NationStates Jolt Archive

Travis Darkhorse, one of the Tanaaran Archon's most trusted advisors, looked over the residential suites awaiting the Fatal Terrain Region's National Delegates, and the conference room. All was prepared and security on the International Isle at the pinnacle of readiness.

The Archon, Robert Ryan Fortier ~ Hexx had wanted to bring in an additional multinational security force, comprised of the joint forces that Imitora, Tanaara, TMZ and Tarlachia were training, but that had been set aside.

The command that provided normal security for the International Isle had protested strongly, complaining that it would undermine their standing in the region. And had rattled enough important cages that Robert - who had seen them in action. and had to acknowledge their fine training and state of readiness- decided to not press the issue.

The agenda for the conference was small -

1) To discuss the latest round of national dissolution - five in the space of a month. How to best help the victims of the collapses.

2) What to do about the rising problems of piracy, and terrorism

3)Suggestions for assisting nations to rebuild, or new nations be created.

He just hoped that the various nations of Fatal Terrain would bother to send representatives.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OOC: Please remember to limit it to one post per day, unless it is a side conversation - we don't want to leave any one behind.

Isaac Rhymer put the stack of papers on the floor of the limousine. He sighed as he scanned the paperwork before him. He had everything on a laptop, but he preferred the old fashioned approach. Isaac Rhymer was in his 50s, slightly round around the waist due to having to cut his daily exercise routine with the increased work he had gotten within the last four months. He was, until four months ago, the Chief Aid to President Alexander Puroc. Puroc had been impeached and along with his former Secretary of the Interior and a half dozen Congressmen, was currently under trial for taking millions in kickbacks and bribes, many due to opening Federal Land for commercial use.

Rhymer had testified before Congress under oath and even under detector, he had known nothing so he was able to keep his job. Now he was Chief Aid to the new President Wesley Yellen. Isaac dislike/borderline hated the new President. Wesley Yellen, a somewhat naïve young man of only forty-eight, had only been given the job of Vice-President as his party wanted to keep the ‘rogue’ Senator under control. He was also selected to please the ‘eco-friendly’ crowd. Now selecting Yellen to be Vice-President seemed to the biggest mistake in the history of the country.

Less than three days after entering office Yellen had signed an Executive Order protecting any and all species of dragons and forbidding opening of any Federal land to commercial use. A month ago Yellen had removed several tax cuts for various corporations and companies citing the trickle down effect from billion dollar businesses as pure bullshit. Yellen had also axed a pair of military projects that had been in development for the better part of ten years. The man seemed to meddle in everything it was something that Rhymer didn’t like.

Rhymer sipped his coffee. His eyes moved up to the man sitting a foot away from him eating a chocolate muffin and reading a dossier. President Wesley Yellen. Yellen didn’t look up as he spoke. “Yes Isaac?”

“Nothing Mr. President. It’s just…well…you didn’t have to come you know. Some other heads of state might not even be here. It is a very important…”

“That is exactly why I wanted to come. I’ve only been in office four months and I feel that it is important I present myself to our fiends and allies.” Yellen said as he looked over at Isaac.

Rhymer nodded. “Quite right sir. But, some feel that your very much hands on approach might be detrimental to your future Presidency. The military for example…”

“Project Eclipse is gone and the reboot of Project Rebecca is also dead.” Yellen said as the limo started to slow down. “However Project Starlight has potential.”

“Well sir if you consider the possibilities…”

“Isaac.” Yellen glared at the man as the limousine halted. “Both…are dead, no ifs ands or buts. I wish my Presidency to be one of progress and working to improve life in the Golden Simatar as well as aid our friends in need. Not concentrate billions of dollars into projects whose sole existences are to kill people. As for my ‘hands on’ approach, I want to make sure my programs get done and not just wallow in partisan squabbling on the floor of Congress. Now, that is the end of it.”

Rhymer could only nod as the door opened. Yellen quickly at the rest of his muffin before collecting his briefcase and business materials. Yellen climbed out of the limo with Rhymer, carrying his own things, close behind. The driver closed the passenger door and popped open the trunk to collect their personal luggage.

Yellen and Rhymer walked up the stairs to the Conference Hall and through the front door into the foyer area. Yellen looked around, curious if they were the first to arrive.

As the two men entered they were met by a well dressed, young woman bearing a stack of document folders. And while Karavel Sendai didn't look it in the least, she wasn't human. Though a good look into her bright emerald eyes might have given some one alert a clue. The auburn haired beauty was Travis Darkhorse's senior aide and his right hand were-tigress.

"President Yellen, Mister Rhymer" She offered her hand first to the new President of The Golden Simatar, then to his aide. "I'm Karavel Sendai, and might I welcome you on behalf of the Archon and all of Tanaara."

"Would you care to freshen up? Your suites on the second floor are ready. Other than the Archon and his retinue you are the first to arrive. Archon Fortier Hexx has stepped out for a moment however I am sure he will want to greet you personally upon his return." She waited for the Simatarans to decide, while nimble fingers sorted the folders, placing their on top for easy distribution while her attention on the two men never wavered.

