader's sudden reemergence? What if the politicos still insisted on a Presidential election? What if Sarzo's return backfired?

Meanwhile, Sarzo began to read briefings from cabinet departments that were secretly funneled to him to get a crash course in world events. He was now aware that longtime allies Izistan were more militant and likely an adversary. Sarzo cursed under his breath at the departure of Clayton Robertson as that nation's leader. That meant two longtime allies who were now officially at odds with the Incorporated States. That didn't include Hamptonshire, who were often allies in name only, and who very nearly came to blows over the Praetonian quarantine.

Then there was the matter of Oceania to deal with. At least there was never any pretense of allegiance between the United Kingdom and Sarzonia. That was one piece of cold comfort Sarzo could take with him as he left the nearly tropical climate of Nicksia and returned to the wintry weather conditions in Woodstock. Sarzo also saw one more quiver enter the Sarzonian arsenal: The Retaliation-class Trimaran very heavy dreadnought (http://z13.invisionfree.com/The_NS_Draftroom/index.php?showtopic=3389). Sarzo knew the classification was extremely unwieldy, but he also knew why it was categorised thusly. He also knew the real nature of the ship and grimaced. It was a point of contention between him and Bunhall. He was opposed to the idea of the supercapitals, and had exercised his presidential veto on constructing or purchasing any on more than one occasion.

However, Parliament approved $15 trillion to aid in the construction of 20 such beasts. With the money and resources already committed, Sarzo couldn't very well scrap the programme. A lot of shit's going to change, Sarzo thought as he put the final touches to the first draft of his speech. A lot of shit. Emphasis on shit.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The ride on Sarzonia 346 was a bumpy one as the mountain range began to come into view. For the first time in Sarzo's life, he was beginning to feel motion sickness, which he figured must be a combination of nerves along with the turbulence caused by the plane. Unless Gladys poisoned the muffin he ate, he grimaced. When the plane settled down at the Jetport, he realised it was simply the combination of nerves and turbulence because he felt a strange sense of calm as the limousine pulled up and he and Tyler stepped inside.

Thirty minutes later, as an escort of Sarzonian Secret Service agents walked Sarzo and Tyler into the Gray House, Sarzo muttered about the Woodstock Public Works Department's relatively poor job of clearing the roads of the latest Woodstock blizzard. Of course, they still operated much more efficently than D.C.'s Board of Public Works, but by Woodstock's standards, the PWD was slacking. However, now was the time to get back to business.

Sarzo stood at the podium, waiting for the cameras to begin rolling.

"And, you're on."

"My fellow Sarzonians, I come to you today to make what you may very well consider a startling announcement. First of all, I am here to announce that I am rescinding my resignation as President, effective immediately. According to legal scholars, as long as I do so before 13th February, I can constitutionally resume my duties as President. Thus, I am exercising that prerogative.

"I know you're wondering why I resigned, and why I did so abruptly." Sarzo paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I am deeply sorry for the hurt I caused you by leaving without explaining why. The reason I did so was a very private, very personal, and very painful one." Sarzo paused again, taking in a breath slowly before speaking again. "I have cancer. Fortunately, it was a form of cancer that was easily treated, but I underwent several weeks of chemotherapy treatments. However, I was recently cleared to resume full activity and I do so now energised by the need to restore the Sarzonian ship of state to its full majesty.

"Unfortunately, during my time away, a confluence of world events combined in a fashion that I no longer recognise from my last day in office. I am talking of course of the recent alliance between Praetonia and Doomingsland. Make no mistake, that decision to join the Coalition Against Democracy and the Sovereign League -- an alliance created when the Woodstock Pact's activity began to decline -- into a single alliance, APTO, is a source of great disappointment on the part of Sarzonians everywhere.

"We believe that decision on the part of the Democratic Imperium is one that compromises the principles that government has espoused for generations. We believe that decision does not further Praetonian interests; One may even argue that it renders the Democratic Imperium as a band of hypocrites. I will not enter into debate about whether or not Praetonia has betrayed us. We believe their government has betrayed themselves and their subjects, but I will not engage in that manner of bluster at this time. Right now is a time of healing for the Incorporated States of Sarzonia. Right now is a time for Sarzonia to reexamine where its place is in the world. It is not a time for tension to reign supreme. It is not a place for war.

"I admit that everything you are hearing now is an enormous pill to swallow. In fact, I'm not sure I even understand all the ramifications of all that has happened recently. But now is the time for us to begin to make right all the wrongs that have happened over the past year and longer. To take the first step in that direction, I would like to schedule a one-on-one meeting with Prime Minister Chiovitti, either in Timiocato or in Woodstock, so we can lay the groundwork for future cooperation between our nations.

"I know that I failed you, the people of Sarzonia," Sarzo said one final time. "Let me reassure you, I shall never let that happen again."

West Drawing Room, Wentworth Palace, Isling, Daurmont, UKIN

Flummoxed, simply and purely. Henry, Christine, the Prime Minister and the Foreign Minister all watched the television screen in shocked amazement as the quasi-former President of Sarzonia revealed his return to office and the cause of his temporary departure. The United Kingdom of Isselmere-Nieland had long been an isolationist state and once more the result of that solitude bore fruit.

So many questions entered the minds of the observers. How many others knew of Sarzo's condition?, Henry wondered. And what might his return do to foreign relations? The king's mind raced through a plethora of possibilities, not all of them good.

Christine considered the human element and was the first to vocalise a response. "Both the Royal Household and the Government should send respectful gifts and best wishes for a speedy and complete recovery," she intoned flatly. She, too, thought of what this situation might do to Sarzonian-Isselmere-Nielander relations, nevermind those between Sarzonia and Praetonia.

Upon the queen's request, Sir George leapt to his feet and snatched up of the telephone, only to find his ministry was readying the appropriate items before he began to ask. This revelation puts Pacitalia and the rest of the so-called Big Three into even worse relief, he thought.

Middleton was aghast. We are in the arctic, he realised, and Nanuk is waiting with open jaws. The only potential outcome the prime minister saw of this new information was strife.

Kahanistan had never been extremely close with Sarzonia; in fact, they tended to disagree on many issues, chiefly economic. Kahanistan was a liberal, socialist democracy, and as such was often critical of Sarzonia for its capitalistic policies and having a de facto president for life.

With Sarzo's resignation, however, Sarzonia no longer had a President for Life. In the minds of many Kahanistanian politicians, this meant the door was opening to a freer Sarzonian democracy, and improved diplomatic and possibly even military relations with the Incorporated States. The fact that many of Kahanistan's allies and other democratic states had sold out to the Alliance for the Preservation of Civilisation did not hurt, either.

On the homefront, Kahanistan's diplomatic fortunes had declined rapidly after its alliance with Allanea; it had alienated many of Kahanistan's closest allies, such as the Eternal Republic of Xirnium, before the Kahanistanian government had its fill of the diplomatic fallout and gradually distanced itself from Allanea, abrogating its free trade treaty with them in the process.

It was with these events in mind that the Democratic Soviet Republic of Kahanistan sought improved relations with the Incorporated States of Sarzonia.

---

Najaster, Capital of Kahanistan

Foreign Minister's Office

Dr. Margaret Delray, the Kahanistanian Minister of Foreign Affairs, had long held an admiration for Sarzonia. They had helped her nation's military form new perspectives with regard to tactics, especially with regard to the Navy, where Sarzonia was strong and Kahanistan was very weak, losing even to the drug-crazed maniacs of MassPwnage.

That defeat was to Kahanistan what the Inkana Civil War was to Sarzonia, an embarrassment to the Kahanistanian Naval Command institutionally and a grave insult to the commander of the naval forces who had opposed the Pwnage forces, Fleet Admiral Raghad Nazmareh. She was currently aboard her flagship doing battle with the vicious Kraven scum, which was a shame as she probably would have liked to have some input on possible relations with Sarzonia. However, Delray could easily manage without the cynical old admiral, and probably do a better job of diplomacy without her. Certainly the Admiral had some diplomatic skills, but she was too out of touch with current politics, thinking that MassPwnage, for example, was a democracy run by halfway sane people until they ripped her flagship to pieces and nearly killed her after decimating her fleet.

Delray sat in her office, pondering how to respond to the recent political upheaval in Sarzonia. With the President for Life gone, the main political obstacle to long-term diplomatic relations between the two nations, at least on the Kahanistanian end, was gone. She opened her laptop and began to write to the Sarzonian Government regarding improved relations.

An aide entered her office with an urgent notice. "Dr. Delray, Sarzo has rescinded his resignation. He is resuming his duties as President of Sarzonia."

Delray frowned. He will lose credibility, appear indecisive. He will likely be forced to resign again; he is evidently uncomfortable in power or he would not have resigned in the first place.

"I'll go ahead with the letter," said the Foreign Minister. "We've been through too much, come too far, to be set back now. I don't expect him to last the year." She seemed cold, methodical, as if she had been cynicised due to the political upheavals that had affected Kahanistan. "We've already told off the Sovereign League, and alienated a lot of our allies. We can't turn back now." Delray's face took on a determined, ruthless expression she only ever wore when she felt backed into a corner. She went back to typing her letter.

DEMOCRATIC SOVIET REPUBLIC OF KAHANISTAN
Ministry of Foreign Affairs

Greetings, Mr. Sarzo, from the Soviet Republic.

First, on behalf of the Foreign Ministry, allow me to wish you the best of health in response to your recent diagnosis, and let us extend the hope that you recover fully in the shortest of time.

The Government of Kahanistan is mindful of the fact that your nation is perhaps the only one we have fought alongside in battle that has not either joined the Sovereign League, turned against us, or simply become too corrupt for relations to remain tenable.

With this fact in mind, the Soviet Republic would like to extend the offer of a treaty of friendship between our two nations; we are unfortunately bereft of allies as many of them have since aligned with APOC and the Sovereign League, and we have noticed that your nation has also lost a powerful close ally in Praetonia to the APOC menace.

Signed,
Margaret Delray,
Minister of Foreign Affairs

She deliberately did not mention the current war with Kraven; she was merely seeking diplomatic relations for now, a military alliance could come later. Delray could not afford to appear desperate in this exchange.

Sir Tiberius Polax leant back in chair, relaxing for the first time in three weeks of having to deal with the British Londinium fiasco. Darkness had fallen over Kingston, although it was only six o'clock. The capital had been coated in a thin layer of snow, and in the streets below the Prime Minister's official residence in the city, happy Praetonians were bustling from shop to shop between marvelous statues and monuments to the glories of the past--and the present--with that care-free ignorance that comes only to those who live in a great state and know it. The world had changed, and the Prime Minister knew it. For the average Praetonian, the world had changed for the better. Trade liberalised by APOC had allowed Praetonian money to spread, and foreign money to flow into the country in return. The high streets of the land were becoming more lavish every day, and Praetonians were earning more and more money to spend on them every day. Carried forth on a wave of prosperity, Praetonians embraced the New World Order.

How different things are in Sarzonia, the Prime Minister thought to himself. In Sarzonia the new world order was a terrifying prospect. It's their own fault, of course. They're trying to create some magical hinterland isolated from reality where the single-tracked past never changed its course. In Sarzo's latest speech, even referred to Praetonia as the Democratic Imperium despite the amalgamation of the old Imperial System into a unitary Crown Commonwealth some time ago. Imagine! The Prime Minister liked Sarzo, but he had never thought that Sarzonia had been truly part of the same world as Praetonia. Raelpolitik had never been a Sarzonian game, nor had subtlety, and President Sarzo would probably be among the first to admit as much. But the world had changed.

There was a knock at the door which yanked the Prime Minister from his half-conscious thoughts back to reality.

"Come in!"

It was a servant, and behind him was the King. The Prime Minister got to his feet, and the servant bowed as the King passed him and entered the room, closing the door behind his sovereign.

"Your Majesty!" The Prime Minister was surprised the King was not at Uxland Castle with his nephew the King of Questers. "Would you like a drink?" He asked, pouring out two glasses of brandy from a crystal decanter, "To what do I owe the honour?"

"Bad business, I'm afraid, Tiberius. Bloody bad business. You see this?" He held out a copy of the speech given by Sarzo the day before.

"Yes, I have read it." Normally, a Praetonia would be obligued to add "sir", but the Prime Minister had not had to for some time now.

"And what do you think of it?" The King had sat down on one of the Prime Minister's chairs, and indicated for the Prime Minister to do the same, which he did.

"I think it's a bloody bad business, as you so aptly put, but I can't say it's unexpected." The King nodded gravely in acknowledgement.

"We can do without Sarzonia, of course I know that, especially now, but that isn't really the point, is it?"

"No, but it seems we have little choice. Sarzonia has not woken up to the new way of seeing things, and maybe never will."

"Yes," the King said, drawing out the word to express his contempt for the situation. "I quite agree that CAD are an obstacle to the eventual victory of liberty just like Sarzo, but what is the use of fighting them?" He spat the word. "We have tried that for years, and the CAD dictatorships became more entrenched than ever."

The Prime Minister nodded. "Every time we fought them it reinforced the idea that our system is the enemy of their people."

"Trade!" The King declared. "Trade is the key! Trade allows us to export our principles peaceably and strengthen our coffers at the same time. Sarzonia proclaims liberty but imposes embargoes. Embargoes! Embargoes are an enemy of all free peoples. I do believe, in fact, that Doomingsland especially has benefited from our policies. Today Doomingsland acts almost like a proper free state through its internal policy."

