NationStates Jolt Archive

Jimmy Leberov was sitting in the air conditioned terminal of Erringore International Airport awaiting the arrival of President Anderson and his party. He had already educated President Adair on the whos-who of the party and had made sure that the appropriate ministers knew who their counterparts were. He had even prepared a place for President Anderson's children and wife to sit and some entertainment for them. The refreshments were all ready and the band was standing by. The photographers were all kept at bay by Descartesland NDF troopers, with the select few press members allowed in but strictly ordered to ask permission before photographing anyone. Everything was ready. He looked up and saw the plane taxiing down the runway..

Nearby, Cailean Adair was nervous. This would be his first visit from a non-aggressive state. Normally, leaders dismissed him because of his age and he was determined to make his best impression this time. Next to him, Aiden O'Doherty, his foreign minister and fiancee, gripped his hand reassuringly. "Together, we're a good team," he thought and smiled a little. He had some surprises in store, sure to wow the visiting dignitaries. The schedule he had been given was a tad too dry for his tastes, and he had unofficially worked in some time for him and his counterpart to hit a golf course, while his children and wife went to an amusement park. Descartesland may be small, but there is still plenty to see and fun to be had.

His science adviser wandered over and started talking in his nasal voice that just made Aiden laugh inside. "This man is a true nerd," he thought before listening to what Mark had to say.

"Wednesday's launch will be spectacular sir. We have the normal Cothrom launch planned and ready, and if all goes well, the first Morev launch ready to go. I guess you'll have everyone cleared out before we do that one though," Mark McFlannighan said matter of factly, adjusting his thick glasses.

"No," Adair replied. "If all goes as planned, this man's citizens may be riding in a Morev sometime soon. I want him to see it, and his people too. This is a big step in our space program and if they are going to be a part of it, they should be here at the beginning."

McFlannighan cleared his throat while he thought of all that could go wrong about revealing a new technology to another nation and then nodded curtly to his President, walking back to his seat, waiting to meet his counterpart on the flight. His thoughts were easy to read from the discomfort on his face. "Revealing our greatest innovation yet to a nation that we aren't even allied yet. I guess President Adair knows best, but I wish he would slow down. Even still the Morev is ready. The launch is going to be perfect."

Adair settled back into his chair and adjusted his suit. He listened carefully as the band in the corner tuned up, ready to provide atmosphere. His advisers were all waiting. Poor Leberov looked about ready to have a stroke and Adair reminded himself to take the man aside and commend him for this later. He smiled thinking of the last visit of a foreign dignitary, the King of Fellesenia. "At least I wont have to break this one's jaw," he thought to himself, "I doubt he'll call my mother an unwashed pig."

He turned to Dr. O'Dwyer at his left. "Mackenzie, I've heard that this Vanessa Ramos, the President's wife is a city-planner of quite some skill. See if you can't get in good with her and try and get us some contacts. Maybe offer to let her have a go at the plans for New Galway. I'm not above financially lining their pockets to get a little favor." Dr. Mackenzie O'Dwyer just smiled. Watching her former pupil put on the pomp and circumstance amused her greatly, especially coming from a young man who once showed up to her class in street clothes, refusing his school issued suit as 'too stuffy'. "Relax Cailean," she said calmingly, "Jimmy and the Foreign Ministry Department gave me the same intelligence the did you. I have my part in this under control. You just worry about impressing this President of theirs and I'll do the rest. Worse comes to worse, I'll just write her a check, I do have my fingers in our national purse you know," she said, her eyes twinkling at being able to tease her former pupil. Their relationship was a strange one, with power shifting balance very easily, almost too easily at times. The lines between President and adviser and teacher and pupil were quite blurred with this pair.

Aiden O'Doherty was mentally going over her checklist of points to address with her counterpart, a Mr. Eric White. She had all her talking points memorized, but always one to take it a step beyond, was playing out imaginary conversations in her head. "Why yes Mr. White," she thought, "We would be very interested in a mutual protection pact. And a free trade agreement too? Of course." While her imaginary perfect scenario made her relax a little, juggling being the Soon-to-be First Lady and Foreign Minister was wearing on her for this trip. She reached down and adjusted her engagement ring and smiled at it again. While Cailean wasn't the most romantic of men, watching him stumble for words as he tried to convey that he wanted to marry her was heartwarming. Her ring wasn't the most impressive ring a soon-to-be First Lady had ever received, but it was still beautiful. "This visit will go well even though he rushed it," she thought. "We have this under control and have plenty of dazzle waiting for them. Worst comes to worse, he'll just lay on his boyish charm." She giggled at the thought of Cailean stumbling for words and getting down on one knee in front of President Anderson and went back to her mental preparations

Outside, Kenneth Whelan, head of Descartesland Homeland Control, was personally overseeing all of the security. He knew that the incoming plane was flanked by no less then 4 fighters, and that overhead one of Descartesland's three ELINT aircraft was creating false radar images of the incoming foreign airliner. Even farther overhead, three surveillance satellites had been tasked to watch Erringore International and the surrounding areas, meaning that Whelan had up to the minute satellite photos at this disposal. He surveyed the plans and photos, while watching specially trained NDF troopers examine the motorcade for the fifth time. Kenneth Whelan was a perfectionist and this was going to be orchestrated perfectly. Luckily, there was no domestic terrorism to speak of, only those from abroad. He was sure Fellesenia would love to see President Adair blown up, while meeting with a Head of State from a foreign land. On his side was his department's institution of a national tracking code. He knew exactly where every citizen within a 10 mile radius of the airport was, who they were, and why they where there. Anyone not where they should be was kindly told to shove off. He'd even managed to convince Jimmy to give the guests tracking passes once they arrived. They of course wouldn't be told that the ID cards they were being issued had state of the art GPS tracking built in. "This is going to be perfect," he thought. "I will know the how, when, and why of everyone involved and be completely in control. I might even be able to teach this man's security a thing or two."

Back inside the terminal turned secured meeting hall, Cailean Adair gave Aiden's hand one last squeeze then stood up to address his staff. "Alright everyone," he said in a calm tone that almost hid his nervousness, "This is it. These people come from a nation much larger then our own so I am sure they are expecting mud huts and grass skirts. Lets show them what Descartesland has to offer and do it with a smile. These people could potentially become great allies." He straightened his suit, helped Aiden up, and walked over to where he would be meeting President Anderson...

Several hundred miles away, in a secure hanger in Korolyov City, three cosmonauts and a scientists were preparing to take a big step in Descarteslandian space flight history.


OOC: What is the Morev? What is this big step? All will be revealed in time...

OOC: I’ll leave the ‘first contact’ to you, if that’s alright, even if we have to retcon the days back 24 hours. That’s probably the etiquette anyway, you being the host. And having more time on your hands than me, by the looks of it… :)

***

“Um.”
“Oh. Sorry sir. I didn’t realise I was gripping your leg.”
“You weren’t”, James Anderson told his Minister for Presidential Affairs, coldly.

Descartesland was just starting to poke through the clouds. It was, the President had to concede, extremely pretty. Perhaps naively, he’d expected something a little more battered, more temporary, but the rolling green hills dotted with tiny towns could easily have been Home, the endless expanses of West Candelarian subruria of Anderson’s slightly sheltered upbringing. He could never call himself a flying fan, but with a view like that, and no-one shooting at them, this was almost pleasant. It could have been a better flight, t’be sure. Somehow, they’d infringed on other nation’s flight space half a dozen times; and while the Presidential plane was so heavily armoured it could barely get off the ground, it was unnerving none the less. For one brief, happy moment, Anderson had thought the plane behind them carrying journalists and security and whatnot had plummeted into the ocean, but it was not to be. The Mercury would still be here in force, and Anderson knew his assembled ministers and spin doctors would have a job getting anything past them.

The last half hour or so of the trip had descended into an obscure variant of Musical Chairs, by which a procession of suited individuals had plonked themselves next to the boss to force down his throat yet more facts about the beautiful little hell-hole they were flying to. Anderson envied Adair somewhat, in this. As far as he could tell, the Descartian leader had a free reign over his ministers, advisors and general hangers-on. Certainly, Anderson had more control over such things than many of his predecessors since the introduction of party lists in the House. But the C&M President had still ended up with a rather motley crew. He’d been aghast, for instance, to discover that his Science minister – not a role he’d previously paid much attention to – was Michael Pellegrino, a ghastly, smarmy little Conservative; one of those ones who’d openly admitted to trying drugs, homosexuality and, in all probability, satanism, and still seemed to remain a respected member of the ‘moral majority’. Anderson consoled himself with the knowledge that with a bit of luck, the new Minister for the United International Space Programme would soon supersede him.

Then there was Eric White, his Foreign Minister. A high-flying member of the Unionist Party when Anderson was still in garters (oh, those heady university days!), he’d been Presidential candidate in the disastrous 1996 election, and then somehow managed to wangle the nomination four years later, after poor old Tim Thompson popped his proverbials. Giving him the Foreign Office had been intended to be a fairly token nod to the party old-timers, given that C&M’s endless supply of thrusting young diplomats kept inter-Rushmori relations ticking along on their own. Anderson freely admitted – to Vanessa at any rate – that he’d dropped the ball on that one, rather forgetting that a massive upping in international relations had been a key part of the election manifesto. None the less, he had to admit that White was a remarkable man. Corpulent to an almost ludicrous degree, he still had a way with the ladies (and my word, there were an awful lot of female foreign ministers these days) that Anderson could only dream of. The President put it down to White being the most boring man in the world. Listening to him prattle on about ‘free trade agreements’ and ‘mutual protection pacts’ (that one had made Anderson bite his lower lip), he knew perfectly well that poor Aiden O’Doohicky (where does a lass get a name like ‘Aiden’, he wondered), would agree to anything just to get Eric to shut up.