The International Isle was, as was prudently required for a meeting such as this, completely secured from magical or other non mundane means of arrival and departure, unless it had been coordinated before hand.

The Wards, Words, and Workings had been laid in multiple layers - the efforts of the Major Arcana in conjunction with the Towers of Cats Keep intended to completely prevent even such Powers as Arithon from trespassing on the Isle - though they were welcome to arrive in the same manner as ever one else did

McReary looked down at the three documents in front of him. Two were nothing more than simple pieces of paper with a short statement on each, a pre fabricated letter that sat on a hard drive somewhere in the JAG offices in Northampton. The third a thick file, still sealed with "EYES ONLY" in large, block lettering stamped across the front.

He picked up the first document, an official resignation of his commission as a Lieutenant in the Imitoran Navy. The thick card stock paper, watermarked with the Navy crest, stated in fairly simple legal terms that as of the date of signing, this document would signify that Kevin James McReary, RIN, would no longer hold the rank of Lieutenant. It would, in theory, be signing away a sizable salary, four years of graduate level studies, and all the training he had received to obtain his commission. However, his side job as a legal adviser paid better part time than even some of the highest commissions, his degree from the Naval Academy and Northampton University's law school still held, and those skills could be transferred on to his new posting. He picked up the heavy pen, and quickly scrawled down his signature. For the next five minutes, he would no longer be a serving member of the Republic of Imitora Navy.

He picked up the next document, and read it for what must have been the hundredth time.

Upon signing this document, Kevin James McReary hereby confirms and accepts that he has successfully passed Imitoran Military Command's Master Chief Petty Officer Selection Course, and accepts all the benefits and responsibilities pertaining to that position. With this document, Kevin James McReary his hereby assigned the non commissioned officer rank of Master Chief Petty Officer, Rated Naval Special Warfare Operator.

The rest of the page had a brief history of the MCPO Selection Course, and a brief outline of his duties and responsibilities. He thought for only a moment more, placed pen to paper, and accepted his new rank as a NONCOM. Another man in the room took both pieces of paper, and handed them to a secretary who would handle the administrative work. The other man also signed his own document, and passed it on to the woman seated across from Kevin, Five Star Fleet Admiral Nancy LaVigne, Secretary of the Navy.

"Congratulations, Master Chief," she said to Kevin, shaking his hand. "This paper right here," she said while signing the document, "recognizes your new official posting as the Senior Non Commissioned Officer for SWORD Crew 4. You are the first Senior Non Commissioned Officer for a SWORD Crew, and we hope that this pilot program proves successful. I don't think we could have picked a better candidate," she smiled.

"Yes ma'am, thank you ma'am," Kevin said, accepting the final thick folder she handed to him.

"One Ess Oh Dee is out of country right now, running diplomatic protection for the First Speaker down in South Imitora. He's touring refugee camps, with all the displaced persons winding up on our beach. The Second Speaker is attending a conference on economic stability or some such noise and is out of country with her own ISS detail. However, leave it to the Tanaarans to wait till anyone who could actually do anything is busy with our own problems before decided we need to talk about other problems. State is sending an ambassador, Mark Weymuth, to represent us at the regional conference. You are to put together a security team. The local security force at International Island is, of course, none to pleased that we wanted to send our own military to handle security, and has been raising Cain over the situation. So instead of sending a company from the IMC to set up camp, we want you to put together a QRF, something small. Nothing larger than your standard Crew, if you could. Just to handle any on the spot mishaps that would require a fast reaction that we are pretty well known for."

Kevin nodded, flipping through the first few pages before closing the file. "I think I understand ma'am, no blowing up things that don't need to be blown up?"

"You got it Master Chief. You can have you selection of personnel, any branch."

"Yes ma'am," Kevin responded one last time. "How soon do I need to be ready?"

"You have two weeks, but knowing your records, you'll be ready to roll tomorrow."

Kevin chuckled. "I already have who I want picked out."

"Excellent. Give me a call if you need any strings tugged. Good luck."

"Thank you ma'am," Kevin finished, and stood. The man standing behind him, Senior Command Master Chief of the Navy Mark Guffey smiled, and extended his hand.

"Well, congratulations Master Chief Petty Officer McReary. Welcome to the Khaki Mafia."
_

Mark shook his head as he looked over what he actually could and could not do. In theory, he was just an ambassador while the two Speakers were off doing what ever it was they were off doing, and he was to represent the nation. However, he couldn't well represent it by just talking, so in front of him was the actual list of powers he held.

None of them really held any water.

He had the power to voice the opinion of the Speakers, as well as partially ratify any treaties that came about. Of course, therein was the problem. Partially. The First and Second Speaker had the power to simply veto anything he signed on to at a later date at their own discretion, with our without his or anyone else's counsel. So in theory, he had just enough power to get in trouble, but not enough to stay in it. Such was life.