"The big hurdle is elections," agreed the Prime Minister, "but if liberty is there, why do you need elections? It's not as though fighting them and embargoing them would have brought elections." Here the Prime Minister articulated very crisply one of the key differences between Praetonian and Sarzonian thought. While a Sarzonian may prize democracy, a Praetonian would prize liberty. Liberty, for a Praetonian, is a concept that exists independent of the means by which it is imposed. Praetonians have found that, of all the various systems they have tried from time to time, from absolute monarchy to a single sovereign House of Commons, their present constitutional monarchy had proved far superior at safeguarding their liberty. Were this not their view, Praetonians would find it hard to justify the existance of the King, or the House of Lords, or indeed Sarzonia's President-for-life.

"Unfortunately old Sarzo doesn't see it like that, for all his virtues," the King allowed a flash of emotion to cross his face: sadness that a long-time friend and ally would in all likelihood become a rival, but concealed it again in an instant.

"I doubt that he sees the big picture, either," the Prime Minister continued, "At the same time as these... shocking... revelations about Pacitalia's role in trying effectively to overthrow the Sarzonian government, Sarzo is announcing that he will move his country away from Praetonia and towards Pacitalia, Oceania and Hamptonshire," he spoke the last name with unconcealed disgust, although he thought well of Oceania.

"They call themselves the 'Big Three' now, don't they?" The King laughed, taking a sip of brandy. The Prime Minister, realising that he had not touched his own drink, also took a sip, trying not to laugh as he did so. Like most Praetonians, the King and the Prime Minister looked down loftily with reserve they viewed as a mark of subjects of a truly self-assured and great power upon what they saw as arrogant and pompous assertions made regularly by the Pacitalians that they led, or even formed a major part of, the free world. Like most of the Praetonian political elite, they both saw the "Big Three" as an introverted and irrelevent sideshow to the real free world as represented by the Sovereign League. In the mind of an average Praetonian, world power resided in London, Freeksburg, Urbus Doomanus and Kingston, not Timiocato. In the not so distant past, it had also resided in Woodstock. In fact, at that time, it was arguable whether or not it resided in Kingston at all.

Now, however, the tables had turned. In Sarzonia's period of isolation, not only had the world changed, but it had left Sarzonia behind.

"Pacitalia has no doubt leant on the Sarzonians to form the "Big Three Plus One"," the King snorted at this remark, "but it is most assuredly about Pacitalian power, not Sarzo's noble goals. This is the same Pacitalia, we must remember, that was a member of Gholgoth, that attacked us for our attempts to liberalise trade and work with CAD to promote laissez-faire governance through APOC and which stayed conspicuously quiet when Gholgoth signed a direct alliance with GASN. No doubt Pacitalia seeks to expand the Big Three over which they hold much of their international influence and even if this doesn't harm the cause of liberty, it won't do much to help it either."

The King nodded, gravely. "Sarzonia must carve out a new place for itself in our brave new world. There is no doubt it will choose to come down on the side of the free world, but which?"

The Prime Minister continued, "For the sake of the world, it must be ours, although I fear it will not be." The King nodded, taking another sip of his brandy.

The two men then sat in silence for some time, finishing their drinks and mulling over what they had just discussed. After about ten minutes, the Prime Minister broke the silence with unusual formality.

"Your Majesty, I would like to ask a favour of you."

"Of course."

"I would like to ask that you meet with Sarzo and try to win him back to our side. No doubt his opinion of me has shrunk due to the controversies of the past few months, but Sarzonians seem to have nothing but respect for you, and I'm sure that Sarzo would be more inclined to listen to you than me."

The King nodded. "Of course I shall meet with Sarzo. I have not agreed with everything your government has done, and I'm sure that that will count in my favour when meeting with the Sarzonians, but we are united in our desire to see Praeto-Sarzonian relations remain strong. No doubt the Sarzonians will be a lot more symathetic when they hear why we have "betrayed liberty", as their press puts it so vulgarly."

Here, again, the culture clash was evident. Most Praetonians, whose ancestors had seen times when vast swathes of the country had burnt and sizeable proportions of the populace had been killed to snatch and then hold on to liberty, found it bizarre that Sarzonia, a country with far stricter regulations on business than Praetonia and a President elected for life who appointed his own government regardless of the results of the elections, should be able to criticise Praetonia for not being sufficiently liberal.

"I will have the Palace issue an invitation for him to travel to Uxland Castle, out of the way of the political attachments of the capital."

The Prime Minister smiled without emotion. He knew that the chances of winning over a Sarzo seemingly already committed to joining the Pacitalian power bloc were not particularly encouraging, but if anyone could do it it would be the King.

"Thankyou, Your Majesty."

The King finished his brandy. "It is late and I have to return to Uxland tonight. Thankyou for meeting with me," he said, graciously, for the Prime Minister really had no choice in the matter. "It has been a very enlightening discussion."

“Damn fools they are,” the chancellor of the exchequer sighed, then carefully lifting his china tea cup to his lips and drinking the warm liquid. It had been some time since Stephen McKay had heard anything from Woodstock, especially from the Sarzonian dictator. Needless to say, McKay had been quite relieved when the dictator retired and the promise of democracy appeared on the verge of being granted to the Sarzonian people. And now they were taking back their dictator. “Bloody fools,” he muttered before taking another long sip.

Elsewhere in the capital, the Marquess of Salisbury lay on his bed with his own cup of tea—but in contrast to the well-lit study of the chancellor, the Prime Minister’s bedroom was lit by the flickers of the broadcast being repeated off of the KBC. Like the chancellor, he had intended to watch the speech live—but given his commitments at the Royal Palace as well the House of Lords he had only now time to watch a convulsion by a power long since left for dead by the world. Salisbury watched the television knowing that throughout the world his colleagues and counterparts were doing the same—perhaps a fitting tribute to a nation that had once mattered to the world at large. But Sarzonia had departed, driven into a period of isolation and self-reflection with a government in chaos and no navigator at the wheel.

There had been one attempt at entente between the United Kingdom and Sarzonia, a failed initiative at St. Ives, in Oceanian Sarnia. As he thought about the attempt he felt a slight pain, not from any physical discomfort but rather from the fact that his chief of staff had never returned from that mission. Salisbury had all but sent his best friend to his death. Perhaps it was personal, the reason he cared not for Sarzonia. Perhaps it lay in the simmering Sarzonian anger over Novikov and Oceanian anger about the UWP. Perhaps it lay elsewhere.

But as Salisbury turned to a different channel halfway through the speech, he could not have cared less.

It was at a table in a closed tea salon along Wellington Boulevard where the opposites of Salisbury and McKay and the remainder of the Democratic Socialists spent the evening. Outside, the palms along the New Thames swayed gently with artisans and musicians plying the crowds with caricatures, portraits, ballads, and improvised tunes. Inside, a stern-looking man with cool, contemplating brown eyes hovered about a wooden table, a silver platter in his hand and on it several fine pieces of china and a kettle of water just from a stove.

“I agree, Gavin, it is an opportunity but one we must seize with the utmost caution if we are to gain any traction here at home or abroad.” Rodney Ingrahm let his elbows rest against the wood, his fingers woven amongst each other into a tight grip that only loosened now to accept the platter, which he did with a smile and a nod of gratitude. Once pushed to the centre of the table, Ingrahm looked across through china and silver at the shadow foreign secretary.

“We of course have an obligation,” Ingrahm began slowly, “to our allies in Timiocato and in Hamptonshire; that is to at least listen to proposals by the Chiovitti government with respect to warming towards Woodstock. However, it is also imperative that we begin to distance ourselves from the DSP who will, due to the influence of the Prime Minister and the Chancellor, come out strongly against the return of President Sarzo.”

Gavin Astley nodded. “We are watching something quite interesting, and that much is certain, Rodney.”

“Indeed, and so you are right that we must seize the moment and take initiative; we must frame the discourse of this election if we are to do well. Which is why, in the back, I have Andrew calling the KBC to dispatch a small television crew for a brief press statement—the time difference will carry it at a reasonable hour throughout the rest of the world and the UK will watch it at breakfast, before the Government can respond.”

“And just what do we want to say, there are no speech writers amongst us?” Astley threw out with a laugh.

“We shall say something eloquent yet plainly spoken, my friend.” Ingrahm poured himself a cup of tea as he began to outline his impromptu speech before his colleagues.

KBC International News
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“Good evening, Greater Oceania, earlier this evening the former President of Sarzonia officially resumed his duties after taking leave to have a medical condition attended to. Many of you will undoubtedly be concerned for the Government has continuously reiterated its patently false proclamations that Sarzonia is a dictatorship with which the United Kingdom can have no relations until the president is elected by the Sarzonian people.

“I put forth before the people of the United Kingdom that, technically speaking, Sarzonia is a dictatorship with President Sarzo appointed for life without being held accountable for his or his government’s actions. However, I should also put forth before the people of the United Kingdom that the Government proclaims nothing short of hypocrisies.

“One of the first accomplishments of Government, when first elected, was the successful entrance of the United Kingdom into the New Alliance Treaty Organisation, an organisation headed by Automagfreek—a nation one can hardly call a liberal democracy. Nonetheless, knowing full well of the membership list, this Government entered into diplomatic relations and allowed the public to enter commercial business relations with NATO members, regardless of their form of government.

“Another much more recent accomplishment, and an ongoing one at that, are offers of assistance by the Salisbury Government to render aid to the Borman Empire with respect to issues concerning the safety of a Borman colony in Cordensa. The presence of the Borman Empire in the organisation CAD—the public providing the backronym Coalition Against Democracy that makes the reason for its example self-evident—constitutes perhaps the most flagrant, and most recent, hypocrisy.

“If the Conservative Party is elected in the forthcoming elections, the United Kingdom’s foreign policy shall centre upon realpolitik and it shall be announced as such and maintained as such. There shall be no hypocrisy and the execution of the Government’s duty shall be wholly transparent. The foreign policy of the United Kingdom shall be based upon serving the interests of the people of the United Kingdom and the Oceanic Empire, whether that includes dealing with the nations of Pacitalia and Hamptonshire, or Sarzonia, or Praetonia and Doomingsland. The foreign policy of the United Kingdom shall not be driven by ideology or needlessly by close allies. The foreign policy of the United Kingdom shall be driven by the United Kingdom and no other sovereign power.

“Thank you, and good night.” Ingrahm waved and started to walk away before a shout from an onlooker not with the KBC camera crew interrupted.

“And what about the damn Sarzonians?”

Ingrahm turned stopped halfway to the doors of the tea salon and turned around to face the young man, face unshaven and hair in disarray. “At this moment, I am still reviewing the details of President Sarzo’s announcement today and await further pronouncements from Woodstock upon the current and desired state of Oceanian-Sarzonian relations.”

“And what about the Big Three?” the onlooker shouted.

Ingrahm smiled politely. “The Big Three is an informal series of alliances, no set organisation with no set charter. It is a strong bond of friendship between three powerful, like-minded nations. Sarzonia cannot ‘join’ the Big Three as much as the United Kingdom can ‘leave’ the Big Three. If it suits the United Kingdom to thaw the frozen relations with Sarzonia, as it appears President Sarzo seems intent to do with Pacitalian-Sarzonian relations, then it shall be done. If it does not suit the interests of the United Kingdom, however, then suffice to say the Big Three shall remain a triumvirate of world powers.”

“Now, if you will excuse me, the hour is late and I and my colleagues have a great deal of work to accomplish tomorrow.” Ingrahm turned back towards the salon, but as he opened the door he stopped once more and turned towards the onlooker, “but I thank you for your questions and hope my answers satisfactory.”

[OOC: I've edited out the part of the speech in which Sarzo gives the specifics of Pacitalia's plot. Please edit your own posts to reflect that. I'm retconning that part of the speech.]

Day one of the third Sarzo era passed relatively uneventfully, though Sarzo figured he would soon be hearing from world leaders one way or the other. It seems that most nations were caught off guard by Sarzo's sudden departure and Sarzo himself was somewhat taken aback by the direction the world embarked in since his resignation and since Sarzonia adopted an isolationist posture.

Sarzo looked at the latest briefing on Project Retaliation with a grimace. This is one hell of an ambitious project, Sarzo thought as he shook his head. Sarzo saw a message flash on his computer as he returned to his desk for the first time in several months.

Meeting in the situation room at 0800 hours. Topic: The Praetonian problem.

Sarzo's eyebrows furrowed into his trademark scowl. Praetonia. Their hypocrisy was enough to anger him. Even though the time away from international affairs might have recharged some of his batteries and changed some of his perspective on life, it didn't take away the slow burn that resided deep within.

But it was going to be a different Sarzo administration facing off against a familiar, but different adversary. Sarzo intended to reveal to the world that he was more than just bluster. He had more than enough diplomatic talents at his disposal to make almost anyone look foolish. Now was going to be his time to use them.

And if it boils down to it, Sarzo thought ruefully, but with a twinge of determination, we'll be more than willing to use everything we have in our arsenal to defeat our "friends".

Sarzo paused as those words crossed his mind. He didn't want this to happen. He wanted a world in which Praeto-Sarzonian relations were among the few things anyone in the world could count on for stability. But with this new world order, Sarzo knew that wasn't happening. But where events would lead the two formerly close allies was a frightening prospect.

Facing the door to the situation room, Sarzo took in a small breath before crossing the threshold.

As familiar as the situation room looked to Sarzo, and as familiar as all the faces were that stood facing him, it looked and felt odd to him to walk into the room once again to face the expectant looks of people waiting for the right answers to the world's questions. He heard a familiar voice call for people's attentions, but even her intonations felt at once strange and natural.

"All rise," Lewis said. "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia, Mr. Michael A. Sarzo."

"Please be seated," Sarzo said. "And, let's remember, just because it's been a few months doesn't mean I've changed appreciably. Even though I probably have a little less hair than you might remember and I might be a few pounds lighter," Sarzo said, relieved to hear a couple of chuckles from some of the cabinet-level officials and some key deputies.