A succession of forgettable hangers-on had followed: some young chap from CAMOTS; Professor Annicchero (nice girl, tad chubby, mind as sharp as a sharp thing but Christ, what a nerd); one of the Debbies, the interchangeable young women designed to fill the President in on minor items of note and surreptitiously pass him the occasional ‘Intelligence Dossier’ copied off lonelyplanet.com.

And then, of course, as always, was everyone’s favourite puppy, Fallon Said. At the current time, he was leaning over the seat in a manner Anderson found slightly uncomfortable, and was whispering conspiratorially: “Jimmy nudged me a wink that Mr. Adair will be attempting to get you on his own, at some point”, he told the President, in a slightly disapproving tone, “Send Mzz Vanessa and the little ones to an amusement park or nature reserve or something, a—".
“The former, if that can be arranged, Fal. I’m not having Raffi hankering after a platypus.”
“As you wish. And Jimmy hinted that golf may be involved...” Anderson, to whom ‘four iron’ was a synonym for ‘overseas’, groaned slightly. And wondered vaguely who this ‘Jimmy’ fellow was. Instead he decided something else was more worthy of querying:
“Fal.. is it just the atmospherics in here, or do you sound extra-specially Arab today?”
“Aha, you noticed,” Said beamed, “The Descartians love an accent, sir. Um... I should probably mention at this point, sir, that they’re at war again…” Anderson spat out what he hoped had been tea.
“Who on earth with?”
“San Valdez. Whoever they are.” Said said, “‘At war’ is pushing it a bit, to be fair. They do seem to like sending troops to faraway conflicts at the drop of a hat, though”
“Push the term ‘neutral’ to its limits, don’t they?” Anderson sighed. His eyes met a large gold bag perched in Said’s lap. “What’re you hiding in that?”
“Gifts, sir. Token stuff, really, us both not being wildly wealthy. I think there’s scented candles and…”
“A great Candelarianandmarquezian product.” Anderson muttered, rolling his eyes. “And the large oblong?” The Minister drew out a shiny copy of ‘Feeling Grand: The History of the Candelarian Irish’.
“I thought Mr. Adair would appreciate the success story of his Candelarian cousins, sir.”
“Cailean’s a Scots, name, Fal… I checked on google before we left. More to the point, and as much as I think the man’s been unfairly maligned, particularly his unfortunate sobriquet, is it really a great idea to provide a book with a back cover extolling the virtues of ‘Mad’ Harry Kyle?” Erin Henry Kyle was the Candelarias’ most famous Irishman, after his unfortunate period as President in the early Eighties. Fallon blushed, slid the bag under his chair, noticed the plane was preparing to land, and resisted the temptation to offer his President something to suck on during the landing.

***

The Presidential plane landed with a disconcerting thunk, and a door began to slide downwards in a Close Encounters stylie.

“STOP! Nobody move! Stay right where you are!”

The disembarking passengers stopped dead in their tracks, a brave few craning their necks in the direction of the order.

“Sorry.. didn’t mean to worry anyone”, President Anderson said bashfully. “Just… we are pronouncing Cailean correctly, aren’t we? I’ll look a right twonk, otherwise…”


OOC: What secret goal is Anderson hiding? Is there one? Have I thought of one yet? All may be revealed, possibly.

ooc: A few small note... We aren't at war with San Valdez, we're there with the intentions of being peacekeepers, similar to a UN force. Neutral is getting bent a bit.

IC:

Both the Presidential plane and their following plane, now known to be carrying journalists and security forces, had landed and taxied to the terminal. Slowly, the bridges extended to the doors of both planes. The hatches sprung open, and first President Anderson's security forces came our, setting up a perimeter and searching for threats. They soon saw that Descartian forces were also here in full force and had the terminal quite secure.

Next of the plane were various journalists, who were ushered off to the side to stand with DNN journalists, all held at bay by two large NDF troopers who thoroughly despised the press.

President Adair stood nervously, waiting for President Anderson to deplane. Soon, the man who's picture he had been studying stepped off the plane, holding the arm of a lovely woman who was ushering two small children. Adair stepped forward with a smile and extended his hand.

"Welcome to Descartesland President Anderson. I assume this is your lovely wife and children?" He shook Anderson's hand, then kissed his wife's hand and knelt down in front of the chilldren and smiled and shook both of their hands. He straightened back up and gave Anderson and his family a smile and with a hand gestured to the surrounding dignitaries. "To my right is Ms. Aiden O'Doherty, my foreign minister. To my left is James Leberov, my Presidental Affairs man. This is my Science Adviser, Dr. Mark McFlannighan and the lovely lady right behind him is Dr. Mackenzie O'Dwyer our head of Economic Control.'

Introductions were made all around with Anderson and Fallon Said introducing their party to their counterparts. Jimmy gestured to the band and the caterers and the festivities began. Ministers and Advisers grouped up and began discussion. Adair and Anderson were left alone, his wife and children whisked off slightly to the side where there were bright children's toys to entertain them.

"How was your flight?" Adair asked.

"It was a flight. Nothing particularly good or bad. A few rough patches where we managed to cross paths with some not so friendly people. How have you been President Adair?" Anderson relied, sipping the beverage he was offered by a waiter.

"Please, call me Cailean, this is a friendly visit. I've been better, a few issues have been adding to my stress. I suppose you heard of the conflict in San Valdez?"

"Yes, I heard you are at war with them. And feel free to call me James."

"Not war per se, more of a policing action. The people there asked for help and I had some forces in the area. I am hoping just their presence will put an end to the conflict, as several other nations have come to the defense of Capiline. Anyways, on to issues that are less depressing. You have a lovely family James."

"Thank you. I hope they will not be bored on this trip."

"Oh, I think we can find something fun for them," Cailean said with a twinkle in his eye, "And perhaps something for the two of us as well. I find I get to know a man best when we aren't being all stuffy and governmental. How do you feel about that?"

James grimaced, knowing that Cailean was suggesting golf. "I suppose a nice game of golf could be...enjoyable."

"Well, if you would truly enjoy a game of golf we can do that, or if you would prefer, your family, myself, and Aiden could visit an amusement park I have secured for our use."

This got a small smile out of James "Perhaps this can be an enjoyable visit after all..." he thought.

Across the room, Eric White was rattling on to Aiden O'Doherty, discussing a free trade agreement. While Aiden pretended to listen with rapt attention, she was watching Cailean and President Adair over White's shoulder. Everything seemed to be going well, if only this White character was not so boring. She motioned to a caterer for another champagne for herself and White, hoping some alcohol would loosen him up a little.

In another corner, McFlannighan had cornered Michael Pellegrino and Professor Annicchero and was rattling on about the state of scientific research in Descartesland. They both seemed a tad bored, and Pellegrino was on his 6th flute of champagne, but they were being polite and listening.

Dr. O'Dwyer was chatting with Vardanyan, the remaining members of the Overseas Trade Commission, and Mrs. Ramos, who had moved the party closer to the children so she could keep an eye on them. Mackenzie was a veteran of meetings like this, used to brushing elbows with dignitaries as one of her nation's top educators. She noted that Mrs. Ramos seemed keen to get involved in the rebuilding of cities and had a mind for making profits. "One to watch" she thought.

The only two men not involved in lively conversation were Fallon Said and Jimmy Leberov. The two had withdrawn a bit and were enjoying some well earned refreshments.

"What do you think of all of this?" Jimmy asked Fallon, sipping his champagne.

Fallon sighed and looked around the room. "Well, the reception is very nice. Cheers to your department on that. But the rush of all this...well..it's hard as you already know."

"Yes, I do know. I wonder if they understand what events like this do to men like us," he said gesturing to the two Presidents with his champagne flutes.

"No, no they do not."

Jimmy looked at Fallon, his face taking on a serious expression. "Fallon, can I trust you?"

Fallon choked on his champagne. "I suppose so Jimmy. What is this about?"

Jimmy reached into his attache case at his feet and pulled out a file and handed it to Fallon. "This file has two very important parts. The first are your people's ID cards. Everyone has to have them on their person at all times. It is of the utmost importance." After a nod from Fallon, Jimmy continued, "The second is something I need you to keep quiet for a little. You're actually going to be seeing two launches on Wednesday. I can't tell you much about the second except its the real show. I need your help to make sure everyone is there and everything is arranged."

Fallon looked quizzically at the itinerary in the file that Jimmy had given him and then nodded his agreement. "What are they up to," he thought puzzled. He'd brief President Anderson on this later. Jimmy was nice, but Fallon's allegiance was elsewhere.

Cailean and James had taken a seat near the center of the room and were discussing the state of their nations and all of the interesting situations they had found themselves in over the years. "I'll tell you, I am not much of a diplomat," Cailean said. "In fact, the last foreign Head of State I met with ended up with a broken jaw and I got three stitches across my knuckles. He deserved it though, called my mother an unwashed pig."

James smiled slightly and put more distance between himself and Cailean. "Well, I've never hit a diplomat, but I know I've wanted too."

"Sometimes it pays to be young and hot headed." Cailean responded. "No worries, I havent hit anyone in a while and you don't strike me as the type of man I would need to." They both shared a light laugh and continued talking. In the background, the band kept playing, the caterers kept serving, and everyone kept chatting. First contact was completed.

Ooc: There ya go. Any retconning needed, we can take care of it. I wanna keep this informal, Cailean Adair is young and laid back.

And I am gonna go ahead and let you in on the surprise. For now its completely OOCly, it will come ICly in time.