Sitting across from him on the modified Gulfstream V was his personal body guard, a former soldier from the 22nd Pathfinders, and now one of a small security detail from the ISS. The rest of the team was scattered about the plane, all dressed similarly to Weymuth. Every man except one wore a suit and tie, some more expensive than others, but all dressed fairly professionally. Back in the rear of the biz jet sat Master Chief McReary, dressed less than professionally as he poured over maps and charts of the area, analyzing every possible insertion and extraction route by ground. After they landed, he would get with the pilots handling the single MH-60I he had managed to requisition for the trip, and look at all the air routes.

"They have to send along some squids? We can handle ourselves just fine," the lead of the ISS team muttered under his breath.

Weymouth, who had not quite a disdain, but a preference to stay away from soldiers from the 22nd, just shook his head. All but two of the ISS detail had been in the 22nd, and the former IAFSOC Chief Warrant Officer sighed.

"No," he said, "you most likely can't."

The body guard looked at him angrily.

"Listen, shooter mcgee, you guys are great at shooting the hell out of stuff, and all that fun light infantry bull shit. But that guy over there does it better. I know. I've served with him. We were at Camp Casablanca back on the wrong side of the TGS border together, I flew most of his insertions. He and his SWORD buddies can do one thing better than damn near any being alive, and that's kill shit. Its what they do."

"But can they protect you? Its more than about just 'killing shit', you know."

"Does it matter? Its your job to protect me, its his job to kill everyone when you screw up."

"Hey," came the call from another one of the ISS detail, "anyone know the rules to scrabble?"

Mark looked up. "Yeah, I do."

Kevin looked up as well, wanting to see what the hell was about to happen. A sly smile crossed his face as he nodded towards the former MH-60 pilot from the 285th.

"Does limo count as a word, you know, short for limousine?"

"Damnit," Mark swore, closing his eyes, "for the last time it does not count as a word in scrabble!"
_

Kevin chuckled at the exchange, and went back to the charts. He felt Mark stand and walk over, and he looked up at the pilot, laughing. "C'mon man. They are RIA. You remember what that stands for. Royally Incompetent Assholes!"

The pilot laughed, and sat across from the sailor. "So what's the deal?"

"Well, I don't really think we have anything to worry about, we did a damned good job in TGS of blowing away people who don't like us. Really sent home a message."

The two had both been part of the task force sent in to The Golden Simitar, or, as they called it, the wrong side of the border, to attack terrorist training camps that had set up in the deserts and mountainous region. It had been a covert and clandestine operation, the Simitarians hadn't been told that a bunch of IMSPECWAR operators would be traipsing around their back yard on the Simitarian side of the border with Tarlachia, shooting up anyone they deemed a target. Kevin had been a platoon officer for SWORD Crew 4, and Mark had flown the dark green and black MH-60Is, most of the time inserting the Crew 4 Platoon Alpha with Kevin leading the assault.

"But you still don't wanna be here, do you?"

Kevin shrugged. "I just do what I'm told. Stay outa trouble and all that. I'd rather be back on that C5 behind us, going over assault plans."

"And I'd rather be back there on that C5 checking the bird we brought along. Nothing ever really goes the way we want it thought, does it? So what's the plan?"

"Well, it took some finagling, but I got us 7/B to act as a primary security force. Crew 7 normally does heavy weapon operations, they always drag along an extra machine gunner or four and most of the team has an extra bit of EOD and demolitions training. This way if we have to deal with any vehicles or big guns, we'll have a full platoon ready to rock. As far as my team, not even a full platoon. Just five other shooters I've worked with and like. Our ground contingent is already sitting there for us. The usual, five Touaregs with the V10 Turbo Diesel, one A8L given the protection treatment. Your security detail will ride split up between the front and rear trucks, with Baby Sitter sitting with you in the A8L. My guys will take another truck and our gear, put the rest in the bird. We found one of those storage rental centers, so we rented out a few of them for us to sleep. Had a pretty big back yard too, public land with enough room to put down an MH-60 and its kit. They'll be out there with us. We brought along all the monitoring gear we need to watch things going on without violating the sanctity of the conference and all that. So we won't know whose banging who behind closed doors, but if someone goes in shooting, will be on that like a Argonian on Hist."

"Whose the flight crew?"

"Captain James Weidinger."

"Weidi? I went to flight school with him. He runs a tight bird, good to know we got someone flying whose almost as good as I was."

Kevin nodded. "I did some training ops with him a few months back. Would rather have you on the stick, but hey, you get to talk for a living now."

"Its what I do best."

Kevin laughed. "Yeah, as long as its fast. Anyway, I'll also be riding with you, just to the conference. I want to get a good look at the building, see what the deal is before I head back to the storage center. After that, its you and your baby sitters."

"I'm ecstatic. What about the other two trucks?"

"Staying at the airport with Crew 7/B."

"Good deal."