"Mike, what do you make of King Sarius's invitation," Lorber asked.

"I don't think I'm in all that great a shape to travel to Uxland, if that's what you're asking," Sarzo said.

"I don't think that's what he's asking," Haffner interjected. "And I think you know what that is."

"Well, let's be direct here," Sarzo said. "What do you think about it?"

"I'm dead set against it," Haffner said. "If you go to Uxland, you put yourself directly at their mercy. The meeting has to take place in Woodstock or it doesn't take place at all."

"Hold up," Newman said. The House of Delegates finally passed a long-proposed promotion of Newman's title to Senior Vice President for Defence, along with the promotion of the chiefs of the other branches of the military to vice presidencies, giving them all Cabinet-level positions. "In the minds of the Praetonian people, our insistence on having the meeting in Woodstock will be seen as a slap in the King's face, and by extension, an affront to the Praetonian people."

"Fuck 'em," Haffner said. "They've insulted us by cozying up to the Doomies. Let 'em rot in Hell for all I care. Or better yet, let 'em all die at the Sarzonian sword."

"Out of the question," Sarzo said.

"Is it, now?"

"It is," Sarzo said, flashing a scowl at Haffner that everyone knew ended any hope of discussion. "Along with your whole 'fuck Praetonia' spiel. That just won't fly with the Sarzonian people."

"But Mike," Haffner tried desperately.

"No buts," Sarzo said. "You almost singlehandedly ruined Paci-Sarzonian relations for life. I'm not going to let you do the same to Praeto-Sarzonian relations. It's just not happening."

"You aren't seriously considering going to Uxland, are you?"

"It's better I go to Uxland than to Kingston," Sarzo sighed. "I'd rather have the meeting here, but I'd rather not put us behind the diplomatic eight ball with a nation we've long had great relations with."

"They're the ones who have turned their backs on us," Haffner said. "They're the ones who formed the Sovereign League as a statement of the strain in relations between them and us. They're the ones who are trading with the Doomies, thus making them stronger. We need to start preparing for them as the enemies they are proving themselves to be."

"John, I'll let you take it from here," Sarzo said. Newman looked askance at Haffner before he replied.

"Grant, it's obvious you haven't seen any of the military projections of what would happen in a Praeto-Sarzonian War," Newman said. "Even in our most optimistic scenarios, it's a Pyrrhic victory. In our most pessimistic ones," Newman said, letting his voice trail off to get across his message.

"A war against Praetonia would be a bad idea, plain and simple. At least not until we fully fund Project Retaliation."

"That's another topic for discussion," Sarzo said. "I've got to review that entire project before I sign off on the idea of building 20 of those things."

"What do you mean?"

"That project is already about $400 billion over budget," Sarzo warned. "And that's just the R&D. I'd shudder to think how much Retaliation herself will be over budget. If you want the Sarzonian people to cough up the money to build 20 of those ships, you're going to have to be aware of how you're going to spend their money."

"We can't trust the Praetonians, Mike," Newman said. "That much they've proven. We also can't trust the Questarians. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"The Isselmerian-Nielanders have not turned their backs," Lewis pointed out. "They're about the one ally we have that has supported us consistently throughout."

"And even then when they had a change of administration some time ago, they didn't exactly warm up to us," Newman said. "And let's not forget the Packies stabbed us in the back quite nicely."

"Enough!" Sarzo said, forcefully banging his gavel. "Chiovitti has admitted to Pacitalian responsibility. Let's not harp on the ills of the Sorantanali regime with the new one demonstrating its efforts at complete transparency." Sarzo paused for a second, then spoke again.

"Here's the deal. I'm going to Uxland, all right. But I'm not going to commit to anything other than a direct meeting with Sarius. If I at least agree to meet him and keep an open mind on things, it won't be a slight against the Praetonian people. If something negative happens, we at least will maintain some semblance of the diplomatic initiative with the Praetonian people.

"Secondly, it's time that we continue the efforts to repair relations with Pacitalia. Sorantanali is out of power. We're not dealing with the despot. We're dealing with a new regime that wants to repair relations. Thirdly, I'm going to direct the External Affairs office to formally open up ties with the Democratic Soviet Republic. It's going to be vital that we have someone with ties to us as we face this new world order."

"What do you mean?"

"The Coalition Against Democracy is still a threat," Sarzo said. "No matter what the Praetonians would have you believe. For us to address that threat, we're going to need help."

"But you aren't going to join the Big Three, are you?"

"That hasn't been broached," Sarzo said. "Even if it is, I doubt very seriously I'd even submit it to the House."

"What about the Sovereign League?"

"I'll deal with that if the time comes," Sarzo interjected. "I don't like the idea of entangling alliances. Period." He picked up the gavel and banged it one last time. "Meeting adjourned," before turning around and walking back out of the room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The space plane sounds like an interesting way to travel, Sarzo thought. Even though he was more than a bit uncomfortable about traveling in anything other than Sarzonia One, especially to a country that might be perceived as a threat, the promise that the flight would take much less time than the usual eight to 10 hours that a normal flight to Praetonia would take was too tempting to pass up.

Seeing the clouds and the ground and later the waters beneath move under the plane at much greater speeds than he'd ever seen in Sarzonia One, or even in the fastest aircraft the Incorporated Sarzonian Air Force ever put out, was a thrill to be sure, but he was now hard at work reviewing the budget projections for Project Retaliation.

It was obvious as Sarzo looked at the encrypted figures that the originally-projected build price of $525 billion per ship was nowhere near what it was costing to build the prototype of the class. The Retaliation herself was already hitting the $800 billion plateau and it had yet to be launched, let alone completed and ready to leave the ways under its own power.

Sarzo did some quick calculations of all costs involved with the class and figured that the $15 trillion figure approved by Parliament would realistically cover only the construction of 15 such beasts. That didn't even take into account the manpower required to fit them out, the cost of supplies including uniforms, fuel, food, weapons, systems, and training for the crew.

When it's all said and done, if we want to build 20 of these things, it's going to cost more like $30 trillion. And even then, it's not going to take into account the number of escorts we'll need and the examination of naval doctrine required.

I sure as hell hope Parliament knows what it's getting itself into if they want 20 of these things. Sarzo was relieved that Parliament gave him an extension until six days after his return to Sarzonia to review the budget projections and make a final decision on what to do. He knew it would take much more than the normal one week review period to be sure exactly what to do, whether that be to increase the budget projection to fully fund the 20 ship request or to scale down the request to something resembling a reasonable build.

As Sarzo saw the outskirts of Uxland begin to come into view, he deliberately set the budget projections and other classified information about Project Retaliation into his briefcase. He would make sure that his aides watched over that with their lives, so that any possibility of Praetonian spies getting a hold of the plans would be essentially non existent.

This is a fast ride, Sarzo thought as the space plane began its descent. One hour from takeoff to landing is a far cry from what would have been a 10 hour journey on Sarzonia One -- if the large Sarzonian jet had managed to catch a tailwind.

Sarzo took a deep breath. He hadn't seen Sarius since his ascent from prime minister to King, so he knew it had been a long time since the two men saw each other.

[OOC: I've created a OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=513763) for this RP. It's not that I think we *need* one because there hasn't been that much OOC bickering on this thread, but I figure it might be helpful. If you have any OOC questions/comments/concerns, etc., please direct them to that thread.]

As strange as the events were that led Sarzo to return to the Gray House, it seemed even stranger for Lewis. Granted, she was the lieutenant president rather than the nation's chief executive, but she was in her enforced retirement by choice rather than by medical circumstance. Namely, she refused to exercise her constitutional obligation to take over as acting president when Sarzo resigned.

Now that Sarzo was back, she felt especially uncertain how the political pundits would take her dramatic return. When Sarzo revealed to the nation that he had cancer -- later revealed to be testicular cancer -- there was at least some logic to Sarzo's departure. In the minds of the Sarzonian people, his departure to take care of something that was such a private matter was understandable. Her departure, even if the public caught wind of Sarzo's reticence even with the single closest political figure to him, was a source of consternation.

Her refusal to assume the duties and obligations of acting president -- particularly when she had been Sarzo's right hand and had essentially administered the Sarzonian government even if Sarzo were the titular head of government -- was ripped throughout the country as a sign that Lewis was a question mark.

"If Lewis were unwilling to exercise her duty to the Sarzonian people in the wake of a Presidential resignation," the Woodstock Daily Mail wrote on its editorial page, "how are we to believe that she would willingly assume the trappings of executive office should a real crisis take place?"

"No amount of reassurance on the part of the lieutenant president will be enough for us to wrap our minds around the idea that she abandoned her job responsibilities in a time when Sarzonians needed her the most," the Portland Press Herald's editorial staff wrote in its opinion section. "The fact that Sarzo has returned is one thing, but did he have to bring back someone who has shirked her duties in an effort to restore past glories?"

Lewis knew what Sarzo would say, "don't pay attention to those damn newspapers." But it was hard not to. Her refusal to accept the trappings of the presidency came because she didn't know the circumstances behind Sarzo's resignation. Had she known, she might have talked Sarzo into couching his departure as a medical leave of absence. In that case, she could have felt better about staying at the lieutenant president's official residence and serving as the acting chief executive. She would have had Sarzo's blessing to deal with the new world order in the way she saw fit.

She pondered addressing all these considerations in an address to the nation, but even with Sarzo's management style, having the nation's second in command speak when it might be more appropriate for the chief executive was unheard of.

Meanwhile, Sarzo was planning to issue his annual state of the union address after Sarzo's return from Praetonia. Lewis figured that would be as good a time as any to address the nation herself. She decided to call Sarzo with her unusual request.

"Sarzo."

"Hi Mike, how are you feeling?"

"Pretty good. I'm getting near Praetonian territory now. What's on your mind?"

"Listen, I've got a request to make."

"Let's hear it."

"I'd like to address the country before your state of the union address after you get back from Praetonia."

"You what?"

"I'd like to address the country."

"What the hell?"

"You've seen all the pundits."

"Nicole, I don't give a flying fuck about the pundits," Sarzo snapped, drawing a raised eyebrow from a Praetonian who happened to be nearby. "You need to stop being so sensitive to what they say."

"Mike, I think the nation needs to hear from me why I didn't assume the Presidency. I think they need to know the full extent of your medical problem."

Sarzo sighed. He did not want his medical condition to be fodder for discussion by talking heads, Louella Soameses or anyone else for that matter.

"Mike, I think it'll be helpful for people to see that I didn't just abandon them and that you didn't just abandon them. Who knows, maybe by telling the Sarzonian people about your condition, you might save a life."

Sarzo shook his head, but found himself saying, "all right, what the hell. You go on before me, but you only get 10 minutes. Got it?"

"That's all I'll need."

Maximus laughed when his brother Gaius, wearing the white and purple robes of a Senator, had told him of Sarzo’s new speech. The two eldest brothers of the House of Doomanus were also, by far, the two keenest minds of it, and met in private on a daily basis in the spacious confines of Maximus’ personal chambers. Featuring a high vaulted ceiling with a pair of high windows leading to a balcony that overlooked the capital, it was quite ornate.

The entire room was carved out of marble; the walls were lined with ceremonial arms and armor, elegant portraits of past emperors and were intricately carved. The floor featured a complex mosaic depicting Saint Michael’s triumph over Lucifer and his army when they had tried to overthrow God as well as expensive rugs.

Caesar was seated upon a guilded high-backed hard-carved oaken chair behind a massive hand-caved desk, while Gaius was seated on a smaller, but no less ornate chair across from him. An eighty-inch LCD television was mounted on the wall to the right of Caesar, giving both men a decent view. At the moment it was displaying several different news stations simultaneously: Doomani, Praetonian, Sarzonian, and Pacitalian stations alike, the later three with Latin subtitles.

”Fucking infidels, they’re living in their own little world over there,” Maximus said after getting over the hilarity of the situation.

”It would indeed seem so,” replied Gaius, who had also chuckled upon reading over the speech for the first time, ”Their isolation has made them deaf, dumb, and blind…more so than before. That idiot Sarzo doesn’t seem to have changed very much from his illness. Such a shame: God chooses to spare that disgusting deviant and is spat upon in return.”

Maximus nodded, ”Quite…Sarzo…he has always been stubborn. His hatred of our Faith and people blinds him to the world around him,” as he spoke, he withdrew a golden cigar case, giving one to Gaius and taking one for himself, ”He will not admit it, but he knows full well Grandfather Sarius,” Maximus, since taking the granddaughter of King Sarius as his bride, had referred to him as “grandfather,” to the delight of his wife, ”would welcome Sarzonia back into the fold with open arms should he ask. And yet he does not, Gaius. Even I, his sworn enemy, would not be opposed to reconciliation with the Sarzonians,” Gaius produced a gold-plated lighter from his pocket and Maximus bent forward, lighting up the cigar and continuing,

”As you said, they live in their own little world over there. They simply do not understand what we have created here…”

“As long as they are ruled by that imbecile I suspect they never will, brother,” responded Gaius with a raised eyebrow.

Maximus shook his head.

”I fear that for the moment such a course of action would be out of the question…however, I too have considered it. No, for now we shall do as we have always done when dealing with these people. We shall firmly entrench ourselves and let them come to us, and when they do we shall show them the full might of the Imperial Triumvirate,” he took a puff of his cigar.

”Very well, Caesar, you have always proven wise in military matters…although for now I suspect they will concentrate on your grandfather’s kingdom. That seems to be the more pressing matter on their part.”