The Morev is an acronym that stands for Multi-Use Orbit and Reentry Vehicle. Think space shuttle. Up to this point our space program has been all capsules and such. See http://dumpsterdivinggeek.com/ns/morev/

OOC: Can’t think of anything to say, out of character. Um. Hiya. How’s you doing? Nice weather for it, eh?

Tuesday, 11:29PM

Somewhere in Erringore.

James Anderson, 9th President, 14th Head of State and 28th democratically-elected leader of the Republic of Candelaria And Marquez (formerly The Republic of the Candelarias, formerly The Dominion of the Candelarias, formerly That There Group of Spanish Islands We’ll ‘Af T’Half-Inch When We Can Get Around To It); was wearing his pyjamas.

They weren’t actually his, per se, having been provided by the plush hotel they were staying at. Its name was written across the right breast, but Anderson couldn’t make it out. He’d wondered vaguely why they’d printed it upside down. Vanessa, who was more practical than he in the field of packing, was as ever bedecked in a nightdress that James had always assumed had been worn by her grande-abuela on the journey from Tenerife. He was distracting himself from the regrettable item of apparel draped over the wife by rolling two words round his mouth, like a lump of something undercooked.
“Two flights…”
Vanessa rolled her eyes: “Stop fretting. It won’t be anything to worry about, even assuming Fallon didn’t miss-hear.”
“He seemed quite perturbed. And he was quite sure the Leberov fellow seemed nervy, too.”
“Alright, so what are they going to do? Take us hostage, launch a girt great missile, and threaten to lay waste to Albrecht if we don’t empty our national coffers into theirs? They haven’t brought us over here to hurt us, luv.” Vanessa had a laugh in her voice throughout all this, but Anderson could see her move her head almost imperceptibly towards the door of the on-suite where the twins were fast asleep.
“I know, I know. I wasn’t suggesting there was any threat to us. At least not by the Descartians. From what Adair told me this evening, their neighbours aren’t exactly pleasant. Taking out the governments of hated Descartesland and their new buddies, on the eve of a major space launch… might well play well at home.”
“Reason enough to have to have anti-missile… uh… missiles, on stand-by then, surely.” Vanessa was a little unsure of the finer points of weapons of mass destruction. “Even if it is military, why’re you worrying? ‘Not as though that’d be a bad thing, would it?” She clocked his expression. “Oh come on, Jamie. You can preach on about the advancement of Candelarian science, the social impact of a cohesive working relationship between distant friends… all the economic gubbins I don’t pretend to understand… When all’s said and done, you’d like a nice big gun.”
“Don’t give that line to the press, dear, whatever you do. It rhymes’n everything.” He smiled at her. “I’m genuinely not thinking about the defence benefits to all this, sweetheart, and neither are my staff. And I know, she was going on about the need for an ‘independent ballistic deterrent’, or whatever, and the nazis at the Mercury are getting all gooey over it, but… I’m not going to stoop to that level. Even if the Descartians offer it”, he added.

Vanessa was half-teasing, he knew, but she had hit a nerve. Doctor Robyn Morton, the new ‘iron lady’ of the Modern Liberals was one of the most hated women in the Republic, behind only the one who murdered Phil the builder (a fact which Anderson felt reflected extremely badly on his various predecessors’ education policies – the woman was an actress for crying out loud), but was also miles ahead in the polls. With right-wingers swallowing their pride in order to support a ‘liberal’, and the left mobilising behind the Jamaicans, Japanese, Jews and General Weirdoes of the Social Democratic & Green Party, Anderson felt the words ‘One-Term President’ weighing heavily on his shoulders.
“Are we supposed to steal the shower caps, d’you suppose? Isn’t it de rigueur for this sort of place”, Vanessa called out, waking Anderson from his reverie.
“I think that’s bath robes, dear. Or pepper pots, possibly.”
“They’re awfully nice shower caps…”
“Put the shower caps down, ma’am, and step away from the bathroom…”
“Fine.” Vanessa flounced back to the bed theatrically. James watched her with interest.
“You’re only grotty with me ‘cos of the ‘beautiful sunsets’ incident…”
“I was only trying to find a positive for the pollution… there was no need to poke me…”
“I thought it was fairly clean, all things considered”, Anderson said evenly, “Rather pretty.”
“Oh, certainly. All those pregnant women and old people who usually clutter up the place, swept away…”
“It wasn’t that bad”, Anderson laughed.

Truth be told, he had found it a little sanitised, though to be fair the tour of Erringore had been pleasant enough, lacking the cynicism he’d expect back home. Gone were the journalists, photographer and ‘innocent bystanders’ carefully positioned at every street corner. Adair and his staff had seemed genuinely more interested in getting to know their counterparts than a photo-opportunity. The younger President had seemed all of his young years, often bouncing ahead of the party, enthusiastically regaling them with the history of the city and its people, pointing out one sparkling statue after another. Around them, passers-by seemed in awe of their leader, but the wide berth they kept didn’t seem to be out of fear, more respect. Anderson rather envied all the hustle and bustle surrounding Adair’s Governmental Complex. The main business of Albrecht was government, Irish Street and the commercial districts way to the south, the main civic areas to the north. James often felt rather dispirited, looking out of his office window at Robinson House to see an endless array of suits hurrying past. Here, the Descartesland’s popular leader was in the thick of the action.

Generally, the two leaders had stuck close together during the tour, quietly discussing dry items of politics Anderson could barely remember hours later. Constantine and Rafaella had supplied a valuable service during the occasional lulls, providing a series of comments and questions so ingratiatingly cute, Anderson felt sure they must have been briefed beforehand. His daughter’s assertion that “pigs are actually very clean animals”, following one of Adair’s favourite political anecdotes, had gone down like a fart in a crowded lift; but in general the Descartian government seemed remarkably good humoured. Anderson assumed that after years of conflict with their neighbours, they had little choice but to be.

The grand meal in the evening was lying a little heavily now, and had involved an awful lot of unidentifiable meats. In hindsight, Anderson felt he’d let himself down a bit, as he’d listened to Adair’s war stories (James wouldn’t be 100% confident he had a gun the right way round); the epic of Cailean’s Scottish ancestors (Anderson was a little hazy on his own, not being entirely sure whether they were from Dundee or Aberdeen); and an admittedly masterful dissection of Descartes himself whooshed over the head of the Candelarian, who thought himself Catholic in a thoroughly atheist way. He had held his own on the small talk front, but in all Adair had seemed rather unimpressed by the visiting Premier. By now, Anderson was feeling really rather eager for the launch… or launches, or whatever they’d be.

Before then, in the afternoon, he knew there’d be a tour of Korolyov City; a thought filled the President with mild dread. He felt sure that if deep-vein thrombosis from the flight over didn’t get him, over-use of the legs would. The planned visit to Erringore’s premier amusement park in the morning at least offered the possibility of a good sit down, albeit in a revolving tea cup (in Clamp-Down On Civil Liberties Land, Vanessa had suggested). Hopes of an easy ride had been dashed somewhat by the colourful leaflet they’d been given on the park, which had quickly led Rafaella to proclaim: “There’s a petting zoo, daddy! With capybaras!” Anderson had elected to admit defeat early on that one, instructing one of the Debbies to phone the Pets & Livestock section at Albrecht International Airport to prepare themselves.

He knew he was feeling unbecomingly grumpy, and that that was the jet lag talking; but he still had issues. President Ad… Cailean, he corrected himself, was… nice. Likeable. It was easy to forget that for all intensive porpoises, the man was a dictator. A clearly benevolent one, but even so… And as for the way his people’s freedoms… Anderson believed in ‘Respect For Other Cultures’, capital letter and all; and by nature he himself held relatively restrictive attitudes to the way humans should live their lives. But he couldn’t help wondering how real those beaming smiles everywhere were.

Perhaps he’d get a clue tomorrow…

***

Professor Ciara Annicchero was alone with McFlannighan, now. Nick, Izzy, Smudger and the Descartian science bods who’d been with them had all made their apologies and left for Nod. Mark was a funny looking fella, Ciara thought, and never happier than when discussing propellant mass, it seemed. “..ally we’d use two LOX on the RCS, when the burn time’s that low, and we usually just use duct tape but, y’know, on the Morev…” He trailed off, suddenly flushed.
“Hm?”
“Oh, well. Mm. We’ll see, won’t we?” He smiled, toothily. Ciara nodded, smiling back. Funny looking, for sure, but it was a lovely accent. An Irish expression like ‘on the morrow’, with that oddly manly Ruski ending he put on words, sometimes…

President Adair, having deftly snuck out of his own suite in the Governmental Complex (admittedly, his deft escape was well known by his security detail, they were just watching from afar) and made his way to Aiden's apartment, right outside the walls of the complex. There, they had snuggled into bed but sleep was not forthcoming.

"I like him. Kids too. Wife is a bit intimidating, but definitely likeable," Cailean said. "I feel bad springing the Morev launch on them. Its a big deal. I think I might tell him tomorrow."

"Hon, don't overwhelm the man. You're doing fine, I can tell that he likes you well enough. Even I was impressed with you at dinner. Your stories seemed to be more exciting tonight then ever." Adair said, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping her worried fiancee would let it drop so she could sleep.

"I hope he likes me, I do him. I hope tomorrow will be fun. I want everyone to relax a little, I can get to know them better that way. Also, he seems to not like flying so much, I hope the train is good for him then. Its faster to take it anyways to Korolyov City, but the added benefit of not making James fly is not lost on me. I made sure that you and I and his family have a train compartment for ourselves, one of the nicer luxury ones. All of the other folks are in the second car, and I gave Jimmy strict orders that they are to stay there. I really get the feeling that he doesn't like his advisers and ministers so well." Cailean rambled on while playing with Aiden's hair.