They were interrupted by the announcement that they would be landing soon, and Mark returned to his seat. Kevin, on the other hand, began getting ready. He was already wearing a comfortable but snug fitting Affliction shirt and a pair of what could be best described as "tactical cargo pants." Grabbing his bag out of the over head storage bin, he first pulled out a basic photographer's vest, stuffed with magazines for his rifle and pistol, and placed it on the seat next to him. Then out came the Jack Daniel's logo hat and the hard case holding his Maui Jim sunglasses. Finally a Serpa drop leg holster, which he quickly fitted to his thigh. He pulled on the vest, and then removed the last two objects from the bag, two hard cases. In the first was his side arm, a new Glock 21 .45ACP.

The pistol was a fairly straight forward combat pistol, and Kevin had done only slight changes, adding a Glock Sock grip and a weapon light on the rail. The sights were the standard Glock sights, and besides the use of an olive drab colored frame contrasting with a black slide, the weapon was visually nothing special. It went into the Serpa, and then came the second case.

The rifle that came out was a unique weapon, hand built for Kevin by the armorers at the Ocean Cliff Naval Special Weapons Center. The Mk6 MOD2 was the standard AR based rifle, and used widely among the IMC and Navy Land Warfare groups. Like all Mk6 MOD2s, it had been fitted with a Crane style weapon stock. However, the stock had been modified for Kevin, allowing it only to remain fully collapsed or extended to his preferred point, with no other possible settings. The grip, instead of the standard hard plastic piece, was a contoured Ergo grip that fit his hand better, and the single stage trigger had been tuned to his liking. It fired 6.5mm Grendell 99grain Sierra hollowpoint rounds through a free floating eleven and a half inch barrel, surrounded by a railed fore end. A surefire flash light was mounted directly under and inline with barrel, offering Kevin another aiming tool, and a dual laser block held a visible green light laser and an IR laser for use with NVUs. The sights were cut down standard M16A2 sights mounted directly to the rail on the receiver, and co witnessed through an EOTech 556 sight. It had been zeroed to 100 yards, though it had hardly seen engagements beyond the standard CQB range, and even less beyond fifty yards. The final piece was a quick detachable silencer, and then the cased was closed and stuck back in the over head bin. He let it sit across his lap, the simple two point sling dangling over his legs.

The ritual had taken just enough time for the plane to begin its final descent and landing routine. It taxied to its appropriately assigned hanger, and when finally stopped, Kevin flicked the safety off the rifle. The action was noted by the ISS detail, but none said anything.

MCPO Kevin McReary (http://uneditedmara.files.wordpress.com/2007/03/eric_bana12.jpg) was the first to step off the plane, pulling on the sunglasses and Hat, and taking one long, slow look around. There was no arrival party, the Imitorans had requested none to be sent. He walked down the stairs and over to the Audi, pulling open the rear door, and waved over to the plane. He watched back over to the runway where the IAF C5 came in for a landing, the rest of his team, the SWORD 7/B Platoon, an MH-60I and its crew, and the proper surveillance equipment waiting to be unloaded.

The first half of the detail came down first, dispersing to their respective VW SUVs, and the detail lead slid into the open door of the Audi. Following, Ambassador Mark Weymuth, IAF (Ret.) (http://www.popentertainment.com/jeremy_piven03.jpg) stepped down the stair case, and made his way over to the Audi.

"Ah thanks honey, you always think of the little things," he joked, winking at Kevin. The sailor chuckled, and shut the door behind the airman. He waved over at the C5, now taxiing over to the assigned hanger, and made his way to the front passenger's seat of the Audi.

"Alright, lets get this show on the road."

The Audi moved out of the lot, flanked by two of the massive V10 SUVs, each capable of towing a 747 should the need arise. Kevin kept his head moving, watching not as much for threats, but for spots that he would like to be if he were ambushing a convoy. He much would have rather been back at the airport with the rest of his team, unloading gear and preparing for the flight or drive to the storage facility where they would be camped out. It had taken a few special offers and a bit more pay than the standard rate to pay off the owner, but in the end, everyone had somewhat of a price. But as the team lead, he had to stay with Weymuth.

The drive was just long enough to give Weymuth some time to look over a few more documents on his laptop about who else may or may not be attending, and then check for any last important emails. Satisfied, he closed the laptop just as the car pulled up to the conference center. Mark exited behind the lead security detail member, and watched as Kevin exited out the front of the Audi, his right hand resting comfortably on the rifle's grip, his eyes darting around behind the sunglasses to identify any possible targets. He nodded, wanting to go in to the building and take a better look, but explicit orders said other wise. Only the ISS team, who had been certified and carried the proper classified level, were allowed inside. The only way the impromptu SWORD Crew was getting in is if they had to hard breach in a shooting situation.

"Alright Marky, make us proud," he joked, sliding back into the Audi.

"You know," the driver of the Audi said, slipping the big sedan into gear and heading towards the destination marked on the GPS, "your grandfather carried his rifle like that too. Safety off all the time."

"This is my safety," he said, flexing his right index finger. "You knew Papa Hoot?" Kevin asked, watching the rearview mirror as the ISS detail split up, half unloading the SUVs, the other half moving with Mark up to the conference hall.

"Yup, and he said that all the time. I was one of the last in Recon TRACT. He was my Platoon Sergeant."