“And as a matter of honor, we shall support Praetonia when Sarzo blunders into conflict, armed or otherwise, with our brothers,” Maximus paused for a moment, and thoughtfully spoke again, ”You know, while much has changed in the past years…nothing has truly changed.”

Gaius seemed puzzled.

”My brother, in the past few years, even with the advent of our glorious alliance, I have killed enough men that if I were to tell you half the stories, you would have nightmares for the rest of your days. Crusade after crusade…even after this so-called Pax Doomana. No, nothing has really changed. There will never be peace on this world, not until the Final Judgment comes. The average citizen still regards the Praetonian with just as much suspicion as he would ten years ago,” Maximus relaxed in his chair, smoke flowing smoothly from his expensive Generian cigar,

”They think they are importing their democratic ideals here…they think we’ve actually changed,” Maximus laughed, ”Nothing has changed here. They credit themselves for what always was and always will be.”

Gaius nodded,

”Yes, they seem to have gotten the strange idea that they were the ones to have brought capitalism to Doomanum…”

”At any rate…it is still amazing the things that have happened. Only six years ago I led our armies against millions of Questarians in Damnatium…and now we are allies, relatives even. It that not a miracle, Gaius? Could this have happened were it not for the will of God?” he did not give Gaius a chance to respond, ”This alliance has allowed the spread of the Faith without bloodshed. It is truly glorious to know that we can do as Christ wills, that is to spread his word amongst the unclean, without the shed of Doomani blood, or the spilling of foreign blood,” Maximus smiled as he spoke these words.

”And yet,” Gaius interjected, ”There is no shortage of barbarians that seek to tear down what we have built through the Grace of God. Even those that we would call brother…” he was, of course, referring to the Pacitalians.

Recently Doomanum and Pacitalia had signed a treaty regarding heraldry, acknowledging them both as a brother people through their Roman heritage. This had had no real bearing in terms of the policies of either nation, but it had been a step in the right direction diplomatically. The return of the Sarzonians to the world stage could only serve to strain Paci-Doomani relations, and things weren’t helped by the Chiovitti administration’s opposition to APOC.

Maximus laughed heartily at Gaius’ latest statement, ”These so called ‘Big Three’ are not even worth mentioning within these walls. You know that. None the less, I suppose they may pose an obstacle, however minor, at some point, and I suspect Sarzo will align himself with that bloc.”

Gaius nodded, ”That seems most likely at this point…one cannot stay out of entangling alliances forever. It simply isn’t possible in the world we live in today. Now, brother, how shall you respond to Sarzo’s latest…announcement?”

Maximus smiled deviously, ”Why, by extending the olive branch, brother.”

Gaius smirked. ”I have taught you well, Caesar.”

”Indeed you have, dear brother.”

Gaius Alexius Doomanus was among one of the most influential and skilled politicians in the Imperium; since Maximus’ ascension to the throne, Gaius had tutored his older brother in the dark arts of politics. Maximus had proven himself a quick learner and had turned out to be quite the statesman.

Caesar Maximus III knew full well that as a matter of principal, Sarzo would be highly suspicious of his intentions, and therefore most likely opposed to any warming of Doomani-Sarzonian relations at this stage in the game. Maximus was counting on his idealism to lure Sarzo right into his trap.

OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE

IMPERIVM DOOMANVM

The Imperium Doomanum welcomes her former adversary, President Sarzo, back into the treacherous realm of international relations and thanks God for his recovery from such a life-threatening illness. It is hoped by the Imperium that this shall be the dawn of a new era in Sarzonian-Doomani relations; a brave new day in which both peoples shall stand together in brotherhood.

As a token of good faith, the Imperium wishes to immediately establish trade ties with the Incorporated States of Sarzonia. It is in this way that we hope to further diplomatic relations between our two peoples so that, in the end, the entire world may prosper.

The following message has been hand delivered to Ambassador Lloyd Warner at the Sarzonian Embassy in Allen gardens, Oliver City, and also sent to the President's office in Woodstock by the Ollish Ambassador Commodore Oliver McAlpine CN (ret).


To the esteemed President of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia, Mr Mike Sarzo


Your long standing allies in Ollieland welcome you back from your self imposed exile, and also welcome back Sarzonia to the world stage.

The world is indeed a much changed place. During your exile the axis of power has shifted, new alliances are in force between former enemies. Many have made very unlikely bedfellows. The national leaders of the world seem to be gripped by a new and urgent sense of "Realpolitic", many seemingly abandoning their previous beliefs and ethics. We ourselves have followed this to a certain extent, joining the Sovereign League along with Praetonia and many other former Woodstock Pact members. It is our belief that our membership and subsequent alliances with certain nations in no way compromises our democratic ideals or our wish to spread democracy.

Sarzonia is our oldest ally, your nation was the first to exhange embassies with Ollieland and 80% of our military is outfitted by the Portland Iron Works. It is our sincere wish that your great nation can come to terms with the new world order and take an active part in it, hopefully with us alongside.

Our sincerest wishes,

Governor Konnie Chung

(Signed on behalf of the government of the Colony of Ollieland)

Sarzo's spaceplane had landed, not in Uxland, but at RAF Uxbridge in the county of the same time. In Questaria, RAF stood for 'Royal Air Force', but in Praetonia it stood for 'Royal Aerial Flotilla', a reference both to the ship-like size of the spaceplanes it operated, and to the patronage of the King which had been so instrumental in ensuring that its existence came about. Before the development of spaceplanes and, more importantly, spaceplane bombers, IFC Uxbridge had been little more than a backwater training base with more SAMs than planes stationed to protect the approaches to the capital at Kingston. Now, as the one-time only and still largest spaceplane airport in the entire Crown Commonwealth, the place was continually swamped with military and civil aviation traffic. Overhead, the skies crackled an eerie electric blue with the superheated hydrogen plasma exhaust left behind by the planes taking off and landing.

The Royal spaceplane that had served as Sarzo's transport had used its hydrogen-fuelled nuclear rocket precious little on the journey from Sarzonia. To conserve fuel, the plane had remained inside the atmosphere using its adaptable SNAPS engine as a nuclear ramjet. This made for a slower journey, but it was felt that the "mad dash" twenty-minute extra-atmospheric runs made by the expensive business jets shuttling people to foreign capitals would leave too little time to adapt to his dramatic change of location and timezone. An hour was just as good. Better, in fact.

Touching down on the tarmac with a gentle jolt, the plane skidded to a halt along much of the length of the vast runway. A royal guard, resplendent in full ceremonial uniform - including polearm - ushered Sarzo from the plane and down the walkway to the terminal. Only it wasn't a terminal. Instead it was a vast, palatial train terminal, with platforms stretching out far into the distance in either direction. The vaulted ceiling was enamelled with gold and silver and painted with depictions of past Kings and battles whose names most had forgotten. The floors were of polished marble, and the train itself - the only one in the entire building on the platform directly in front of Sarzo - was a marvel to behold. Its armoured carapace carried the Royal Seal, and down the side oak panelling with silver decoration. The windows were tinted jet black, and the engine was immaculately clean.

In truth, the station was not the preserve entirely of the King - only this one platform. The rest of the building had been built to ferry service personnel to and from the base - tens of thousands of them - but there was no such ferrying today and Sarzo's minders were content to have him believe that this vast edifice was simply a show of royal power and prestige.

"This way, Mr President," indicated the same palace guard, an officer. With him were two red coated officers of the Household Cavalry, another two palace guards - mere foot soldiers - and some sterner men dressed in suits, most probably from the Foreign Office.

Sarzo was led onto the train, and seated in what could be mistaken for a small drawing room in a large palace. Equipped with lavish reclining furniture, Sarzo was presented with a pot of finest tea and a box of choice cigars, set down on an antique table in front of his seat. The palace guards did not know if Sarzo liked tea, let alone if he smoked, but protocol demanded that for a President the best gifts be arranged.

"We should arrive promptly, Mr President. In the meantime, feel free to sample the train's amenities. If there is anything you would like to be arranged, do not hesitate to ask," said the palace guard officer, as the train started up. It was a maglev, and Uxland Castle was not far. The train moved away from the platform silently and smoothly, soon passing from the opulence of RAF Uxbridge's military railway station into the grassy meadows and hills of Uxbridge and then on into her sister county, Uxland. The county was not nearly so well known as Uxbridge and for good reason. Almost entirely below sea level, it was known as 'Uxland Fen' to the locals. Its bleak marshland was notorious as an area where hikers disappeared without trace.

The train, however, was perfectly safe, the track having been built on concrete piles sunk well into the wetlands ensuring a strong foundation. From inside the train atop the ten metre high raised track line, one could see across empty, flat marsh for miles, until another fog rolled in. Within three quarters of an hour, Uxland Castle was in view. It had been built on a hill rising steeply out of the marsh. One might wonder why a Monarch would want to build a home in such a bleak, isolated spot, but that would be to forget that the position had not always been so secure. Uxland Castle had been built in the dark days of the First Civil War, which many at the time believed to be the apocalypse foretold by the Book of Revelations. The castle was not so much a medieval castle as a semi-Napoleonic fortress, with triangular bastions jutting out into the marsh in concentric rings around a central keep that rose steeply out of the surrounding countryside. Atop one of the towers rising above the main keep itself was what looked like an observatory, only pointed out at the land.

Uxland Castle was not a palace, but a true fortress.

It had seen far bleaker days, however, and as Sarzo's train pulled into the station he would breathe a sigh of relief if he was expecting depressing grey. The railway station was much like the one at RAF Uxbridge, and between the concentric rings of obsolete fortifications were gardens full of poplars, oaks and elms. The station had been built in the keep itself, indicative that security against a besieging army was no longer a concern.

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

The King, meanwhile, was looking over plans for a new class of supercapital warship for the Imperial Navy. Named the Vigilant-class, she was intended to watch over Praetonia's seaward borders not from the historic enemies - Doomingsland, Generia, Automagfreek... - but from Sarzonia and her not-so-subtly named 'Retaliation-class' supercapitals. Even though few believed that war was on the horizon, it was always best to show any potential rival that one was still strong, and strong enough to resist attack, should it ever come.

Sitting in the hall in which the meeting with Sarzo would take place, the King spread the various documents and diagrams, reports and minutes on the ancient oak table that had been built from the wood of the Royalist flagship HMS Royal Sovereign by the victorious Parliamentarians in the first months of the Grand Commonwealth. The hall was painted all around with scenes of the Civil War Battle of Uxland Castle. It had been a glorious Royalist victory - but unfortunately one of their few.

Too few guns, too short, too little displacement, the King thought to himself. Another run of Iron Dukes would be more effective. Alas, the politicians...

The King had long been interested in the affairs of the navy, of which he was the head through merit rather than by descent. Unfortunately, his proposal to build more Iron Duke-class vessels had been thwarted by the Foreign Office, which, although accepting that this might be a cheaper and more efficient way of achieving gun-superiority with the new Sarzonian class, would not send as great a political message as achieving hull-superiority. Building twenty, or even ten, new Iron Duke hulls was out of the question at a time when the Prime Minister had committed to continue his annual tax cuts to the tune of 10% this year - slightly above economic growth - so compromises had to be made.

Compromise ships are never successful, the King mourned Vigilant's fate before it the design was even decided upon. Much like Freedom, he thought. Now there was a ship built just to show we could do it. The masses, of course, celebrated Freedom as a grand achievement, and so had the navy, but King couldn't help but conclude that Freedom was built as an unobtrusive way of gaining entry to an exclusive political club, and she could have been a much better fighting ship.

There was a knock at the door.

"Your Majesty," began his butler, bowing, "President Sarzo has arrived and shall arrive shortly."

"Very well. Clear up these things, will you?" He indicated the papers strewn across the desk.

"As you wish, Your Majesty."

As the butler cleared the documents away, the King prepared himself for the meeting he would shortly be facing, for it would surely affect the course of history of all the world.

Hmm, nice Sarzo thought. Even though the display was obviously impressive, he undertook considerable effort not to betray that feeling. His face took on an implacable sheen, one born from the considerable resentment he felt toward Praetonia after its decision to initiate trade with the Doomies.

Sarius is going to have one hell of a time explaining that one, Sarzo thought. He thought back to the last time he was in Praetonia and the last time he'd seen Sarius. Back then, Sarius was simply the prime minister and there was no monarchy as such in Praetonia. Now, it was the Crown Commonwealth. Much had changed in Praetonia since Sarzonia underwent its period of isolation from the world.

However, much had also changed in Sarzonia since the period of isolation. Sarzo realised it was going to be a different nation that he would have to face once Sarzonia One picked him back up and returned to Woodstock. He had pretty much taken for granted that he was going to have to rely on his own, much slower method of transport to return him to Sarzonia. If the Praetonians had really turned the corner into the evil regime some of his advisors were describing, Sarzonia One would likely have a ISAF escort ready to launch the first strikes against Praetonian military and industrial targets.

As Sarzo began to walk into the room and see his onetime close friend Sarius, he slowly drew in his breath through his nostrils. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyes betrayed a simmer of anger and resentment. He wasn't going to pretend this was a social call. There was no reason to. However, he would do his best to maintain some semblance of professionalism. After all, Praetonia and Sarzonia were still nominally allies, no matter how strained that bond was currently or would eventually become.

The King stood behind the oak table with his hands held behind his back as he watched Sarzo approach. In the manner of all good Monarchs, his face was neither stern nor jovial. He held the manner of a proud and graceful parent watching over the machinations of his children with mild bemusement. He could just as easily have been commemorating a monument, or attending on some ceremony or other.

As Sarzo came closer, however, he walked around the table to meet him. He even allowed himself a benign, diplomatic smile.