Aiden sighed and rolled over to face Cailen, resigning herself to not getting any sleep. "I don't blame him. Eric White is an absolute bore and can eat more then anyone I've ever seen, and I didn't like the way that his Science Adviser kept looking at me. The man seemed to be undressing me with his eyes. It just got worse as he got drunk at dinner."

"I noticed that too. You'd think a man of his power could pick the people around him a little more. I guess I just got lucky and managed to get good people." With that, he kissed her cheek. "We should sleep love. We have to be up at 5:30 AM to make sure everything is ready."

They both got comfortable and in minutes were snoring away...

****

Across town, McFlannighan and Ciara Annicchero were sitting in a small pub. McFlannighan frequented this place, and was constantly nodding and waving to patrons while Ciara nursed her drink. He had had a significantly greater number of drinks then she, and even his joint Irish and Russian heritage was being overrun.

"Yes, the Morev. Its our biggest achievement yet. You can keep a secret, right?" He said to her in a low voice, in between sips of his scotch.

"Of course Mark," she said, wondering what other secrets he might have spilled here in this pub.

"Well, the Morev you see...we found the plans for it in some forgotten file. Seems some Fellesenian scientists drew up plans for a multi use space craft. We found them and started working on them. They had abandoned it as impractical, but we fixed it. We're gonna launch it tomorrow night, and apparently my President is showing it off to yours." Mark managed not to slur his words and finishing his scotch, motioned to the barkeep for another.

"Wow..that will be amazing," Annicchero said, storing that info for later so she could be sure to pass it on.

Mark got his next round, a vodka this time, and looked at Ciara across his glass. "Yes, it will be."

****

The next morning, the group had a wonderful time at the amusement park. The children had loved the zoo, and talked dad into getting a capybara for home. The children's enthusiasm had even managed to spread to their parents a bit, as well as Cailean and Aiden. They had all had fun screaming on a few roller coasters.

After the park, Cailean told James of the train ride to Korolyov City. The relieved smile he got in response made him glad he had arranged it.

On the train, the children tired from the timezone difference and the morning's fun, napped. Aiden and Vanessa Ramos sat and chatted, mainly about weddings which made Cailean increasingly nervous when he overheard snippets of conversation.

James and Cailean sat off to the side. After an offer of scotch from a steward, that both declined at this early hour, they started on the delicate task of discussing exactly how the proposed arrangement would work.

"The way I see it," Cailean said, "this can be very simple. I am willing to share everything we have on space travel with you. No questions asked. None of our space technologies are military, so I see no reason to hold them close to my chest or anything."

James was a little astounded at how forthcoming Cailean was. "But, what should we give you in return?"

"Well, right now we have the research. There are all kinds of interesting things on paper right now, everything from a permanently manned lunar base to missions to mars and beyond. Right now, what we don't have is resources and man power. I mean, the way I see it...combining resources will get us farther then either of us can get apart."

"Well, I definitely agree with that. I just, expected to have to do more to gain your trust. I must say, I am a bit taken aback." James said, wondering exactly what this young "president" was hiding.

"I'm new at all of this. I don't know enough yet to be untrusting. And to be honest, I like you. Your family is lovely, you're a good man. And if this comes back to haunt me, then so be it. I can only learn by making mistakes, but I highly doubt this will be one. Now, its time for me to come clean about something."

'Ahh, this Morev thing,' James thought.

"Tonight, we're going to be witnessing two launches. The first is just routine, a Cothrom rocket putting up a communications satellite. The second is monumental. We have a program called Morev that has just come to fruition. Its a multi use space craft, designed to land instead of just crash into the ocean. I had my science adviser give me some pictures." Cailean handed over a folder with some photos in it.

http://dumpsterdivinggeek.com/ns/morev/morev-rocket.jpg

"Impressive looking ship," James said. "Why are you sharing this with me now?"

"I felt guilty springing it on you as a surprise. Its a huge day for the DSF(Descartian Space Fleet) and I think its fitting you are here to see it. Who knows, maybe in 6 months or so, a Morev could be flown by a pilot from your country, or even launched from there."

James looked at the folder he had been given, then at Cailean's face. "I'll have to consult my advisers of course, but I think this could work Cailean. We never expected something as big as this to be dropped into our laps. You are serious in that you would freely share this technology with us?"

"Absolutely serious. Your country is much more established then ours. You could build Morevs faster and probably improve on the design a great deal. All I ask, is that this is a two way exchange."

"Of course," James said, trying to figure out how to budget production of what looked to be a quite pricey spacecraft.

"Now, Descartesland doesnt have much in the way of military technologies that are new and innovative. We have some missile defense systems that are rather advanced, as well as our surveillance satellites. I'm willing to share these as well, but in time."

"Yes, in time," James said, still slightly shocked.

The train ride continued pleasantly...

Professor Ciara Annicchero was, not to put too fine a point on it, bladdered. And quite possibly leathered, pissed, and half-cut into the bargain. She dived into the room the security guards had pointed her to. “RUV!” she managed at first, “Rover! Moreover!” She beamed, happy in a drunken haze. “’Sa Multi-Use Reeve Reem.. Ocular. Vehicle.” She was slowly becoming aware of the whole gamut of human expressions on the faces of her countryfolk lined up before her. She blinked a couple of times, wiped her brow and asked aloud: “What on earth do they put in their drinks here?”
“Alcohol. Peculiar substance,” Fallon Said told her, tartly. She looked at him coldly, an act which lost some of its impact with a hand over one eye. She turned to President Anderson, and concentrated on her words as carefully as she could.
“It’s quite amazing, sir. Mark, um, that is to say Mr. McFlannighan, reckons that it could go up, and down, like, any number of times, for maybe a month at a time. And the engines, you should see ‘em, there like just aluminium-lithium, and they’ve got a sea thrust of 393,800 lbf… and elevons, I mean I’d never think of elevons. The landing gear as well, 10,000 feet per…” This wasn’t going down especially well. Michael Pellegrino gave her an oily smile.
“I’m sure your detective skills will be noted, Proffesor, you’d be a credit to the secret service. But we do know all this…” Anderson looked at her, apologetically.
“Adair handed me a big ol’ file, Ciara. Good work though. Someone get the poor woman a cofee”, the President added.

He was holding court in a small room at the Space Command that had been set aside for his ‘government in exile’. The staff and ministers were mostly here, Eric White notable for his absence, but everyone else had been busy firing off e-mails to all and sundry for much of the early afternoon, while the Presidents were trudging around Korolyov City. Anderson had rather liked it, even if he’d found himself wishing rollerskates could be incorporated into official wear for heads of states. Walking around the place, it had become apparent to him, for the first time really, how important their space programme was to the man on the Korolyov omnibus, or indeed Descartians in general. The city resembled a Candelarian school’s annual ‘Space Week’. Silver was involved quite a bit. Vanessa, whose opinions on such things James acknoledged as somewhat more educated than his (but never-the-less unfathomable), adored it, waxing lyrical to anyone who’d listen about the city's architecture, using words like rococo that instinctivly made Anderson feel nervy. Space Command itself seemed a relativly small building, albeit with a number of yonking great viewing towers. Now, after a brief trip around it in some sort of golf buggy (Anderson regretted the dread sport had found itself into the trip somehow), he and his people were on officially-designated ‘Loose End’ time until the launch.

Arguments between staff punctuated the general mood of excitement, as the President reflected that his half of the trip had hardly run like clockwork. To be fair, the assembled men and women were as unused to this sort of thing as he was, more so. Still, given that diplomats were one of the islands’ major exports, Anderson felt he could be forgiven for hoping the C&M delegation could have a slightly better idea of what they were doing. He felt rather lost without his domestic colleagues, his ‘Cabinet of all the Talents’. He’d fought hard in the early days to get them on the party list ahead of the career politicians that had previously dominated it: Joseph Frank, his ‘mentor’ of sorts, Prime Minister and Speaker of the House; Reuben-Caroline Eliot (Ellie to her friends), the jolly-hockey-sticks former naval officer and now Defence Minister; Jack Montgomerie, former Chief Inspector of Schools, now Minister for Education; Ziya Black, his own local GP turned Health Minister. It was Black he was holding an extremely expensive text-message conversations right now, as he lectured the President on the medical issues surrounding weightlessness; radiation and a weakened immune system; the problems surrounding isolation in outer-space. Anderson registered his concern, but couldn’t help feeling excited that it could be Candelariasians facing those things in but a short time.

It was clearly an attitude shared by many of his staff. Pellegrino, who Anderson had decided he wouldn’t piss on if he was on fire, had proved suprisingly knowledgeable on his ascribed Ministry; and after half an hours intensive tuition, James considered himself an expert on ablative heat shields, ‘twangs’, and the dangers of woodpeckers. Patel and Williams, comprising the leaner half of the C&M scientific delegation, were bouncing about like the twins before Christmas. (This analogy, Anderson had to conceed, was not entirely accurate. Constantine had stated last December that the whole buthineth was simply a way of indoctrinating young mindth into believing the obviouthly ridiculouth; while Rafaella had major turkey-related issues.)

Only Michael Smith, much the elder of the Scientific contingent, seemed a little flat. “What about the polar orbiting meteorolgical sattelites, we were hankering after?”, he’d complained to Anderson, “The observatory to simultaneously observe objects in gamma rays, X-rays and visible light? The asteroid deflectors? The altimetry mission to observe variations in the thickness of the Earth’s continental ice sheets?”. Anderson forgave his impatience. Smith had a life-times worth of experience, and the idea of somehow being able to get his dreams up into space clearly took precidence over what he no doubt viewed as showy but unproductive manned missions. James knew he’d change his tune when he was named the head of C&M Space Programme soon, whatever happened over the next couple of nights.