"Very good. That means we have another shooter around here."
_

Mark stretched out as the rest of his detail began unloading their luggage from the SUVs, and he took the first few steps up towards the conference hall. He moved easily, the suit not hindering him at all, and the over the shoulder keeping his Sig SAUER P229 in nine millimeter tucked back, out of sight. The rest of his detail, armed with their own custom P229s in .357Sig, watched carefully. There was little worry of any attempts on Weymuth or the conference, but it never hurt to have a few extra shooters around.

Mark cleared the entrance, and stepped into the foyer of the conference hall. There was already someone there, he recognized from the files as the Simitarian president and most likely a Chief of Staff were meeting with a Tanaaran representative for the conference. He held up a hand as his detail closed in around him.

"You know, I learned how to shoot too, give me some breathing room," he muttered. His detail was unaware he carried his service issue sidearm with him. He began to make his way over to the Simitarian delegation slowly, allowing time for any Tanaaran delegates assigned to meet him a chance to intercept him before he crossed with the Simitarian and their representative.

Yellen smiled pleasantly as he shook hands with Karavel. "Very nice to meet you Ms. Sendai, it's wonderful to be here. I'm quite alright actually, though I would like to get something to drink. Rhymer?"

Rhymer smiled as well and shook her hand. He shook his head. "I'm alright Mr. President."

Rhymer cracked his neck and as he did he caught sight of the gang of men entering the building. He first wondered who they were, but as the first several firearms came within view, Rhymer turned his head around. Bloody Imitorians...have to bring guns everywhere don't they?

Yellen hadn't noticed the new arrivals yet. "I'm curious if you know who else is coming Ms. Sendai."

"And a phased-plasma cannon in the forty terra watt range." The tall man muttered to his smaller side kick as the Imitorans entered the building as if there were terrorists crouched behind every setting of potted plants and Louis Quatarze seating arrangement.

No, Morgan Kincannon (http://www.atddm.com/115.jpg), had to be honest, if there had been they wouldn't have entered save after a hail of bullets that were punctuated by a round of flash bangs as a prequel.

His younger sister just snorted delicately his comment and moved out from behind the desk she had been holding down the fort at . "I'll take charge of them. I've been given to understand they often underestimate ladies. Besides, I read up on the face-man's bio they hotshoted to us last night. He's just an ambassador, seems that their Number One and Two were too busy domestically to bother themselves."

With whisper soft steps Madrigal Orel Shimada (http://img256.imageshack.us/img256/6756/maddypr9.jpg) approached the Imitorans "Ambassador Weymuth" She held out her hand in greeting "I am Lady Shimada, and welcome to the conference. Could I show you to the set of suites set aside for you?"

She had been for the last year the ambassador to DMG, but was home on vacation and volunteered to help out. The word on the streets was that when she finished a four year stint as ambassador she would end up as one the Archon’s Horsemen, his closest advisors and un portfolioed Ministers as his mother had had. She was already well known for handing 'difficult people' - and on the whole the Imitorans fell into that category.

Every Tanaaran in the building was armed, and their own security was as heavily trained and armed as the Imitoran's were; but they didn't flaunt it as the Imitorans were generally prone to. But then again there were some fundamental cultural differences. It was a given - if you were a Tanaaran Citizen, you were armed, and trained - that was a requirement of being a Tanaaran Citizen. Her own pair of prefered carry pieces were completely hidden by her exquisitely tailored kimono style blazer and plazzo pants outfit.

http://www.atddm.com/bar3.gif

"I'm curious if you know who else is coming Ms. Sendai."

"Why yes, Lady Shalamar of the Five Towers of Cats Keep will be here, and Captain Abagail Hardcastle of the Traveling Might of The Militarized Zone, and...ah Ambassador Mark Weymuth representing The High Republic of Imitora has just arrived." She pivoted slightly so as to direct the Simataran's attention to the new arrivals. "What would you care to drink, Mister President?" She asked softly but quickly, knowing the two national representatives would probably wish to meet.

She'd send an aide for his request but let Madrigal handle the introduction of the two groups. She was no little uncomfortable around the Simataran's - if they knew what she was they'd probably have heart attacks. Or try and attack her. The Golden Simatar was on the ‘no visit’ list for almost half of Tanaara’s Citizens, as they were OTH – Other Than Human – and might well be killed on sight if they entered the more backward nation of The Golden Simatar. Those policies therefor didn’t endear them to Tanaara.

Trovlia Sephirio; a well qualified and much better ambassador of Tarlachia than her predecessor; had a hand on the railing attached to the gangway at the port on the International Isle. Looking upward to the sole mountain that rose high into the sky, she gave it a mere thought before turning her attention to the dock before her as she stepped down. She was dressed appropriately for such an event as this, and cooly met the gaze of those she passed. She had been requested by Aeris to attend this meeting on her behalf as the Empress was on maternity leave. She was to pass on the empress's condolences for her absence and to stress that her absence was not to be seen as a lack of interest or concern.