"Good morning, Mr President," he said, offering his hand, "I trust you had an agreeable journey? The trains we have here really are most extraordinarily comfortable, and spaceplane is always my favourite way to travel. Anyway, let us dispense with the pleasantries," he smiled a second time, but then his face reverted to a much graver image, "I am afraid we have some most serious matters of state to discuss.

"Please take a seat," a footman bowed and pulled out the chair nearest the two men for Sarzo to take.

[OOC: Joint post between Praetonia and Sarzonia. Sorry, Prae, I had this saved on MS Word and I just decided I couldn't wait any longer to post, so here's my edited copy.]

Sarzo first bowed slowly, closing his eyes gently as he did so in an effort to portray trust. He wasn’t entirely sure if Praetonians considered opening one’s eyes for a bow to the King as an affront, but he didn’t want to take chances. He then shook Sarius’s hand and said, “yes, Your Majesty, the space plane was quite an agreeable way to travel. I shall have to look into constructing one for my own travels.”

He then shook Sarius’s hand and nodded slightly.

“I can have a spaceplane arranged for your personal use. The Praetonian aviation industry has made quite a few of them now. We’re getting rather good at it,” he smiled, warmly.

“I believe we do have some rather serious items to discuss,” Sarzo agreed with Sarius. He then took the seat offered to him and sat down slowly, both in an effort to maintain some control and in deference to the throbbing pain from his incision site.

“Yes, very serious indeed. I fear that our two nations could be on a course to breaking a friendship that has held for so long as I can remember. I would like very much not to leave this world with Praetonia and Sarzonia enemies.” He sighed.

“I would like, by the end of these negotiations, to have a document signed by us both, reaffirming our bonds of friendship and pledging to work to keep them strong in the future.”

Sarzo drew in his own breath slowly. The offer of a spaceplane was quite a generous one, and not one Sarzo frankly expected especially so early on in the discussions. However, the course of Praeto-Sarzonian relations was a far rockier sea than it had ever been. Sarzo waited for a moment, trying hard to choose his words carefully before he finally offered his next response.

“It is a grave concern among my own people,” Sarzo said. “If there was one thing in this world Sarzonians could count on – besides death and taxes, of course – it was a strong bond with our Praetonian brethren. Now, that bond isn’t as certain as we would both like it to be.

“For us to come to an accord, it has to be something that makes sense for both of us, and one that can be agreeable to both your own government and my House of Delegates.”

Sarzo fixed an even glance at Sarius and thought Your move, sir.

Sarius returned Sarzo’s gaze impassively. He knew what Sarzo was doing but, having spent a lifetime dealing with politicians, kept his face blank.

“I am aware of these issues. The speech you made announcing your return to power has not gone down well with the newspapers here, nor with Parliament, but it is not nearly too late for the rift to be healed. If we leave it much later, it could well be.

“I do not want this document to promise anything material. Such promises would be meaningless, even if they were carried out. I want it to represent a willingness to continue to work together to further our common aims.” The King’s tone shifted from neutral to quite grave, “And I assure you, Mr. President, they do still exist.”

Sarzo’s eyebrows furrowed into the beginnings of his trademark scowl as soon as he heard the reference to his speech. When he realised his face had turned quite forbidding, he drew his breath in slowly in an effort to regain control of his own emotions. However, he knew that he’d demonstrated conclusively to anyone watching that he was quite displeased with the mention of the speech.

“With all due respect, sir,” Sarzo began. “Most of the focus of my speech was how I failed the Sarzonian people by resigning without explaining the full extent of my medical condition.

“And the fact it caused me to abruptly resign the Presidency rather than take a medical leave of absence, which I probably should have.

“Praetonian foreign policy played some role; however, I expressed my own opinion about Praetonian foreign policy, which your own government has done regarding Sarzonian foreign policy on a number of occasions. Clearly, if our nations are to maintain a friendship, we should be free to express our opinions about what the other government is doing, even if we disagree with it.”

Sarzo then returned to an even glance and spoke again.

“However, I believe we ought to be discussing more substantive matters, namely how our two nations can resume our bonds of friendship and prevent our countries from inexorably altering them for the worse.”

He leaned back in his chair ever so slightly, both to preserve precious energy as he began to feel it wane ever so slightly and to subtly regain control, both of himself and the negotiations.

Sarius kept his gaze neutral and his voice calm. It was always the best way to deal with politicians, he thought to himself, “If you will permit me to interject, two out of the five paragraphs in the transcript of your speech were directly critical of My Government’s foreign policy. This is quite a significant proportion, is it not?

“I do, however, agree that an argument about the analysis of the speech will get us nowhere. On the other hand, the line of thought that underlies the criticisms expressed in it is key to finding a successful and lasting resolution to the current impasse. Do you not agree?”

The King remained neutral. He had shifted the pressure onto Sarzo with what looked outwardly like effortless ease--a strategy he was more used to using on Praetonian Prime Ministers than on foreign statesmen.

“It is,” Sarzo said in an even, neutral tone that belied his own anger over being called to task. “However, there are other, more important keys beyond just the sentiments behind my speech. Namely, I believe an explanation is indeed in order for your government’s decision to make a sworn enemy of the Sarzonian nation stronger economically.”

Sarzo knew that delaying the inevitable discussion would do no one any good, so he decided it was time to lay the cards directly on the table.

“Our government and the people of Sarzonia are rather resentful of your nation for choosing to open trade with the Doomies.” Sarzo all but spat out the word Doomies, a nation whom Sarzonians viewed with worse enmity than any country since Cam III. Sarzo knew that Praetonians didn’t like Hamptonshire – actually, neither did Sarzonians – but the enmity between Sarzonia and Doomingsland was the stuff of infamy. Continuing the trade between Praetonia and Doomingsland was going to be a deal breaker. In fact, it was going to be THE deal breaker in negotiations unless Sarius played his cards right.

For the first time in the exchange, the King’s voice hardened. It was not through anger or emotion but through a control built up by decades of being seen to be, and thus having to act in the best fashion of, the personification of a nation which counts emotional reserve and steely resolve amongst its most proudly held characteristics.

“Mr President, I am aware that Sarzonia has recently experienced a period of isolation. This is understandable, given the recession and your own personal issues – you are, afterall, the embodiment of your nation to a greater extent even than I am of mine – but you cannot expect the world to have remained stagnant.

“In the period that Sarzonia has been in isolation and you have been isolated from world affairs, Gholgoth and its associates have made several attempts to retake some sense of their old lustre and glory. CAD is much less evil than they.”

The King remained silent for a moment, and then continued.

“We must reflect on that, but we must also reflect on our failure to damage CAD by other means. We cannot beat them militarily, at the very least not without horrendous losses. Even if this were desirable or even acceptable, which I do not believe it is, we would not be able to persuade their brainwashed populace to accept liberal rule. They would resist, and a bloodbath would ensue.

“By trading with them, we allow the diffusion of ideas. We allow domestic attitudes to change within CAD slowly over a period of time, which is, we have to accept, the only way we will ever topple the CAD dictatorships.
“In addition, we gain their protection and they gain ours. By working towards common goals, we make war less of a risk. If I had met with you before Sarzonia had entered its isolation, war with CAD would have been viewed as something that could come at any minute. If you ask a Praetonian in Parliament or on the Highstreet today they tell you war with CAD is unthinkable.

“Interdependence makes the chances of war ravaging our lands almost disappear, as well as providing our best chance of changing their governing systems. It is true that trade strengthens them, but only to the same extent as it strengthens us in return, and it makes war a sacrifice.

“Sarzonia only loses out because she cannot benefit from CAD trade. Sarzonia only loses out because CAD is not interdependent with her and has nothing greater to sacrifice by going to war. Sarzonia loses out only because she believes that the solutions of the past can be applied to the future, Mr President.

“That is why I called you here today. Because you must be the voice of change in your country. No one else will do.”

Sarzo’s features hardened once again, this time not into his trademark scowl, but into a face of determination in his own right. Even though Praetonians pride themselves on steely resolve, the Sarzonians also demonstrated that in their own right.

“Just because your nation may be unable militarily to defeat CAD doesn’t mean my nation can not defeat a CAD nation in combat,” Sarzo began. “To be direct, sir, the idea that you can change a CAD nation’s system of government through trade and interdependence is more than a bit naive. They may very well be using their own strength in economy gained through trade with Praetonia and her Sovereign League brethren to attempt the same sort of regime change within your nation and within the Sovereign League itself.”

Sarzo’s eyes remained even, though his face became slightly more firm. “I believe if we are to have a chance of leaving this meeting with some sort of agreement, we may have to agree to disagree on this point. However,” he said, his face softening slightly to a more philosophical appearance, “that may be impractical for a full restoration of Praeto-Sarzonian relations to pre-isolation levels.”

“Leaving in disagreement is precisely what we must not do, Mr President. Both of our great nations believe in roughly the same cause. There is no uncrossable ideological divide between us. There is no reason we cannot leave this hall in perfect agreement. Indeed, I believe it is the only way that we can ensure the long-term safety of Praeto-Sarzonian relations.

“I do not ask you to trade with CAD. I do not ask you to join APOC. But I do ask you to go back from this place and tell your people that Sarzonia can work with a Praetonia that trades with CAD, and that is a member of APOC. I’m sorry to say, Mr President, that these things are not about to change. Even if it were My will that they should, Parliament is with APOC and so are the public.

“Are you prepared to do that, Mr President?”

Sarzo drew in his breath and exhaled slowly. He knew the answer. He knew the House would never agree to such a deal. More importantly, he knew the Sarzonian people would never accept it.

“I’m afraid that just isn’t possible, sir,” Sarzo said in the softest tone of voice he’d uttered. “Your public may support such an agreement; however, mine would never accept such terms.”

Sarius sighed. All now is probably lost, he thought to himself. “Then I am afraid that you may just have set light to decades of cooperation between our two countries and trampled on the ashes,” is what he wanted to say, but instead, speaking softly, he asked, simply, “Is Sarzonia willing to compromise to any extent?”

Sarzo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t scowl. Instead, he just had a short response: “That depends on whether or not Praetonia is willing to compromise,” he began before saying, “or the extent to which my nation is being asked to compromise.”

“I will say quite clearly now that trade with CAD is not on offer. If that is a deal-breaker then I fear the deal may already be broken. I am, however, willing to offer you something far more valuable.

“I shall sign a treaty with the Incorporated States declaring that, in the event of war between any CAD state and the Incorporated States, My armed forces would be obliged to come to your aid. This is a promise that does not exist in the Sovereign League and that does not exist in APOC.

“In essense, CAD would have to accept the destruction of APOC in order to go to war with Sarzonia. However, APOC is valuable to them, and they do not wish to risk war with the Sovereign League. In effect, Sarzonia would be given an ultimate guarantee of safety from CAD aggression.

“You may think that this is something small that can be offer lightly. In many circumstances mutual defence can and is handed out frivolously. In this case, it is not. We would be accepting that CAD aggression against Sarzonia would lead to the destruction of the vast majority of the Liberal-Tory foreign policy’s achievements.”

Sarzo leaned back again. Clearly, he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from this meeting. However, this offer from Sarius amounted to what Sarzo was ultimately hoping for from the meeting: A form of assurance that Praetonia wouldn’t work against Sarzonia in the event of war against a CAD state. He figured that small concession would be enough to convince the Sarzonian people that the Praetonians weren’t the enemy. Even though they were still trading with CAD nations – including the Doomies –
they also would come to Sarzonia’s aid in the event of a declaration of war against Sarzonia, as they had for years.

“That I believe would work,” Sarzo began finally after considering all the options. “I believe my nation chiefly is looking for assurances that you wouldn’t be working against a war effort against CAD. I believe that would past mustre in the House of Delegates, and more importantly, with the Sarzonian people. I believe I can talk to the nation and convince them that our interests are served in such a way as to make this acceptable.”

The King relaxed somewhat. “Do know the Sarzonian people better than I. Do you believe that this will be enough to save the friendship between our two countries?”

For the first time in a very long time, Sarzo smiled ever so slightly. Even though it was for only a second or two, the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Yes,” Sarzo said. “Things may have changed in our countries, but I don’t believe this compromises our friendship.” He smirked for a moment, then said, “have you ever heard of a lover’s spat?” He also thought I’d better not mention make-up sex and suppressed a laugh.

The King laughed, more with relief than anything else, and smiled. “Unfortunately I fear that this issue shall re-emerge in the not so distant views but, for now, I am content that it is resolved.

“Mr President, on behalf of all My People, I thank you for coming here today. I know it is a rare occurance that you leave Sarzonia to visit foreign dignitaries in their own land. You honour Me and My People in doing so.

“In your present state of physical health I would understand if you do not wish to return to Woodstock today. Thus, please do feel free to take full advantage of the facilities on offer here. If you do decide to stay, I would be honoured to dine with you and perhaps discuss not so serious matters. If not, the footmen shall ensure a speedy return to the spaceport.”

He stood up, and offered his hand.

Sarzo stood up and extended his hand and shook Sarius’s to the best of his ability.

“It would be my pleasure to dine with you and to discuss other, less serious matters with you. Besides,” Sarzo said with a full on smile, “I could use a bit of a vacation.”

Sarius laughed. You won’t have much of a ‘vacation’, as you say, here. My ancestors built this castle in the middle of a swamp because they couldn’t beat Parliament on open ground.

You know what I mean, Sarzo thought before deciding not to speak. He figured the look on his face would get that message across quite amply.

[OOC: I haven't made a decision either way. Consider this a placeholder post in an effort to get momentum going again in this thread.]

Woodstock Daily Mail

Analysts: Agreement 'likely to fail' in House

by Lawrence Downie Jr.
Executive Editor

26 January 2007 -- Amid a growing controversy surrounding the state of Praeto-Sarzonian relations, analysts from several political think tanks in Sarzonia have all but ruled out the possibility that the House of Delegates would ratify the treaty signed by President Mike Sarzo and Praetonian King Sarius I.