***

Vanessa was on her own when James found her, a little later. He’d been delayed by the blasted woman from the Mercury, asking potentially awkward questions. He’d ended up fobbing her off with the promise of a full interview tomorrow, and doling out a few suitably firm quotes about relevant issues back home: the flooding in east Marquez, some unfortunate comments by a member of the National Council regarding the old National Eugenics Council of the fifties… It was well into the evening when he finally arrived at the private viewing area of the Space Command, a little way outside Korolyov proper. This time of year, it was still light well into the evening, and the view from the observation tower was amazing. She was hunched over a notepad, though, tucking in to something gooey in a bowl to her left. “Evenin’”, Anderson called to her, “They left you on your own?”
“Aiden and Adair popped out. Don’t worry, there’s loads of scary blokes in black watching every exit.”
“I wasn’t worrying… Have you seen Eric anywhere, by the way?”
“Nada. He missing?”
“I don’t know… There are forty-something of us here though, aren’t there? It’s hard to keep track. What’s all that stuff?”
“Galway City. With a bit of luck. From what Aiden said, the ‘burbs are basically there already, it’s just a case of dropping the road grid over it… Traffic’s going to be a problem, given that awkward shape, but you know me, I’m Lewis-Mogridge Position all the way, so…” Anderson glazed over. He adored and respected his wife, but found her work as dull as she treated his with cynicism.
“I meant the gloopy substance, actually.”
“Oh, it’s lovely”, she enthused, scooping up a dollop with her fingers and forcing it into his mouth. The President gagged.
“Seriously, are you pregnant?” he asked, gurning as he chocked it down.
“At my age? That’d be murder for m’figure. I’ll tell you what though…”, she leant in, conspiratorially, “your new buddy best watch himself.”
“Not broody at her age, surely?”
“Seriously Jamie, the woman’s on heat. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find ourselves only taking one child home with us.” She laughed, before adopting a serious expression and looking him dead in the eye. “Would you have made me Foreign Minister, if you could’ve?”
“No.”
“Oh, thank heavens”, she grinned, “You do love me after all.”

They quickly clammed up as Adair and O’Doherty swept into the room, dressed up to the nines. Anderson was dimly aware Cailean was of royal stock, and he looked every inch of it right now. For all his young years, he exuded command and a quiet respect. The pair joined them by the largest window, pointed out landmarks and generally killing time. Shortly, a door opened tentatively, and Professors Annicchero and McFlannighan walked gingerly into the room. They seemed to Anderson to be getting on very well, though it was hard to tell through the dark glasses they were both still sporting. “Evening, Ciara”, James said brightly, “Feeling better?”
“Mm. Much. Um.” She poked McFlannighan.
“Ah. Yes. Um, sirs, SC says it’ll be blast-off in three minutes. Would you, um, like me to commentate…?”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine, Mark”, Adair assured him, politely motioning the pair to leave them. He turned to his Candelarian counterpart. “You’ll enjoy this, James.” He rummaged under the chair. “Binoculars?”

***

Eric White stared thoughtfully at the young lady lying nice to him. And then at his watch. And then at her clock-radio.
“Um. Um. Natasha…?”
“Natalya.”
“Yes. Um… Don’t suppose you know the next train to Korolyov, do you?” He jumped up before she had time to answer, expertly slinging clothing onto his bulbous form, and running for the door.
“Eric! Vy you leavink? You zays ve av futurez togezer!”
“Uh… yes. Hold that thought.” He found his ID card in a coat pocket gratefully, and dived for the exit, stage left.


OOC: I’ll leave you “Wednesday’s” launches, obviously. I may not be around much t’morra and the weekend… or conversely may be glued to m’swivelly chair. Enigmatic, no?

From their vantage point, they could see the Cothrom quite clearly. McFlannighan began regaling them with all the wonders of the launch system.

"It's really quite ingenious actually, shame we won't be continuing research on it. The new Cothrom II is gonna replace the old beauty. Anyways, tonight's launch is rather routine, just a comm satellite to replace one that is aging faster then we'd like. Basically, what you'll see is 30 seconds before launch, the main engine will begin preignition. Lots of smoke but not much more. At 10 seconds till launch, the main engine will ignite. That will be a nice big flash of light and then we can watch the rocket streak off into the sky."

Cailean smiled at his overzealous science adviser and gave him a look that reminded him of how unneeded any commentary was. McFlannighan quieted himself and sat next to Ciara.

Just as described, at 30 seconds before the launch, smoke began pouring out from underneath the rocket. The countdown clock on the wall sprung to life, counting down in the seconds in glaring red numbers. At 10 seconds, the roar of the engine could be heard and an intense flare of light came from underneath the rocket. 9..8..7..6...Cailean was grinning like a madman, he always loved launches..5...4..3...2...1. The engine roared completely to life at 100% thrust and lifted off the pad, slowly at first but gathering in speed quickly. Soon, binoculars were needed to watch as this last rocket of an era streaked into the heavens.

"Well, impressive?" Cailean asked James, still smiling.

"Quite. Those rockets of yours sure move quickly." James replied, turning to face his young counterpart and noticing again how quickly Cailean slid from President to excited young man.

"And we still have quite a few of them around. We plan to use them right until we can get Cothrom II production picked up a bit. Who knows, maybe a Candelarian satellite or two may ride a Cothrom yet."

"Perhaps," James said. "Now, when is this Morev launch you keep talking up happening?"

Cailean looked to McFlannighan, who had yet to take his eyes off Ciara. "Well, that is an interesting development," he thought. He cleared his throat and brought Mark back into this world. "Mark, President Anderson would like to know when the Morev will be launched."

"Oh, yes. Well, we'll have to move to Tower 2. They should be finished final prep...I think we're about 30 minutes out." Mark said and stood, heading towards the door that lead to Tower 2.

***

The entire group had relocated to Tower 2 and now faced in a more southernly direction. They had arrived just in time. The Morev launch pad had been build inside an enclosed structure that split open in the center and slid aside to accommodate launches. The enclosure had just finished its opening when they arrived and the floodlights turned on.

There on the wing of the Morev, a hastily painted Candelarian flag was beside the Descartian flag. This made James smile, knowing that Caliean was trying to impress him again. The young man was doing a good job.

"I know it is a bit presumptuous to put your flag on it, but I see it as a symbol of our future together. Its fitting that you get to witness this launch." Cailean said.

"Yes it is." James replied, looking at the Morev. Pictures didn't do it justice. The ship had very long, blended lines, looking more like a supersized jet fighter then a space craft.

Mark stepped up behind the two presidents and cleared his throat. "Sirs, we have a video comm link with the Morev set up over there. Captain Banffshire wishes to speak to you both."

The two men walked over to the video monitor that Mark had indicated. They were greeted with an image of the cockpit of the Morev, with Captain Banffshire, Commander McDonnorey, and Sub-Lieutenant Aleksi all looking up at them from their seats. Captain Banffshire, a young woman in the Descartian Space Fleet and the first woman to make a manned spaceflight, greeted them both. "Mr. President, President Anderson, its an honor to have you observing us tonight."

Cailean smiled at the viewscreen. "Are you ready to make history Captain?"

"Yes sir, we all are," she replied.

"Good. I wish you a safe journey." Cailean said and James nodded his assent.

Cailean and James returned back to the viewing window. Vanessa and Aiden were playing with the children and Mark was bragging to Ciara about the Cothrom II's specification. Cailean made a mental note to remind him to be a bit more tight lipped, but in this case he didn't mind. He was truly willing to share everything his nation had with the Candelarians and was really hoping that this would work out.

Time quickly progressed, and soon it was 1 minute until launch. Mark and Cailean were visibly nervous. This launch was the culmination of a year and a half's worth of work. As the countdown clock on the wall counted down, its red numbers marking the seconds until a history making event, both men sweated. James just watched out the window calmly. Even the children, sensing that this was something important were watching out the window.

T-30 seconds. Preignition begins. Unlike with the Cothrom, the Morev's motors lit up the pad with flames. A distinct rumble could be heard and the whole assembly shook on its pad.

T-10 seconds. All of the linkages between the Morev and the tower fall away. The engine roar increases as they begin to burn hotter.

5...4...3....2....1. Ignition. The Morev lifts off its pad, racing into space. Mark has the radio transmissions piped over the loudspeaker, so they could hear the crew as they read off altitude and measurements. The Morev rocketed towards the heavens. In only 3 minutes, they received the report that the Morev had seperated from its boosters and was in its prescribed orbit. The launch was a success.

“Ooh… is that the Prandtl-Glauert singularity, Mr. McFlannighan?”
“Um. No, Mr. President. That’s a cloud.”

On the plus side, President Anderson was quite sure he’d spotted the ‘twang’ Pellegrino had exhaustively told him about earlier. Not so sure he’d risk mentioning it to anyone else, mind.

The Presidents, their spouses, and Mark and Ciara, had left the largest tower for the one inhabited by the much of the rest of Anderson’s – and indeed, Adair’s – staff. James noted the presence of Eric White, who was breathing even harder than usual and propping himself up on a wall. From across the room he made a series of breathless grunts towards the President, to the effect that he’d most enjoyed the launches. Anderson elected not to ask how much of them his Foreign Minister had seen, but filed a mental note to give the fat old twit the old heave-ho at the next cabinet reshuffle. Party Whip sounded about right. James had never been sure what that post entailed.