Trovlia (http://www.cbnet.ns.ca/teri_hatcher_pictures/beautiful_woman.jpg) was in her early 30s by age, but carried a grace about her and a piercing gaze that made it clear she knew what she was doing and enjoyed her career. Pinned to her ears was a set of diamond earrings embedded in sterling silver. She smiled occasionally as others smiled at her and greeted them with a simple nod of the head.

Trailing behind the ambassador were two assistants, one carrying luggage, and the other carrying work-related material. They were lead by an appointed person to their personal suite to drop off their belongings before attending the social.

Entering by the same side entrance as the representatives as those from Tarlachia were using, Lady Shalamar and her senior aide went directly to their suite. She noted who was entering the suite assigned to the Tarlachians with a frown. She would have sworn that Aeris was going to attend and frowned.

She hated having to work with mere representatives; one could never be sure if the one they represented would truly agree with all that ended up being worked out. However she shrugged and put her poor mood off to simply being tired. She hated having to travel 'mundanely' unless it was at her choosing, but she had to agree with the very reasonable decision to seal off the whole of the Island for the conference. She could still well remember the near fatal injuries Rob had suffered at the hands of an upset Aeris. Perhaps that is why she is not here She though as the incident replayed in her mind. It had been Arithon attendance that had in the end been the instigator of Aeris's upset, though the young empress had to bear the burden of the responsibility of letting it claim control of her temper.

She turned to her aide, Valkidris de la Mar (http://www.atddm.com/val.jpg) "Val, be a dear, and run down and let them know were here and settled in."

Val turned for watching the footman carry in their small amount of luggage, and nodded.

Thankfully there was not going to be any sort of social as there had been at the last one. Though Shalamar thought, again, that had probably been motivated by bad memories of what had happened at the last one. No it would simply be a late luncheon then straight on to the first day of the conference, even if it was only a half day. No formal dinner had been planned, though the sprawling conference center boasted a four star restraunt that had been reserved solely for the delegates

The conference guide book stated it clearly.

1) The International Isle was completely closed, for the duration of the Regional Conference to all transportatioon, entering or exiting of a magical, mystical, psionic, or 'Other Than Comon Technological' nature.

2)That the Conference Center itself was additiionally warded against psychic, psionic, metaphysical, mystical, magical, and advanced technological scrying, sensing, far reading/ sensing, remote observation, mind probe, mind reading, clairvoyance, clairaudience, and other such technologies and abilities.

3) That there were medical services on site for any such needs -The latest available advanced medical technology, as well as Healers, both psionic and mystical in attendance.

3) That there was to be a brief meet and greet lucheon from 11:30 am to 1:30 pm with the Opening statement to begin at 1:45pm with the initial session to run until 6 pm.

4) No formal dinner had been planed this first night, but the Conference Center boasted La Nocturne, a four star restraunt that had been solely reserved for the Conference Delegated.

Boris Lepedius sat comfortably upon his presidential chair within the small shuttle that was ferrying himself and his staff onto International Isle. He was somewhat irritated that they could not simply be 'beamed' down onto the island like last time but the man sitting before him seemed to be making a bigger deal of it than was really necessary.

Jack Murphy was the vice-president of Assington and whilst his only real authority was sourced from Boris, he had insisted on being present for the regional conference as he had not been in office during the last event.

"I really don't see why they could not allow us to be transported to this conference, it would save a lot of time and effort."

The frown across Jack's face made it quite clear to Boris that any explanation would not be acceptable. Despite such, he decided to offer one anyway.

"Transporting was allowed last time. There were also a few incidents that somewhat derailed the conference. I believe those organising it would prefer to avoid a repeat of such and thus the security has been beefed up. It's a minor inconvenience."

Jack continued to frown but he didn't say anything. Despite his displeasure, he was no fool and if something made sense he would have the good grace to cease complaining about it, even if he didn't like it.

A light thud signaled the shuttle had landed and the pair rose and began to exit the aircraft, followed closely by what Boris liked to call his Praetorian Guard. Five men selected from military and government agencies that excelled in their fields and were all accomplished assassins. Boris figured there would be no one better to prevent any assassination attempts than a bunch of assassins. Jack didn't particularly agree with the idea but he couldn't argue with the need for some protection, especially since he had recently survived his first attempt on his life.

Spotting the nearest entrance to the main conference building, Boris indicated such with a nod of his head and the party of seven moved towards the building, expecting to find someone that could direct them to their designated accommodations.

"Jack, try to behave."

Jack's frown deepened and Boris produced a wry grin. He thought of Jack as his younger brother almost, the man being twenty years younger than him and quite new to the job. When it came down to business he had full faith in Jack's abilities but Boris' manner had always been more relaxed, which didn't always comply with Jack's idea of how things should be done.

"I thought I was here to make sure you behave..."

Boris couldn't help but chuckle slightly. Despite the frown still being present on Jack's face, the man did have a sense of humour, buried deep within.

Gazing down from a height that most could not distinguish a man from a tank, Ryath and Thor spotted the island known as International Isle, distinguished by the conference centre constructed upon it, amongst other things. As a dragon, Ryath's eyes could make out minute details on the island perfectly well whilst Thor employed the use of his arcane ability to enhance his own vision.