"I just don't see that treaty as having a chance in Hell," said Peter Ridgeway, the executive director of Ridgeway Consulting, Inc., a non-partisan think tank based in Woodstock that deals with international politics as they relate to the Sarzonian political scene. "[House Speaker Connie] Jacobi is dead set against any treaties that don't disavow trade between Praetonia and Doomingsland. Frankly, a mutual defence pact isn't going to cut it."

Other analysts agree, saying that Sarzo's failure to convince the Praetonian government that trade with Doomingsland would create enmity within the Sarzonian government was "his greatest diplomatic failure of his career," and a sign the Sarzonian chief executive was "losing his marbles."

However, the House has a much larger issue on its hands. A recent Julianus Road Bulletin poll shows popular support throughout Sarzonia for ratification of the treaty. According to the poll, 66 percent of Sarzonians polled supported ratification of the treaty, up from 58 percent just a week ago.

"The voice of the people is loud and clear on this one," said Bulletin managing editor Ken Davidson. "There's growing sentiment among the Sarzonian people that failure to ratify the treaty would be 'a slap in the face,' not just to the Praetonian people, but to the Sarzonian people themselves."

House switchboard supervisor Glenna Dixon said that call volume is "about triple" the normal figures for ratification or rejection of treaties, with nearly three quarters of the calls in favour.

However, when faced with the numbers, Jacobi reiterated her opposition to the treaty and her determination to derail a vote.

"This treaty is bad business for the Sarzonian government and the Sarzonian people," she said. "My plans haven't changed," she added when she was asked if she would filibuster the legislation.

"There are a number of tools in a legislator's arsenal to prevent negative legislation from reaching the floor," she said. "Including the nuclear option." The nuclear option is a colloquial term for a House speaker killing proposed legislation by tabling a measure indefinitely.

"Sometimes, political leaders have to show leadership and make decisions that aren't popular," Jacobi said, referencing the broad support among the Sarzonian people for ratification. "This is one of those times."

Most industry analysts wouldn't speculate on whether a "people's veto" of House rejection of the treaty would be forthcoming, noting that the constitutional article that implemented the people's veto does not specifically provide for ratification of treaties. However, should such a vote be forthcoming, analysts agreed that a people's veto vote stood a "better than average chance" of ratifying the treaty.

"Jacobi needs to listen to her constituents," said former Senator Brian Delgado, a onetime candidate for President before Sarzo rescinded his resignation. "I don't agree with the treaty either, but she's playing with fire if she wants to ignore the voice of the people."

"If this goes to a people's veto referendum, Sarzo's going to have all the time in the world to convince the public to vote for ratification," Ridgeway said. "That would be a stinging political rebuke for Jacobi."

Peace in our Time?
Having persuaded President Sarzo, His Majesty is struggling to win over a "petulant and ultra-nationalist" Sarzonian Parliament.

http://www.ukstudentlife.com/Ideas/Album/StateOpeningOfParliament/Coach1.jpg
Woodstock, 2007? His Majesty has asked to visit the Sarzonian capital to address their Parliament on the Treaty of Uxland.
___________________
From 'The Herald'
Front Page

Mere days after returning from the successful Uxland Conference, President Sarzo has run into a potentially insurmountable obstacle in a recalcitrant Sarzonian Parliament described as "petulant, ultra-nationalist and vociferously anti-Praetonian" by an unnamed backbench Crown Loyalist MP. In response, the King has requested to be allowed to travel to Woodstock to address the Sarzonian Parliament in session before the vote, but many fear it could already be too late to rescue the Praeto-Sarzonian 'special relationship'.

The King's plans could be scuppered before they begin, however, as the Speaker of the Sarzonian House of Delegates has emerged as a leader of the anti-Uxland camp, and it is likely that her approval would have to be secured for the visit to go ahead. It is feared that the Palace press release announcing the plans, which described the visit as "a reasonable and timely exercise that no rational state would refuse", may prove hopelessly over-optimistic.

At the same time the Government issued its own statement, declaring that, "the continuance of strong diplomatic relations with Sarzonia is a major goal of our current foreign policy," but affirming that "no amount of pressure will compel the discontinuance of Praetonian trade with APOC memberstates. This is unfortunately not a position that is at all negotiable." A majority of Sarzonian legislators are believed to see ending Praetonian trade with CAD nations and Doomingsland in particular as a necessary concession in order to ensure lasting relations.

Despite strong opposition to the Uxland treaty from the Sarzonian political élite, popular support is strong and growing amongst the general populace. According to the Institue for Sarzonian Political Research, a Kingston-based think-tank with extensive links in Woodstock, strong popular support could "force law-makers to take a more pragmatic approach" when it comes to the vote, with nautrally anti-Uxland Delegates "likely to be faced with a conscious choice between their idealogy and the more down-to-earth concerns of re-election".

The Duke of Warburton [OOC: leader of the Loyal Opposition] attacked the divide between the views of the Sarzonian people and their "plutocratic élite" in a damning speech to the Commonwealth Parliamentarian Society, describing the Sarzonian government as "an increasingly corruptable institution" whose people should "press for more accountable public officials, including an elected President". The Duke also urged the Sarzonian people to respond to the Treaty of Uxland being voted down against their wishes by "throwing the rascals out" come next election.

Most serious political minds in Kingston now believe that Praeto-Sarzonian relations are reaching a "crunch point" in date of the treaty vote, beyond which it will be nearly impossible to go back if the treaty is defeated. Concerns are growing that the 'special relationship' between Sarzonia and Praetonia could be reaching the end of its life.

Hours after the space plane set down in Woodstock and Sarzo returned to Woodstock, he was preparing the State of the Union address. His usual custom was a 45-minute address in which everything from international affairs to domestic concerns would be on the table.

However, this time would be a little different. It would be as much an address on the state of the man as it was the state of Sarzonia. He still shook his head at the proposal for 20 Retaliation class supercapitals. No way in hell we can afford that much, Sarzo thought as he made the slow walk toward the House chamber.

As he waited for the House sergeant at arms to announce his presence, Sarzo ran through the proposal by Sarius to visit Woodstock. Jacobi was against the idea, Sarzo knew that. Newly elected Senate President Pro Tempore Calvin Beasley was in favour. More importantly, however, Lewis was in favour. If anyone could talk the slightest bit of sense into that hardheaded bitch Jacobi, it’d be Lewis. Granted, the fact that Jacobi always thought Lewis was about two seconds away from sending her to the hospital may have had something to do with it, but between Sarzo and Lewis, they could somehow talk Jacobi into allowing the visit by Sarius.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, it is my distinct honour to present the President of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia, Mr. Michael A. Sarzo.”

Here goes,” Sarzo thought as he began to make his rounds toward the podium. With Lewis and Jacobi standing in chairs behind the podium, Sarzo finally made the slow, deliberate walk up the steps toward the podium, stopping first to shake hands with Jacobi.

She had that smile plastered on her face. Sarzo knew it was the “smile for the cameras while I wait to ream your ass out” smile, but at this point, he didn’t care. He turned and shook hands with Lewis before turning toward the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, members of Parliament, members of the Cabinet, the Supreme Judicial Court, members of foreign delegations, and distinguished guests. Tonight, it is my constitutional duty to inform the members of Parliament, and more importantly, the Sarzonian people, of the state of our Union. Before I begin,” he said, waiting as the gasps that followed his last three words subsided, “I would like to ask Lt. President Lewis to give her own address to those of you assembled here today, to the Sarzonian people and to our worldwide audience.”

Sarzo stepped to the left of the podium, casting a quick glance at Jacobi, whose “I can’t wait to kick your ass” look was replaced by a look of shock. Lewis walked toward the podium with a look of grim determination on her face, but turned to Sarzo first and whispered.

“Here goes everything.”

”Nicole, you’ll do fine,” Sarzo whispered back.
“Fellow Sarzonians,” Lewis began. “It is not very common that I address you in a capacity other than mine as the acting chief executive whenever the President is momentarily unable to discharge his duties. However, I owe you all an explanation – and an apology.

“You see, when the President resigned from his office, he did not inform anyone, even me, that he had been diagnosed with testicular cancer. I believed that he was somehow forced to resign his post for reasons that were anything but justifiable. I believed his time in office was ending prematurely; thus, I refused to assume the presidency because I knew that if I had, the process of choosing an elected president would have begun earlier than it should have.

“When I found out that the President indeed had cancer, it stunned me as much as it stunned all of you. Had I known about the affliction, or had the President simply taken a medical leave of absence, I would never have abandoned my constitutional responsibilities to the office, nor my own personal responsibilities to you, the Sarzonian people. For my personal failures, I am deeply sorry.

“I will never abandon my country in her hour of need again,” Lewis said. “We must stand together as a people and we must unite to permit ourselves to return to the prominent position in this world that we have earned and that is our birthright. May God bless the Incorporated States of Sarzonia,” she said, turning and walking back to her chair as the applause began. Sarzo muttered, “I guess I have a tough act to follow” as Lewis stood back in front of her chair.

Sarzo looked out at the crowd once again, knowing that his next words would set the stage in motion for what would happen in the years to come. He only hoped that his appeal now to a divided Parliament would be answered, and that the voice of the people would win out.

The section of New Copenhagen Palace set aside purely for use by the Imperial Family was quiet. That quiet was sometimes interrupted by the clinking of silverware against a dish or the brief shuffle of a newspaper, at least in the dining room, but for the most part it was silent.

"Sarzo's back," muttered the Crown Prince, finally awakening enough to manage intelligent speech.

Briefly startled, Lien froze with her spoon full of oat meal halfway to her mouth before setting it back into the bowl and giving her son her undivided attention. "Oh?"

Prince Stefan nodded, "Yeah, seems that Sarzo rescinded his resignation before six months, which apparently means that legally it never happened. Messy."

The Empress frowned, "It's not as if our system is any better in that respect, just different in how the mess happens and is cleaned up."

Stefan grinned and replied in the half-sarcastic manner that was his trademark, "Yep! Somebody screws up and you order their heads detached from their shoulders. Then, a crew comes in and mops up all the blood."

Given that the ruler of the Imperium had to personally confirm and attend all executions, thankfully very few per year, the joke wasn't as funny as it would otherwise be and the Empress' glare lets her son know it. As did getting cuffed across the head by his twin sister Lian.

"Behave!" Barked Xavier.

Lien sighed and leaned back in her chair, thinking for a moment. She decided quickly enough that her ambassador to Sarzonia would be hand-delivering a letter to Sarzo with her well-wishes. That was the very least she could do. Maybe, just maybe, she could drag her family to Sarzonia so they could get a break and she could speak to the man face to face. No doubt Sadira would call it a State Visit, which was vaguely irritating but entirely necessary. Heads of State did not just drop what they were doing and visit other Heads of State for no other reason than needing some R&R, at least not officially.

"Xavier, I think I'm going to arrange a visit to Woodstock. Depending on what his schedule's like, we may manage a week or two," comment Lien to her husband.

The eyes of both twins lit up, "We're going to go see Uncle Mike?"

Xavier groaned and Lien smiled fondly. The last time the twins had visited Sarzonia, they had been very young and didn't remember much of the trip. Still, they persisted in calling Michael Sarzo "Uncle Mike." Lien found it cute in a way, especially how a young man and women could so act like children in that respect, but it was potentially embarrassing if either of them slipped up in public. They knew the rule on that, but it bore repeating.

"If President Sarzo has the time, and is feeling well, then we might make a little trip. That's a big if, especially after an exhausting trip to Praetonia," warned the Empress.

The twins understood both her points and had the good grace to look contrite, "Yes, mother."

Lien grinned, "He doesn't know you call him that, so you'll probably have an opportunity to drop that on him in private."

"Just don't give the man a heart attack, he cleaned me out the last time we played poker and I intend to get my money back," mock growled Xavier.


***


Several hours later, in Woodstock, the Imperial ambassador to Sarzonia picked up the phone's receiver and dialed the number for Sarzo's personal secretary, "Hello, this is Patrick McGowan over at the Imperial Embassy, I have a message that needs to be hand-delivered to President Sarzo. When can I get an appointment? Excellent. Yes, thank you. Have a good evening."


[Took some liberties with the previous trip thing, but figured it would add some humor. My AIM is ScandImperium and I'll have it up all day, so get a hold of me when you want to work on the joint post.]

[OOC: SS, I'll get to the response/joint post following this one. Right now, I'm posting Sarzo's State of the Union Address.]

Time to bash in a few skulls, Sarzo thought as Lewis made her way back to her chair and Sarzo began to walk to the podium. He turned back to Jacobi for a second and thought you're going to be the first victim.

"My fellow Sarzonians," Sarzo began, a beginning that was on one hand unnecessary and on the other hand a subtle rebuke of Jacobi, since he was now directly addressing the Sarzonian people as much as he was the assembled members of Sarzonian government. "After much consideration of where I am as a person and where the state of the world is at present, I made my return to the Gray House to provide this nation a sense of greater calm in the tempest of the world.

"More importantly, however, many of you may be wondering about my state of mind and body as I returned from Uxland in light of my treatments for cancer." No sense dancing around the subject, Sarzo thought as he noticed some eyes widen at his direct approach of the topic everyone thought about but regarded as sort of the elephant in the room. "Physically, I may need to take it easy for a few days," he said. "I get tired more easily than I once did. However," Sarzo said, flashing the look of resolve the world saw in full evidence during the onset of hostilities against Pantera, "I feel as mentally strong as ever. I may be even more 'with it' now than I was before surgery.