Fallon was the next to bounce up to him, grinning inanely. “I’ll tell you what…” he told the Presidents, slurring slightly through a lack of meaningful sleep, “When I was in Mecca…”
“You never told me you’d gone on pilgrimage,” Anderson interrupted, intrigued.
“Mecca’s a nightclub in Clotaire, sir… Um, when I was there, once, there was a gas leak at the branch of O’Leary’s opposite...”
“The ukulele shops?”
“Yeah. Went up like anything it did. Kerr-BOING!”
“Right…”
“Um. This was nothing like that,” he finished lamely. Anderson made an elegant farting noise with his lips, and addressed the assembly:
“Yeah… That’s probably a good sign we could all do with a zizz. Bright and early tomorrow, lads ‘n’ lasses, there’ll be much to discuss…”

“…explosion in a ukulele shop,” Anderson told Joseph Frank minutes later from his hotel room, ignoring his own advice.
“Beck sent me a video message. It looked extremely impressive,” the Prime Minister on the other end of the line told him, “A little dark though, wasn’t it?”
“A little. Smith and the others aren’t entirely sure why the Descartians elected to blast off in the evening. Lightning earlier in the day? I dunno.”
“Or perhaps they were trying to hide something?”
“Perhaps. I don’t think so, though. There’s not much they could keep from our experts here that the cover of darkness could hide. Although they have been trying almost too hard to be nice.” James heard the older man ‘Mmm’, suspiciously.
“I did notice the Two-Circles-And-An-Ovular-Thing painted on the side. A little slap-dash, I thought. Looked like a child did it.”
“A child did design our flag, if you remember,” Anderson chastised, in defence of the Descartians. “Soo… how soon can we start makin’ ‘em, do you think? Morevs, I mean.”
Frank laughed at his enthusiasm. “We’d be a long way off that, James, you know that. Even if you manage to dot the Ts and whatnot tomorrow. Looking at the specs you sent me, raw materials aren’t a problem. We mine most of them already. It’s the engineering that’ll be difficult. We just haven’t got the man-power, or the expertise. Not in the public sector, anyway…”
Anderson grimaced. “Adair’s even more into state control than us, Joe. He’s hardly likely to be happy for us to sub-contract the production out to limited companies…”
“I’m sure you could convince the man, James. Plus, let’s be honest here, we could do worse than get in ClotaireAutos’, Morales’, and Patton-Carmichael’s collective good books. We can’t rely on the gambling industry for ever. It’s either that,” Frank added, summing up, “or we do our best to bring more nations into the fold.”
The President grimaced again. “I know that was the original plan… But we’ve worked hard to get the Descartians to trust us, and I’m pretty sure they do. Greatly, for some reason. Even if we could convince them to open this little cottage industry out to other like-minded countries, I’m not at all sure that would be in our best interests anymore.” He yawned. “I. Need. To. Sleep,” he told Frank. “Look, I know we’re jumping the gun a tad, but you couldn’t slip the wink to Vice-Admiral Thingy… Mitchell… Tell him to start – tentatively, mind – start looking for possible future astronauts within the Navy. Or Air Defence for that matter. Personally, I’d rather rely on scientists, but Cap’n Banffshire and her crew did appear to be military. Probably best to go along with the Descartian way of doing things.” He yawned yet again.
“James, for heaven’s sake go to bed…”
“Yeah… g’night Joe.” Anderson broke the connection, falling asleep the second he hit the bed.

***

Ciara Annicchero wasn’t asleep. Now that she’d thought about it, she was quite aware of having snoozed away much of that morning, and felt restless. McFlannighan had appeared to be in the same state, and had offered to take her for a curry. While Sub-Continentals had never colonised neither the Candelarias nor the Descartesland area in any great numbers, Ciara had been gratified to discover enough of a latent Britishness had survived in both countries to see the blessed dish gain an important cultural place re: post-drunkenness, on a par with the humble kebab.

They were now tucking in opposite each other, in a pretty-much deserted bar, of some sort. Mark had spilt an orange lump down his shirt. Ciara felt as romantic encounters went; it registered narrowly behind Garth Christenson presenting her with a worm, in pre-school. She’d opened her mouth to ask him about his family, wondering how easy it had been growing up with parents from two different countries. Before words suggested themselves, however, he’d already ventured:
“Why d’you suppose we do it?”
“Um?”
“This. Uh… eating.”
“Um… It provides the nutritional needs of an organism, particularly their energy requirements…”
“No, no…” Mark appeared to suddenly regret ever having started the conversation, and was staring awkwardly to one side. Apparently unable to think of a way of stopping, however, he ploughed on regardless. “I mean, watching another person while you eat. It’s quite, uh, revolting really. I mean, I don’t mean, um… I just… Do you suppose it’s common to all cultures?”
Ciara met his eyes for an unbearably awkward nanosecond.
“Like osculation, perhaps,” he pressed on.
“How’s somebody supposed to subconsciously examine another’s major histocompatibility complex from across a table, Mark?”
“Ah, aha, yes, well I subscribe to the premastication theory of the origins of, um, kissing…”
The poor man, Ciara thought. He’s going all oedipus on me, and we’ve only known each two days. “I think it’s probably just an issue of trust, Mark,” she offered, “Apart from when you’re asleep, you’re never at greater risk of ambush than when you’re concentrating on eating. Having someone constantly watching your back, and you theirs, allows both participants to let their guards down. All very symbolic.” She coughed, nervously. McFlannighan beamed.
“So, uh, Ciara… Have you noted any obvious modifications you’d make to the Morev design?”
Annicchero’s eyes bulged. “I think you expect a little much of me. I only first saw the specs a few hours ago.” The Descartian seemed disappointed. “Well…” she attempted, “I think we could probably do a number on the computers. Change the memory from magnetic core to semiconductor; boost the capacity by 100%. Get rid of those monochrome cockpit displays. I reckon we could probably up the throttle a bit. Um, not really sure if you need to paint the external tank white. I know it’s to protect the insulation, but if you were a bit less conservative on that front you’d save a lot of weight. Foam insulation seems too delicate all round, really.” She gave a Gallic shrug. “And add a third O-ring seal to the joints between the Booster segments.”

Mark grinned, and removed a lump of orange vegetable matter from his trousers with a fork.

***

President Anderson was woken by a shout. He turned instinctively to Vanessa, who was dead to the world, snoring softly. He heard it again, coming from outside the hotel, as he tiptoed towards the children’s room. James made his way instead to the window, and peered out, a difficult act given the thickness of the glass and the time of night. He could make out a street-light though, which illuminated a man, standing unsteadily and waving a green bottle at no-one in particular, shouting curses to the world.

James watched with mild interest as two blackened figures – police, he supposed, since they clearly weren’t part of neither his nor Adair’s official security forces. The two men rather roughly dragged the protesting rummy away, around the corner of the road and beyond Anderson’s eye line. James remained stood at the window, his mind wandering. What would happen to the old sod? A night in the cells? Packed off to a ‘re-education’ program with all the political dissidents, where they’d be taught how to act and think by Adair’s henchman? What if that was a broken bottle, what if he’d stabbed one of the policemen? Or merely been accused of it? Would there be a due process, lawyers?

Anderson walked carefully to the bathroom, quietly shut the door behind him and dropped down onto cold plastic. He rubbed his hands over his face. Yes, Cailean seemed nice. So did his staff. But… James had been in politics, had been alive long enough to know that some of the nicest people he’d met had been psychotic nutcases underneath. The man was an absolute monarch. Okay, he claimed that was the route his people had chosen, okay they seemed smiley enough. But weren’t they just smiling for the cameras? They had no personal rights at all, for heaven’s sake.

Anderson would be the first – well… maybe the twenty-somthingth – to admit that he had his major flaws when it came to grasping others’ motivations. He prided himself on seeing the good in everyone, and the bad, and treating both with healthy scepticism. But that the chunks of grey in between, he found hard to digest. And he also knew he had a habit of Believing in things, things like Society and Community and Respect for Other Cultures. Vague concepts given absolute meaning by their capital letters. Things like the Good of the Country. He’d been burned before with that last one, in politics and outside, trusting people with ulterior motives in everything. He was making deals with a despot! He was selling C&M’s soul, wasn’t he?

James washed his face, slumped back to bed, and stared at the ceiling. In the gloom, he could’ve sworn he’d seen the mobile that used to hang over Constantine’s cot. Cardboard cut-outs of the Earth, a crescent moon, a sun with yellow triangles around the edge, two tiny stars, a spaceman in Resurgent Dream livery, a rocket… all spinning and swaying gently. He and Vanessa had had to take it down after a short while, after Con had learnt how to climb the bars in just the right way to be able to touch the lowest-hanging star, ignoring any threat to life and limb in his quest.

By some bizarre quirk of the universe, the President’s thought at that precise moment, precisely matched that of Ciara Annicchero.

All very symbolic.

***

OOC: May the Lord bless wikipedia!

Cailean was sitting in his office, writing up the official memos announcing the partnering of Descartesland and Candelaria And Marquez on an international space program. He knew it was premature, but if they were all ready all he would have to do is sign them and send them.

He looked over the other memos on his desk, most of them routine stuff. Adair prided himself on looking into as many details of his society as he could. When the people had elected to give him almost absolute power, he decided to do so in the best way he could. He booted his computer and noticed a report about a man getting drunk and accosting police outside of where the Candelarians were staying. He made a note to check on it later and make sure that everything was alright. Disgruntled citizens were rare, and sometimes all it took was a quick audience with some higher governmental officials to make someone happy. A quick memo to Chief Whelan later and a note on that man's file and Cailean shut the computer down.

He stretched and yawned, his cup of coffee long gone. After deciding that he had finished enough for tonight, he walked through the hidden door at the back of his office into his private bedchambers. Aiden was already asleep and after changing, he slipped into bed next to her and fell into a deep sleep.