The pair had been searching for lost dragonic gods for over a year now and yet they had managed to locate next to nothing. The longer they spent searching the more damage was being done to Khadrim and yet success seemed far from their grasp, despite a growing desperation. Confidently sitting upon Ryath's back, Thor wasn't concerned about falling off the massive golden dragon and plunging to his death. Even if he somehow failed to save himself, Thor was confident Ryath would not allow him to die.

Gazing over the island, Thor spoke loud enough to be heard over the air currents flowing around them.

"The island is strongly protected. It may be best if we employ a mundane means of transportation onto it."

Ryath simply nodded and began her descent, swinging around to face the mountains that divided Tarlachia and Tanaara. Not long after escaping Khadrim, the pair had located a map of the region surrounding their nation and quickly learned the layout of the land. It was somewhat surprising to learn there was such a diverse range of nations within the region. Khadrim had always been very isolationist, more concerned with its own issues than that of the region or other sovereign occupants. It was somewhat ironic they would be representing Khadrim at a regional conference now.

Landing upon the edge of Tarlachia with a loud thud, Ryath stretched her wings before folding them against her side and steadying herself so Thor could climb down. Once he had taken a few steps back, a dull golden glow surrounded Ryath, quickly engulfing her until no one could gaze upon her form. The light only lasted a few moments before dissipating and the dragon was replaced with a slender woman of mildly dark skin and long black hair. She was garbed in a flowing white silk dress that just touched the ground around her feat. Thor had opted to remain in his dark blue robe that matched his stave and wore a hood over his head, casting shadow around his face that obscured anyone from actually seeing it.

With her transformation complete, Ryath took a step towards the water and gazed upon the island before her.

"A raft?"

"Yes, that will do."

Closing her eyes, Ryath remained completely still has three reasonably sized trees behind her collapsed. Thor watched intently as light appeared to slice straight through the wood, clearing off all other branches and cutting the trees into several beams that were soon bound together by the vines that had tangled around the trees.

Branches of an appropriate size became oars and within five minutes a perfectly usable raft sat on the water before the pair. Once complete, Thor took one last glance back at the land where the trees had been retrieved from.

"I do not think Izual would have approved."

Ryath smiled sadly, remembering their dead colleague.

"Izual would have likely parted the ocean for us to walk across. The trees will grow back in time, I have made sure of such."

Thor merely nodded and stepped onto the raft, taking hold of an oar and positioning it within a designated groove that would ensure convenient paddling. Ryath echoed Thor's movements and within a moment the pair were paddling towards the dock of International Isle at a rate faster than any ordinary man could move the vessel.

Whilst Ryath did appear to be human she was anything but and her strength certainly reflected such. Thor's was human though and had to employ arcane augmentation to match the strength of his companion in order to move the raft effectively.

Within thirty minutes the pair had reached the International Isle dock placed their feet upon dry land once again. Those staffing the dock had watched with a calm indifference as they spotted the pair approaching. Thor imagined they were ready to become hostile in a moment if they thought a threat was being posed. Upon reaching their observers, Ryath spoke.

"We are representatives of the nation Khadrim, here for the regional conference."

Thor remained silent, his glowing eyes gazing out at the scene before him from under his hood. The weaving of wards and other protective spells was immediately obvious to his mage-trained sight and he couldn't help but feel curious as to whom had set them up. In hindsight he doubted whether any of the wards would have prevented Ryath from simply flying onto the island but the slow approach by water ensured they were spotted in a timely manner, which seemed best as they were not technically announced guests.

Yellen smiled and nodded his head as Karavel rattled of the list of names and countries. He turned his head as she mentioned the recently arrived Imitorian party. He gave a noticeable arched eyebrow to the presence of heavily armed guards.

"Imitorians never seem to go anywhere without enough firepower to bring down a herd of elephants." Rhymer said to Yellen after noticing the look of surprise. "If you invite their ambassador over for coffee to discuss trade relations I can bet you he'll show up with enough manpower to knock over a small nation."

"I see..." Yellen said, slightly uncomfortable. He had full confidence in the security at the Conference and had left his own detachment back at the airfield. He turned back to Karavel. "Drink? Oh yes...uh chocolate milk...skim milk if you have it. Isaac are you sure...?"

"Yes I'm fine Mr. President." Rhymer said.

Yellen turned back to Karavel. "I guess that'd be it then."

Weymuth accepted Madrigal’s hand and smiled. “Pleasure to meet you. I think I’m good for now, I don’t mind waiting. I have a few bags though, and I know the grunts want to do their thing.”

At this, one of his security detail suits walked up, extending his hand. “Alistair Winston. Pretty much the SIC of this little shindig.”

Weymuth, who had been looking around, snapped his attention back to the Tanaaran. “That Mack Truck of a man over there is Tony Bentz. He handles all the taking bullets and such.”

Alistair nodded, and waved over his compliment of ISS guards. “We’ll take the bags and such upstairs and take a good look at the room. You just want Tony to stay down here.”

“Yeah, might as well.”