"Like Lt. President Lewis, I will not abandon Sarzonia in her hour of need again."

Sarzo then looked around the room as the assembled masses began to applaud, soaking in the moment while waiting patiently to drop his next bomb. When the applause subsided enough, he realised his next words would likely draw a distinctly opposite reaction, but he didn't care.

"I'm afraid the time comes for me to address the Parliamentary appropriation of 20 Retaliation-class supercapital warships," Sarzo said. He heard a throat clearing and he knew without looking it was one of the Senators who was no doubt ready to correct him with the official name the government had given the class: the very heavy dreadnought.

"I'm calling a spade a spade," Sarzo said pointedly, casting a quick glance at the Senator who happened to chair the military appropriations joint committee of Parliament. "Frankly, the construction of 20 supercapital warships -- no matter the designation -- is an inappropriate use of taxpayer dollars. I have chosen to use my Article XXI powers to veto that line in the most recent appropriations bill. I have approved the construction of four Retaliation class supercapitals and three Warspite-class ships, which has also reached my desk."

Sarzo waited for a moment, then continued.

"However, the central question that preoccupies our minds, and those of the Sarzonian people, remains what to do with the Praetonian question." Sarzo waited, took on his trademark scowl, then continued. "The Treaty of Uxland is a treaty that afford the Sarzonian nation the sort of protection from our foes in CAD that we lacked before my return. Namely, in the event of CAD aggression, Praetonia officially binds herself to Sarzonian defence."

Sarzo waited as catcalls began, then continued, specifically choosing to ignore them.

"More importantly, every opinion poll I have seen thus far supports ratification of the Treaty of Uxland. However, certain elements of our government would choose to ignore the will of the people and replace it instead with the rule of law."

Boos began to cascade down on Sarzo, and yes, they secretly hurt him, but he chose specifically to soldier on, not letting on how much the boos upset him. At least until the non-Members began to drown out the boos with applause. When Lewis snatched the gavel from Jacobi and banged it with a shrill yell of "Silence!" Sarzo was ready to resume.

"It's often been said the people of Sarzonia value democracy," Sarzo began. "We are a nation that has long stood as a guardian of the rule of the people. Invoking the so-called nuclear option is an affront to the principles of democracy and a slap in the face of the Sarzonian people." More boos mixed with applause created a mixed cacophony within the chamber, but when it died down, Sarzo decided to ad lib once more, calling the political forensic version of an audible. He turned and directly addressed Jacobi.

"Madame Speaker, you represent the voice of the Sarzonian people," Sarzo said pointedly. He jabbed his finger for added emphasis, then said, "by threatening to invoke the 'nuclear option' and ignore the will of the Sarzonian people, you have failed your responsibilities as the leader of a branch that most directly reflects the voices of the people you have been elected to represent.

"I call on you now to remember whom you serve. It isn't me. It isn't any members of my Cabinet, not is it anyone within Parliament or the Supreme Judicial Court. You serve at the pleasure and the mercy of the people of Sarzonia. By threatening to ignore that unique responsibility you have, you are demonstrating a form of hubris that can only cost you and the Progressive Party in the long run. I call on you to remember that unique responsibility you have and rule out the use of the so-called nuclear option."

The cheers and applause, most of which was free flowing during earlier portions of the speech suddenly were replaced with stunned silence. Jacobi's face, which had been a slightly tanned, slightly creased with both the onset of wrinkles and the hardened features of a leader willing to challenge both the President and her constitutents had turned ashen white. Her eyes, which had long been half-open or half-closed depending on whose interpretation you listened to, were now wide open and the slight sneer of I'll get you my pretty had turned into a look of dumb disbelief.

In that one moment, anyone who wondered if Sarzo had lost anything had their answer. If anything, he'd gained something: The willingness to directly challenge someone who had been a longtime ally of his. Some observers hoped that lesson wouldn't be lost on the Praetonians who were watching the speech.

"This world may have changed, but one thing will not change," Sarzo said. "That is, the Incorporated States of Sarzonia will not allow her principles to be compromised regardless of the short-term benefits such compromise might bring." He didn't say it in so many words, but the implication should be clear to anyone in the room... and anyone watching with interest throughout the world.

Some observers may have wondered about Sarzo's stance on the so-called Big Three, but he deliberately chose to leave certain elements out of his speech. An effort to normalise relations with Pacitalia was certainly in the cards; the hostile indifference toward the United Kingdom and the unremitting enmity toward the Grand Archduchy of Hamptonshire dictated that Sarzo keep his cards as close to his vest as he possibly could.

Besides, Sarzo knew all of that would straighten itself out eventually.

Surprise entente causes Sarzonian stock boom
Economic Gazette (Daurmont, UKIN)

Oliver Wescott (INAPA)

DAURMONT, ISLM. - While politicians in Parliament shuddered at the thought of a rapprochement between Sarzonia and Praetonia, investors embraced the Sarzonian president's acceptance of realpolitik and led the Bírsa to its greatest surge in years. Sarzonian stocks soared in the gust of diplomatic change that swept through the Sarzonian Parliament, especially after the President granted conditional approval for seven super-capital warships by Portland Iron Works.

The news brought further misery to shareholders in the Royal Shipyards. The Crown corporation's publicly traded sank to a new low today, marking this as the start of a fourth quarter of continuing losses. Neville Colwan, the current director-general, has become the Loyal Opposition's whipping boy. Calls for the DG's resignation have grown more vociferous as time passes, with Conservative backbenchers adding their voices to the chorus.

For its part, the Government has refused to comment on the Sarzonian president's new stance toward Praetonia and the soi-disant "Big Three" of Pacitalia, Hamptonshire, and Oceania.

[And now for a tie in to something I'm going to start. Long live the Imperator!]

Currie's rover rolled smoothly over the sintered dirt of the road, towards freedom. If he pulled this off, he'd be off this rock and in route to Earth by lunch time. His “exile” might have been a security measure, but god help the Directorate now. If it wasn't for Zedlacher dropping those hints in that email, he'd be safe back in his office, while Izistan once more exploded in revolutionary fervor. Zedlacher had more or less ordered him to stay and keep order as he “mopped up” back home. But Currie wasn't one to sit back and let a madman with dreams of empire ruin his beloved nation.

Damn Zedlacher! I should have recognized him for what he was back during the Revolution. God if only I'd known better... I should have noticed the signs! And he wants to overthrow us? God, that will antagonize the Sarzonians...And the Gholgothians. The bastard will be the death of us all. Nevertheless, I look forward to seeing his when he's shot.

- - - - - - - - - -

In retrospect, Currie should never have signed the rover out under his own name. He was, of course, under observation by Internal Security operatives the whole time. Operatives that were specifically chosen for their loyalty to Isbrand Zedlacher, head of Internal Security and member of the Directorate. But unfortunately for Currie, Zedlacher did not tolerate disloyalty.

Electro-optical systems peering from orbital platforms took notice of the infrared signature of the rover, and followed its extremely predictable course. Hit it from orbit? Too noticeable. They'd just have to conduct the operation the old fashioned way.

“Target confirmed to on the run. Operation Tambov is hereby sanctioned by the Detective-General himself. Terminate target with extreme prejudice.”

Setting up the ambush was child's play...

- - - - - - - -

The skinsuit clung to the mans skin as laid half buried in the regolith. But he didn't care about a moments discomfort, he was a agent of Internal Security and he would see this mission through. His patriotism would see the day through, that and the twenty million in assorted uncut gems waiting in a big deposit box in The Northern Expanse for when he got back.

It wasn't just the money, he loved his line of work, and all of the wonderful toys he got to play with...His fingers absently caressed the fiberglass tube of the MPATRL. A pity he would have to expend such a marvelous engine of destruction...But it was for a good cause

And now it was time. The road that snaked by his position just so happened to be the very same one that a certain Mr. Currie of the Izistani Directorate happened to be traveling on. Which suited this fellow just fine. And here he was, riding in a cramped survey rover. No armor what so ever, or self-defense mechanisms (after all, it was the moon), just a perfect target as one could ever ask for.

He rose to a kneeling position, suit stained with the millennia old dust, rocket tube at his shoulder. He tracked the vehicle, aimed where it was going to be, and let fly. The tube burped, sending a spray of contra-recoil liquid flying out the back (and boiling into a vaporous cloud in the vacuum), and throwing the rocket out of back-blast range. It ignited, streaking away soundlessly into the vacuum. Currie never had a chance.

The HEAT round had splashed the rover and its contents all over the road; metal, ceramic...and flesh splattered all over the road, shrouded in the fog of escaping air. Satisfied with his handiwork, the assassin struggled upright with a spray of moon dust, and began the lonely walk to his hopper.

[OOC: Prae, I really think we need to have that flashback post you and I discussed via PM. Can you get online this weekend?]

Sarzo felt as though he was banging his head against a wall with Jacobi. She continued to refuse to allow an up-or-down vote on ratification of the accord Sarzo and Sarius agreed to in Uxland. She knew the majority of House members had started to come around to support an agreement, so she was using every parliamentary tool in her bag to prevent the vote. She also knew that the most the House members could do was issue a non-binding vote of no confidence, and that would only be if she allowed a formal vote to take place.

However, the one thing she didn't count on was the people in her own district were growing more and more tired of her antics. In the long history of Sarzonian politics, no national level political figure had ever been subject to a recall election, but with the ratification of Article XXI, it became a real possibility.

Except in Jacobi's mind.

"There's no way in hell that the sitting Speaker of the House would be removed from office until an election," she said, her voice drenched in arrogance that would make anyone think she secretly harboured Hamptonian blood. She laughed off a report in a small, weekly newspaper that reported that a petition was circulating that would result in a recall election in 30 days. She doubted seriously that Lewis would ever certify the results, and even if she did, she dismissed the group that organised the petition drive as a band of naive idealists.

That was until she got a call from Lewis.

"Speaker Jacobi."

"Connie, I need to talk to you about something."

"What's that?"

"Can you come to my office?"

"Do it here, I've got a million things on my plate."

"Very well," Lewis said, not bothering to hide her irritation. "I just received a petition to initiate a recall election for your post."

"The House can't do jack shit to me and you know that, Nicole," Jacobi said."

"The House can't," Lewis said. Before she could finish, Jacobi finished for her in a voice that was barely above a whisper, and absent of much of its colour.

"But my constituents can."

"Correct," Lewis said. "There are more than twice as many valid signatures as was deemed necessary, and there's still two weeks to go before the deadline."

"So now I'm facing a battle for my seat in Parliament."

"You got it."

Jacobi slumped into her computer chair, breathing slowly as she tried to digest what that would mean to her political aspirations. She decided she wouldn't give the group the satisfaction it was seeking. She began to type a terse resignation letter to the President, thus ending this phase of her political career.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Before Sarzo could gather the entire staff in an impromptu singing of "ding dong, the witch is dead," he received a news report over onetime Woodstock Pact ally Ollieland's efforts to condemn Whyatica for its actions in Clandonia and Praetonia's and Questers's looking the other way. He looked at that day's edition of the Woodstock Daily Mail that pointed to a decline in popular support for ratifying the Treaty of Uxland.

"My, how the mighty have fallen," Sarzo said as he read through the news story.

"Just two weeks ago, the agreement enjoyed nearly 70 percent support among Sarzonians," the story read in part. "However, with recent reports of the deteriorating conditions in Clandonia and with Whyatica's and Doomingsland's involvement in Kahanistan, the most recent polls show only a bare majority -- 51 percent -- of Sarzonians now support an accord."

"Mr. President, you're going to be called to make a statement on those numbers," Press Secretary Heather Lloyd said. "What are you going to say?"

"I think there's only one thing to say," Sarzo replied.

"Which is...?"

Sarzo flipped through his folder, looking for an item he intended to quote.

"Right... HERE! Here it is." He read it and used a portable scanner to highlight the following text for a speech he was about to give to the Sarzonian people.

"The Sovereign League stands for Parliamentary Democracy, the rule of law, free enterprise and the safety of the individual from the power of the state. The Sovereign League supports a strongly armed and well defended free world of nations powerful enough to counter and defeat where necessary the forces of tyrannies around the world."

Sarzo realised that if his words were inflammatory enough, the issue of whether or not the now-former House Speaker would agree to Sarius to travel to Woodstock to convince lawmakers to ratify the treaty would be the least of his worries.

Woodstock Daily Mail

New Speaker agrees to bring treaty to vote
Analysts: Treaty still faces 'uphill battle'

By Lindsey Collingsworth
Daily Mail Staff Writer

(1 March 2007) -- Newly-minted House Speaker Charles Hunter (Moderate-New Isselmere) announced today that he has "every intention" of allowing the issue of ratifying the Treaty of Uxland to come to an up or down vote in the House of Delegates, but analysts warned the treaty wouldn't be a slam dunk in the House.

"The people of Praetonia are owed a definite yes or no answer," Hunter said in his speech, which was televised by both SNN and several Praetonian news networks. "More to the point, the people of Sarzonia need to be heard by the people whom they elected into office. It is not our will the people must obey. It is their will we must follow."

Hunter said his first act after assuming the speaker's gavel from now-former Del. Connie Jacobi would be to "create transparency" by allowing the vote to proceed from the Foreign Affairs Committee to the full floor of the House.

"Using the powers vested in the Speaker's role to squelch debate when the people of Sarzonia want us to do our jobs is an affront to the very principle of democracy," Hunter said. He added that he personally opposed ratification of the treaty, but said he would not stand in its way if the majority of Delegates voted in favour.

"I have one vote like everyone else here," Hunter said. "I would reserve the right to squelch debate only for a dire emergency, and whether or not to ratify a treaty hardly constitutes a dire emergency."