***
Mark McFlannighan was becoming more and more impressed, and increasingly enamored with Ciara Annicchero. After curry, they had headed to a small coffee shop, last night's experience of the pub and subsequent hangover still fresh in their minds, and got a private table to talk. Unsure exactly how to act in these sorts of situations, Mark kept talking about the Morev and the Cothrom II, asking for opinions and suggestions. He was quite impressed with what Ciara kept coming up with, and made note of them in his PDA. Eventually, the night wore on and the coffee shop's owner was ready to close. The two were gently escorted out into the night air of Erringore. The sky was dark and the stars were twinkling.

Mark offered Ciara his coat and pointed at the sky. "They're up there right now. The Morev is up there. I would give anything to be able to see what they are seeing."

Ciara accepted the coat and wrapped it around herself, leaning a little closer into Mark. She genuinely liked the man, but liked even more how open he was about their scientific progress on space flight. She knew, even if this relationship between their nations didn't happen, what she had learned over two nights could advance Candelarian space flight quite rapidly. It honestly made her feel exciting, like a spy. "I'm sure its very beautiful up there. Maybe someday, space flight can be so routine that people like you and I can go up for a weekend."

Mark smiled. "Well, if the Lifter program continues, that is a possibility. See, we have designs for a space elevator, makes the trip to LEO routine. About two hours up, three down. Very inexpensive...." Mark continued to ramble on and Ciara absorbed all she could...

Night went and morning came. And this was the Thursday.

***

“It’s like a big ol’ lift, sir,” Professor Annicchero explained to her President, patiently.

They’d met, along with much of the C&M delegation, in the lobby of the group’s hotel. A smell of scrambled eggs and dippy soldiers had filled the room. Ciara had, slightly presumptuously, pulled Anderson to one side; knowing however that he couldn’t be anything but interested in this latest snippet of news. James, for his part, had wondered how happy Adair would be if he knew how much this McFlannighan character was spilling to the young Professor; and equally couldn’t stop himself pondering if any of his people were similarly gobbing off to their tentative new friends.
“I’m aware of the general concept. I think. It’s a pulley essentially, isn’t it?”
Ciara nodded. “More or less, sir. You drop a cable down from a geostationary satellite. Costs a bomb to do in the first place, but the point is that once it’s up there, and apart from occasional maintenance, all future travel is free. Providing there’s an equal amount coming down as going up.”
“When you say ‘costs a bomb…?”
“A lot. Mark seemed quite convinced it was perfectly possibly, and I didn’t want to poke too far. But frankly sir, I can’t imagine how half a dozen nations our size could afford it, never mind just out two. Let alone just Descartesland.”
“They may well be wealthier than we’d think, Ciara,” Anderson told her. “A couple of our Overseas Trade guys managed a brief shifty at an out-of-town mining project, yesterday. They’re bringing up an awful lot of stuff, and selling it on for a pretty penny too, by all accounts. And besides, all this investment in their Space Program is surely to the detriment of living conditions…”
Ciara shook her head. “Maybe out in the townships. But Mark took me to part of Erringore last night that was, and I quote, ‘pretty rough’. And it’s like…” She gave an expansive gesture. “I’m from the wrong side of the tracks, sir, the old Italian quarter in Melin? It was grim at times, I’ll tell you. Me mam still lives there, and it’s little better even now. I’d have fourteen kids and be on something ghastly twice over by now, if it wasn’t for President Hrehoresin’s ‘Leg-Up’ programme for exceptional, disadvantaged kids…”
“A Band-Aid policy to serious underlying socio-economic problems,” Anderson said, almost automatically.
“Quite, sir. I did vote for you, y’know… Point is, those streets we visited were grubby, sure, but really not that bad. Certainly no worse than home. I’ll be buggered if I know how they finance it all, sir, pardon my Pacitalian.”
Anderson took her shoulder and pushed her a little farther away from the rest of the room. He dropped his voice to a near-whisper. “Ciara, you’ve clearly spent more time among these people than the rest of us, what with your new-found taste for the pub-crawl… Are they mad, do you think?”
Ciara smiled. “No. Not any more so than most humans. And definitely not stupid. Just… extraordinarily ambitious. As a people, sir, not just the government.”

James nodded thoughtfully. The money issues had been preying on his mind too, for a while. They’d been added to a rather long list Anderson had confronted himself with last night. He had not found easy answers forthcoming. The Descartians weren’t daft, and God knows Adair wasn’t. Not unduly brainy, perhaps, but then neither, James freely admitted, was he. It was not a trait particularly becoming in a head of state, he’d found. Clearly, though, they had to have a basis for their grandiose schemes, beyond hoping a bunch of foreign mugs would pitch up ready and raring to put their hands in their pockets…

To some degree though, it was all getting rather out of his hands. He’d flicked the first domino, and the rest were toppling over perfectly fine on their own. In the corner of the room White, Smith, Patel, Annicchero now, Pellegrino, Fallon – for some reason, and a bunch of other assorted minor diplomats Anderson barely recognised as his own; were working their fingers to the bone, preparing for the first, mid-morning, round of negotiations. The manufacturing, the design, the scientific development, the manned flights… every detail fine-tuned in C&M’s favour, ready to be ripped apart in a couple of hours. Anderson didn’t envy them as such; he’d done his time endlessly authoring such documents. Still, he’d been doing it for what had seemed like the eternal Opposition party. At least these guys, he thought, knew their hard work could change their country forever.

***

Fallon Said had said he’d take the scenic route, which in hindsight had not been a wonderful plan. Inside the sound-proof hotel, he’d had no idea it was raining, even with the panoramic windows. It was coming down so hard and heavy there was no gap between the streaks to notice them by, new droplets hitting the ground instantly flattened by another relentless layer of water before they had time to make a splash.

With coat firmly over head, ID card gripped tightly in pocket, and an easily recognisable brown face to get him through security, he raced to the ascribed meeting place just in time to catch up with the rest of his conspicuously dry colleagues.

The Presidents arrived from opposite doors almost simultaneously, like boxers entering the ring. It was an image sullied somewhat in Said’s mind by the cheery wave they gave each other as they took their seats.

It was the way they did it, Said couldn’t help but notice. His President slipped in with little fuss, almost apologetically pulling up a chair in the midst of his group. Adair, conversely, owned the room as soon as he entered it, his people’s lives seemingly made suddenly worth-while by his presence.

Which was, Fallon thought, entirely indicative of these two. Adair was born to take the lead, take control, even. There was self-doubt there, of course, but he still commanded respect effortlessly. And his country loved him for it. Whereas James, Fallon thought… James was a message in a bottle. Tossed into the sea, buffeted by the waves, its course changed first by an ocean-liner, then by a butterfly flapping its wings in Southest Asia, somewhere. It could’ve sunk at any time, like countless other bottles. But because of expert craftsmanship, perhaps, and just blind luck; it had been washed up on the shore of the nation.
And however little the ordinary people appreciated it, Fallon knew with every fibre of his being that the message in the bottle was the right one. And they’d soon realise it again, once they’d touched the stars.

Said pulled up a chair next to the President, and shuffled his papers meaningfully.

***

OOC: On a different note, d'you think I'm right in thinking that the Latin Byzantines/Kumoni RP "Vacation and True Love" (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=530135), must be the only romance in the history of literature to prominantly feature the line "No, it's just a plate of fish." (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showpost.php?p=12797429&postcount=74)?

Adair cleared his throat, starting the negotiations that he hoped would take less time then everyone thought. He was prepared to offer everything, with no concern for how that might look. If he had to humble himself to these people to make this work, he was willing.

"Well, its good to see all of our Candelarian friends in one place. We haven't spent a lot of time together as a group, and hopefully we'll be able to keep our time here today short."

"I'm sure you are wondering, what it is our nation is offering to you. In a word, everything. Our government, moreover me personally, is not the type of entity to withhold scientific knowledge. While our neutrality has been...stretched as of late, we truly strive to be neutral."

"Some of you know more about our future goals then others," Cailean said with a quick glance at Ciara Annicchero, a slight smile on his face, "and that is fine. If everything works out today, you'll see that the Descartian people has nothing to hide from you."

"What we propose today is a complete and open scientific trade agreement, starting with a joint space program based out of Korolyov City. Our first step would be to upgrade and supplement your current space program, providing you with assistance in the form of engineers, plans, and knowledge. After that, we feel that joint missions, launched from Korolyov and any city which you choose in Candelaria are a logical continuation. Finally, we propose a sharing to resources to encourage a permanent human presence in space in the form of a space station in a stationary orbit."

Adair paused to let what he was saying sink in for the Candelarian party. He was handing them essentially everything on a silver platter.

"Now, I am sure the question of money comes to mind for you. It is a big issue. Descartesland has a solid GDP with our mining programs and exports of minerals, but we do not have a strong enough economy to find all of this on our own. We've recently started funding higher education for all of our young people, in the hopes of creating a generation of thinkers and scientists, but this all costs money. What we are asking for in return along with cooperation is funding. Now, we are we not asking you to extend yourselves beyond your means and we are not expecting you to throw money at us either. We see you as equal partners. What we are suggesting is that components and even whole vessels could be manufactured in Candelaria. These vessels would be yours. In fact, pending our negotiations today I have ready transmit to you the plans for not only our Cothrom rocket system, but our experimental Cothrom II and the Morev as well."

The Candelarians looked slightly aghast. They had many negotiations points prepared and Adair had just blown by them. "This man is handing us all of his nation's work on a silver platter," Pellegrino though, "What a fool."