Several analysts said the treaty's chances of passing mustre in the House were uncertain as the political climate in Woodstock has gradually changed from overwhelming support for the treaty to a severe divide between loyal Praetophiles and anti-Doomani factions. A recent Daily Mail poll has placed popular support throughout Sarzonia at a statistical dead heat, with 47 percent of respondents voting in favour and 46 percent against.

"That treaty definitely faces an uphill battle," said David Hamilton, a foreign relations analyst at Morningstar Research Institute, based in Saugerties. "The Conservatives are gaining strength in the House and they already have 250 votes against the treaty lined up from a number of parties. Another 26 votes wouldn't be out of the question."

However, even if the treaty were rejected by the House, the Popular Movement To Save Praeto-Sarzonian Relations announced it received 250,000 signatures as of Hunter's confirmation as Speaker. The group only needs 300,000 valid signatures by the end of the month to force a people's veto vote in November.

Sources within the Gray House also confirm that if 500,000 signatures are received by 1 April, the vote would take place by 1 May. Most analysts are confident the group could receive that number by at least 15 April.

"Sarzonians are less likely to support the treaty now than they were just a few weeks ago," said Peter Ridgeway, the executive director of Ridgeway Consulting, Inc., a non-partisan think tank based in Woodstock that deals with international politics as they relate to the Sarzonian political scene. "However, right now is too difficult to fathom what the decision of the voting public will be. Just a few weeks ago, the concensus was clearly in favour. Now it's not."

A spokeswoman for President Mike Sarzo declined to comment on published reports he was heading to New Copenhagen to discuss strengthening relations with Scandavian States. She also declined to comment on the Treaty of Uxland or its chances in the House.

"The President is relieved that the House will consider and debate the issue," she said. "He is hopeful that relations between Sarzonia and Praetonia can remain as firm as they have always been."

However, discussion of Maximus's offer of establishing trade ties would be a far more precarious matter. Since Del. Martin Fauntroy (Liberal-Cooke) initiated the bill, it would have to be signed by Sarzo or Lieutenant President Nicole Lewis to be approved. However, Hamilton said the chances that Sarzo would consider the measure were "slim and none."

"Considering all the handwringing the Sarzo administration is still doing over Praeto-Doomani relations, the thought that Sarzo would ever agree to it is doubtful at best," he said.

The young reporter sat down at his cubicle in The Woodstock Daily Mail newsroom, setting to work on calling sources for a story he was working on regarding a recent crime wave. For a city of 13.6 million people, Woodstock was remarkably safe. The newspaper often referred to as Sarzonia's newspaper of record sometimes ran shoplifing stories front page because the city had seen its murder rate drop to 17 for 2006.

It was the fifth straight year that Woodstock's murder rate decreased from a high of 78. Considering the crime wave in the city Sarzo once called home, that was an extremely low number. Thus, the last time Woodstock had a double murder, it received front page play below the fold. In many cities around the world, it might have merited a small column on the front with a jump inside, but in Woodstock, it was news.

All of a sudden, he heard a veteran copy editor say, "look at the tele!" After he hung up his phone, he saw the man giving him a quizzical look.

"Hey! Carey! Look up!"

"Okay."

"The House is getting ready to announce its vote on the Treaty of Uxland."

"Really? Do we have an idea what it is?"

"Not yet. Some of my sources tell me the treaty's not going to be ratified, but I hear other sources say it's got 300 votes."

Both men knew that the treaty needed one vote above the majority to be ratified. If one Delegate abstained and the treaty had 275 votes in favour to 274 against, it would be ratified. There had never been a dead heat in the House, so there was no provision established for what would happen in that case. Constitutional scholars were debating that very point, and the Supreme Judicial Court was expected to make its ruling within the hour.

Most observers of the Court would guess the Court would say the motion would fail if it ended in a tie vote, but both reporters hoped that no matter what happened, the decision wouldn't end in a tie.

The news anchor appeared on the screen.

"We're now going live to the vote in the House."

The image then cut to the House chambers as Hunter prepared to announce the vote.

Gee whiz, my first vote and it's this one, Hunter thought. Most observers probably could guess that Hunter would have rather had his first vote be something approving the name of a national park or somesuch.

"Is there a motion for ending debate on the floor," Hunter said into the microphone.

"Mr. Speaker, I move that the House end debate on the measure."

"Second."

"It's been moved and seconded, any discussion?" Hunter waited a few beats, and when he heard none, he decided it was time.

"All those in favour, please press the green button. All opposed, please press the red button."

Hunter stepped down and pressed the green button, and the vote tally began to accumulate on both sides. After two minutes, 368 votes in favour ensured that the vote would take place now.

"The motion to end debate carries 368 votes to 182."

"Mr. Speaker, I move that the House of Delegates ratify the Treaty of Uxland."

"Second."

"It's been moved and seconded. Any discussion?"

Hunter waited for a few more moments, then spoke again.

"Call for consent. Any objections?"

"Objection!"

"Hearing an objection, I move for an electronic vote. Any objections?"

"Objection!"

"Hearing an objection, I move for a manual vote count. Any objections?"

Now, blissful silence.

"Hearing none, all those in favour, please say "Aye." All those opposed, please say "Nay."

The jumble of "Aye" and "Nay" made it clear that Hunter would have to do something else.

"Members of the House," he began, "Please record your votes on the slip of paper provided and pass them to the page waiting at your row. When your row has completed its voting, the papers will be taken to the House Clerk and tabulated."

Great. Just great, Hunter thought as he began to write down his vote on a slip of paper. He turned his in to the House Clerk, who began both the manual vote count and clicked the appropriate vote on the electronic tally.

"This will take several minutes," the anchor intoned over the scene." The camera cut back to the anchor, who then said. "Right now, we turn to Capital City College political science professor Kevin Lang. Professor Lang, what do you think a manual vote count means for the proceedings here?"

"It gives the Delegates a chance to consider their motions carefully and it may cause some to change their votes from their verbal vote."

"Excuse me for a moment Professor," the anchor said. "We just received the ruling from the Supreme Judicial Court. In the event of a tie vote, a measure is killed."

Back at The Daily Mail newsroom, the crowds in front of the television screens began teeming even as deadlines for the earliest editions began to loom. Either way, the fate of Praeto-Sarzonian relations seemed to hang in the balance.

Through vortices of swirling, fragile flecks of frozen water, a solitary man stiffened his shoulders and with black-gloved hands brought the folds of his black peacoat. His face, despite the raw, damp air, remained smooth as his brown eyes remained warm despite a temperature hovering at zero Celsius. Before those eyes, which held a steady and observant gaze, lay the roiling whitecaps off the coast of the forlorn northern counties.

Kingsland, Irathria was harsh. Precipitation and warm ocean currents kept the temperatures above the freezing mark throughout most of the year--but not by much. As it stood, the freezing rain mixed with snow that now pelted the brown-haired man was considered average. He now understood with all but a wry grin as to why only a few dozen million people called this home country home. But for Basil Spencer-Campbell, Minister of State for International Relations, it was a convenient location for an age old trick.

Three hours ago his flight had landed, and while a senior government minister, he was far junior to Sir Quentin Sterling, the new Defence Secretary who had left the comfort of the Home Islands to investigate the facilities and other assets of the Royal Armed Services in Irathria. It was, according to the schedules of the Foreign Office and the Ministry of Defence, to be a week-long trip which would, in two days' time see the new First Lord joining Sir Sterling to review Royal Navy facilities.

All this time, Spencer-Campbell would, ostensibly, be reviewing the latest agreements and status reports the home country government had on international relations with the United Kingdom's neighbours. Much of his time would be spent sequestered in local parliamentary and government offices throughout the home country. In reality, however, Spencer-Campbell would be en route for a far different locale for a far different purpose.

And so it was here, upon the isolated coastline just west of Port Marlton that the warmly wrapped minister stood, his brown hair seemingly spotted with white hairs, though each mysteriously disappeared after but a few moments. But finally, in the distance, a murky shape emerged in the grey mists. As seconds dissolved into minutes like snow into the sea the shape solidified into a slender fuselage marked with the roundels of the Royal Air Force.

A few moments later, the small passenger jet landed, lights off though nobody was near enough to see the plane land. As far as air traffic control officers in Port Marlton were concerned, it was the regular courier flight dispatched by the MoD. The plane taxied slowly up to the small pavilion outside of which Spencer-Campbell stood. Seals split then cracked open and the interior over-pressurised compartment flooded out into the cold Irathrian air, melting the snow in mid-descent.

Spencer-Campbell nodded as an RAF officer waved to him, a cadre of staffers and aides picking up the minister's luggage and the whole group climbed aboard. They settled in while the plane tanked up and food stuffs were replaced. The minister settled into a comfortable seat in the rear of the aircraft where he sat behind a desk in a worn leather recliner. From a leather portfolio of almost the same shade of black, he pulled out a series of papers and spread them across the desk. He glanced at the headers of each, most identified as elements of SABAR.

Breezing through the documents, taking in the abstracts and highlighting a few sentences and phrases, above which he wrote phrases like 'reword' or 'too contentious' or 'too severe' all which were then duplicated in a small notebook. At last a click disturbed him, he turned up to find the speakers which now breathed their static into the cabin.

'Attention all passengers, we are readying for departure and will be taking off momentarily. Our destination, the Royal Air Field at St. Ives in the sunny and warm colony of Oceanian Sarnia. Barring any delays en route, we have an estimated flight time of nine and one-half hours and will be cruising at....'

Spencer-Campbell tuned the rest out and pushed back his recliner. It was to be nine hours to review the highly sensitive SABAR and one half hour to take a nap.

Finally, it’s coming to an end.

A manual vote that had taken days of painstaking calculations, careful tabulations and had frayed the nerves of hundreds of Delegates, to say nothing of the people worldwide who were tuned in to watch the drama was finally drawing to a close.

Hunter walked slowly toward the podium with a slip of paper in hand. He looked down and drew in his breath slowly, exhaling in a laboured fashion that demonstrated the gravity of the result. However, Hunter also looked perplexed. Sure, it was his first vote as Speaker and yes, it was one of the most dramatic votes the House had undertaken. But why the confusion?

Hunter leaned slowly toward the podium, aware that his face had creased into a worried expression. Was the worry because the treaty had been rejected? Was the treaty ratified? What was going on?

“We are missing one vote,” Hunter announced into the podium, followed by the collective gasps of well over a thousand souls in the chamber. They all looked expectantly at Hunter. Most of them were wondering why he would make such a big deal about a single vote. He would soon provide that answer.

“The current vote count sits at 274 votes in favour of ratification, 274 votes against with one abstention,” Hunter said. “Delegate Karyn Mims of Hanover Township in western Somerset, please bring your vote to the chair.”

He banged the gavel to make his stated request official, but the reverberations of his act rattled through his spine for a second. He felt as though his legs suddenly turned to rubber as he waited nervously for Mims’ vote.

Mims was a political maverick in a district of political mavericks. She was seen as politically schizophrenic, voting with the right wing on some bills and with the progressive bloc on others. She was often the hardest Delegate to pin down on any vote. Most of her colleagues saw her as somewhat flaky, but she had a strong sense of history. Everyone in the room knew she was aware of her vote’s place in history.

She walked slowly toward the podium, her slip of paper folded discreetly in her hand as her arm swayed forward and backward with each deliberate stride. She almost looked as if she were still considering her vote en route.

More than a few Delegates eyed Mims impatiently, waiting for her to walk to the podium already and hand her vote to Hunter. As the clack, clack, clack of her two inch heels finally, blissfully reached the podium, she slowly handed the slip of paper to Hunter. Equally slowly, Hunter reached out and gently grasped it from her hands.

He took in another deep breath, exhaled audibly, then opened the slip of paper. He made an effort to not betray his emotions, but he knew that even if he did, there would be too much of a jumble of them for them to make any sense. He looked up at the sea of faces and opened his mouth slowly.

Then, nothing.

He closed his mouth and sighed. He opened it back up and tried again.

“By a vote of 275 to 274 with one abstention, the Treaty of Uxland,” he said. He looked around the room, aware of the tense looks on the thousands of faces there and seemingly aware of the billions throughout the world who were watching worldwide. He needed a few moments to collect his thoughts before he spoke, but now that he’d done so, he was ready.

“Is ratified.”

Murmurs began to cascade down and one delegate stood up.

Please God, don’t let there be a recount, Hunter thought. Considering the fact it was Evan Malcolm, a Conservative from Bausch, he wouldn’t be surprised. However, many in the room would be.

“Colleagues,” Malcolm said. “I voted in favour of this treaty, well aware of the risks involved and aware that I was not following party lines. However,” he began, interrupted by murmurs and shouts, most of which were inaudible.

“Order! Order!” Hunter yelled, banging the gavel to try to restore a semblance of decorum.

“However, the risks of rejecting the treaty are too great. Sarzonia and Praetonia are not meant to be political enemies. We are not meant to face down the barrel of a Praetonian assault rifle, nor are our children meant to live in the shadow of the Praetonian’s bayonet.

“The Incorporated States of Sarzonia and the Crown Imperium may have our disagreements, but we can resolve those more adequately by working together than we can as adversaries.”

Damn, that’s insightful, Hunter thought. Didn’t know he had it in him. Even a number of those who most would later found out voted against the treaty seemed to think so, as roughly three-fifths of the room stood up and began a slow, halting round of applause.

As for Sarzo, when he looked down at his Blackberry and saw the word “RATIFIED” cross his screen, the right corner of his lip slowly began an upward arch into a half smile. He had won a vitally important, very hard-fought, political victory. It would be one of the most significant moments in the post-cancer stage of his presidency.