James Anderson's thoughts were more friendly. "Cailean may be young and naive and overly trusting, but he sure knows how to make my delegates confused."

Adair looked at the questioning faces looking back at him and smiled. "They weren't expecting me to be so forthcoming," he thought. He cleared his throat and started speaking again, "So, is there anything else that you need to...sweeten the deal so to speak?"

The term ‘Christing Arseholes’ had never suggested itself to President Anderson before, but currently it represented the only cogent thought in James’ mind. Essentially, Adair was offering them everything they could possibly want. The Descartians would provide pretty much everything they had in helping to bring C&M’s own tiny Space Programme up to speed, the full specs of the C-2 and Morev, the promise of joint missions launched intermittently from both countries… and all for a price that seemed, to Anderson, like relative chicken feed. And now Cailean was asking them if there was anything else they wanted?

What James really wanted was to bound out of his chair, get Adair round the throat, pin him to the wall, and demand to know what the hell he thought he was playing at. When he’d asked Cooper to send O’Doherty that initial letter, he didn’t genuinely imagine he’d even get a response, never mind this… You just – you just didn’t do this in international politics. A tentative agreement on the sharing of information, maybe equipment, after months of wrangling, sure, but…

God, I’ve become suspicious in me old age, Anderson thought suddenly. Candelariasians were a suspicious people by nature, he’d always known. Why, that was a mystery to him. We’ve never been invaded, he thought, we’ve always been on good terms with our neighbours… Okay, kept them at arm’s length, but… We’ve always had an open policy on immigrants of one form or another. Have we always been so arrogant, thought ourselves so special, that we’re the only ones capable of genuine strategic altruism in the world? Or did we long ago stop trusting ourselves to do the Right Thing, and decided everyone else must have fallen to our level as well?

James was dimly aware that most of the room was hanging on his response. For some reason, he found himself catching the eye of Eric White. Beneath his pudgy left paw, he was guarding a file clearly marked as belonging to a “Cammi Rihla”… Candelaria And Marquez Military Intelligence: Requiring Immediate High-Level Attention, James knew. These would be the documents on Descartesland’s missile defence network and surveillance capabilities, Natalya and the other agents working for the C&M Embassy had been enlisted to assemble. White was looking at him meaningfully. ‘Gowon, push your luck,’ his eyebrows were saying, ‘This stuff is gold. What does it matter if we risk loosing the blasted United Space Programme? We get our mitts on all this, we need never be defenceless again!’

Adair was watching Anderson patiently. “So, James? Is there anything else we can provide to get your handshake?”

Anderson smiled. “Promise to henceforth spell ‘Programme’ correctly, Cailean, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

***

It would be left to others to finalise the agreement. McFlannighan had presented a variety of new faces as the leaders of Space Command and the country’s scientific community in general. They’d disappeared off with Pellegrino and their other C&M counterparts to discuss the details Anderson found extremely tedious but supposed the United Geeks would send themselves into raptures over. He’d grabbed Professor Annicchero before they’d all left, and made expansive gestures towards Pellegrino at her. He trusted her enough by now to know she’d make sure the oily little man didn’t ruin things.

Indeed, he’d had to do a fair bit of grabbing all round, what with assigning one of the Debbies to go through the minutes of the last meeting at change every reference of ‘Candelaria’, to the more sensitive ‘Candelaria And Marquez’. That was one row he felt like avoiding once he’d got back home. He’d also enlisted one of the emotionless diplomats who would actually draw up the official terms; to fight on Anderson’s behalf for a suitable acronym. DACAMUSP, he’d decided, did not roll pleasantly off the tongue. Finally, he’d texted his Social Affairs minister, Reuben Queseda, the Member of the House for El din & North Marquez. The underpopulated backwaters of the Candelarias’ second island would be the perfect place to hold launches, he felt. Now it was just a case of convincing the nimbys who lived there.

He found Fallon Said leaning against a wall in an open courtyard, sneaking a quick cigarette. James loathed the things, had done all that Human Rights legislation would allow to ban them in public spaces. He gave his minister a playfully disapproving look.

Fallon noticed him, and quickly snubbed it out. “Sorry sir… long day.”
“No skin off my nose, Fal. It’s legal here, anyway. I think. Just about the only thing that is…”
“Sir… James… Tell me honestly. Do you trust these people? Really?”
James scratched his nose, thoughtfully. “I don’t not trust them, Fal. In our line of work, that’s pretty damn good.”

The rain had long since cleared up, a bit of Nimbostratus here and there the only spoilers to a perfect blue sky.

It was far too early to be dark.

They looked at the stars, anyway.

Cailean Adair watched the Candelarian aircraft rise off the end of the runway and into the sky. Just moments before, he had finished saying goodbye to his new friends....

"It was a pleasure James. This visit, its going to make both of our nations stronger then we can ever imagine." he said to President Anderson, while shaking his hand. He had already presented the children with small gifts, small models of the Morev that had lightup engines and sound effects, sure to drive their parents crazy the whole flight. Aiden was hugging Vanessa Ramos, after having given her her word that she and James would be invited to the wedding.

"Well Cailean, I have to say that this trip was not what I expected. It's been interesting and definitely new." James shook Cailean's hand and smiled slightly at him. All of his ministers were already on the plane, his family and their security being the last to board. They were bringing home with them literally years of research from Descartesland's Space Command. Everything that had been promised to them and more was waiting on data discs in sealed cases. There was enough information to jumpstart the Space Programme years.

"James, you will always be welcome in my country. I know that Candelaria and Marquez may not always be led by you, but you and your family will always be welcome here. You've made yourself a friend. I understand that things may seem very crazy right now, I am sure you weren't expecting someone to just forgo all of the normal bureaucratic delays in forging an alliance like this, but I don't work that way. This is something that will help my people, and yours as well and I can't hesitate when faced with something like that." Caliean then handed him a small card, the size of a business card. "That has my personal contact info on it. If you ever need me, call me."

James nodded at him and stepped back to board the plane headed for home. He knew that even as he flew, 10 of his country's finest pilots were being prepared for the trip to Descartesland to being training as Cosmonauts. He had much to think about and get started, but the International Space Programme was a realization, no longer a dream. What he didn't know was that even as he was leaving, all of Descartesland's space vehicles were having their DSF (Descartian Space Force) registries changed to reflect their new ISP registries and the Descartian flags were being painted over.

***

Coming back from his memories, Caliean realized that Mark McFlannighan was trying to get his attention. "Yes?"

"Its done sir," Mark replied. "We've sent them a datalink copy of everything on the plane and anything we might have forgotten. With what we've given them, they can start production on their own Morev in 4 months tops if they jump on it and a Space Flight complex in a little over that."

Cailean watched the plane disappear into the clouds. "And the missile defense network and surveillance satellites?"

Mark winced. He didn't agree with the President's decision to give the Candelarians military technology. "In there too sir, along with your promise to help them begin launching defense satellites within the next month. Also sir, their Cosmonaut candidates will be here on Monday. Have arrangements been made?"

Cailean shook his head. "No, see to that please. I want all 10 of them to be comfortable and pass through the training program as quickly as is safe. If we are going to do this, we have to involve them in our...I mean the program as quickly as we can. Oh, and Mark, you know how we suggested setting up an oversight council? How does "Dr. Mark McFlannighan, Descartesland Representative" sound to you?"

Mark's face lit up. "It sounds...too good to be true sir. Thank you!"

"You did a good job. They seem to trust us, and thats what we need. I want you to put out the feelers to bring more nations into this. The ball is rolling and I want to jump on it."

Mark nodded and headed off. Cailean looked up and watched the stars.

An Epilogue of sorts (because I can)

A narativally suitable amount of time later…

Fallon Said climbed the many steps and crossed the many floors in his journey to President Anderson’s own little office in the official seat of residence for the C&M head of state, Robinson House. He daintily negotiated a series of Debbies armed with cups of tea; suited figures apparently employed to make the place look busy; and the entire corridor now known colloquially as Craig the Capybara’s Mosh Pit.

Anderson was waiting for him, wordlessly handing Fallon a file as he entered. Said read the cover note, balked, and read it again. He quietly took a seat.
“Minister for the International Space Programme,” he said out-loud for the benefit of the hurried writer of these paragraphs.
James nodded. “I know it’s unexpected, Fal. But I need someone with first-hand experience of the Descartians. And who isn’t Pellegrino, let’s be honest.”
“Um. Right. But…” Fallon looked on the verge of tears.
“You’re far too good a minister to hang around here as a glorified aide. Besides, the whole experience in Descartesland made it clear to me I need a complete team of unelected aides – Chief of Staff, a Foreign Policy Directorate, that sort of thing. Those with real experience. No slight on you, let me make that clear.” He clocked Fallon’s wobbly lower lip. “Think of it this way, it’ll be great for your air miles.” He cracked his fingers. “Hop to it then man, come along! I need you to oversee Professors Smith and Annicchero’s transfer to Korolyov; confirm Patton-Carmichael can work with the Descartian engineering team on our Morev without gouging each other’s eyes out; see to it that Wing Commander Nygaard and his team have arrived safely; send a team to meet with the Concerned Citizens of El din poste-haste; make sure they spelt ‘And’ with a capitol ‘A’ on the official documentation for the ISP; see if…”
Ten minutes later, Said marched out from Anderson’s office in a businesslike manner, helped himself to a cream bun being ferried from an unknown A to B by a Debbie, and breathed deeeeeeply…


OOC: D’ya want to set up an NSWiki page? The European Space Agency (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Esa)wiki would probably make a sensible template. We could add, subtract and change to our merry hearts’ content after that.

OOC: Sounds like a good plan. Go for it and then TG me the link or post it here.