Mark took a quick glance over at the other delegations arriving. Tony did the same, and whispered something into the wrist mounted microphone, and walked back over to Mark. “Looks like our end is pretty tight. Kevin is at the storage place and all set up.”

“Excellent,” Mark said. He turned to Madrigal, and shrugged. “Sorry ‘bout that. Its just their SOP. Spent to much time doing everything by the book. Generally good people, though they tend to be a bit thick. So, what’s the run down for this gig,” he asked, holding up the guide booklet. “Looks like we are supposed to get started here soon, don’t wanna hold anything up yet. I figure I’ll have plenty of time to piss everyone off later on.”
__

Kevin walked over to the two storage units that had been purchased, large fans already blowing cool air over his detachment of shooters. There had been a small bit of concern with the owners of the land seeing the helicopter come in, but the pilot, an expert at this game, set it down perfectly in the center of the field. Some extra cash exchanged hands for his troubles, and the sailor’s promised to keep it down.

As the IAFSOC crew went over the helicopter, the five man team begin to unpack weapons, clothes, gear, and other equipment. It took just over an hour to set it all up, but when done, one of the storage areas had turned almost perfectly into a barracks, and the other a small communications center. One of the sailors manned the computers and scanners, all set up to pre registered frequencies.

“Alright,” Kevin finally said after unpacking some civilian clothes, “hit me with it Jamie.”

“Well,” a young, not quite fresh out of TRIDENT/S/CT sailor said, hands jumping expertly over the keyboard, “I’m in the system. It wasn’t that hard, I’ve cracked more difficult ECUs in cell phones. I have not quite full, but pretty close access. What do you want me to look for? I can pull up the Tarlachian delegate’s cup size if you want.”

McReary smacked Jamie on the back of the head. “None of that this time through. We are trying not to piss anyone off. Low key, remember. Just get us a heads up on the security alarms on fire alarms.”

Jamie nodded, and went back to the keyboard. A few seconds later, he nodded. “Done. Any alarms go off, we’ll be the first to know. Now, on the scanners, I went ahead and pulled some strings to get all the frequencies we need. Fire, Police, Emergency, the works. If the call goes out, we’ll hear it.”

Kevin nodded. “Alistair is giving us the virtual tour right now, and I just got the heads up from Tony. The Simitarians, Tarlachians, and Assingtonians are all here, as well as some reps from Cats Keep. Looks like the gang is all here for now.”

“Any Argonians?”

“Not sure, I think they may sit this one out. Keep the fingers crossed they show up with more of that Hist.”

Jamie chuckled. “I hear that.”

Kevin just watched the screens for a moment more, and walked back over to the helicopter just a hundred or so yards away. The ground crew gave him a friendly wave as he climbed into the cabin, and leaned up against the bulkhead. He pulled off his sunglasses and closed his eyes, hoping to get some modicum of sleep before the real work began.

Trovlia did not remain in the room for very long before she made her way to the anteroom where everyone that had arrived thus far had gone since the luncheon had yet to begin. Still wearing the same clothes she arrived in, she still looked well dressed, but not overly so.

Scanning the room briefly, taking only long enough to register who was here by matching faces with profile images she had memorized. Then, she approached the Simitarians, smiling as she drew near. Clearing her throat as an additional notice of her presence, she waited until Yellen had turned to her.

"President Yellen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." she spoke with a smooth voice, "Ambassador Trovlia Sephirio of Tarlachia, on behalf of the Empress who is unable to be here at this time."

Her hand was outstretched for a standard greeting.

"Pleased to meet you Mister Winton" Madrigal shook the offered hand then waved one of the numerous staffers over, directing them to show the Imitoran security team up to their assigned suites.

Madrigal noted that Karaval was stepping back to give the the GeeSer's a look at the Imitorans, and began to usher Ambassador Weymuth over for introductions...

As she did so, Ambassador Trovlia Sephirio of Tarlachia entered from the residential wing and made her way over to the Simataran President, introducing herself.

"President Yellen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." she spoke with a smooth voice, "Ambassador Trovlia Sephirio of Tarlachia, on behalf of the Empress who is unable to be here at this time." .

Once that introduction had been completed...

Madrigal introduced herself to the GS President, and his aide - she and Ambassadress Sephirio had met some time ago - then "This is Ambassador Weymuth of Imitora. Ambassador Weymuth, this is President Yellen of The Golden Simatar and Mister Rhymer" Once they had shaken hands she introduced the Ambassardess. "Ambassadress Sephirio is the personal representative of the Empress."

She noted out of the corner of her eye that the President of Assington and his vice president had just entered the building, and that Morgan was moving to greet them...

http://www.atddm.com/bar3.gif

Morgan moved smoothy to intercept the Assington President, a welcoming smile on his face and an out stretched hand.

"President Lepedius, Vice President Murphy, I'm Morgan Kincannon, and I'd like to welcome you to the regional conference. Would you care to meet some of the others, or would you like to see your suites first?" He indicated the small group making their own introductions at the far side of the spacious ante chamber.

"President Lepedius, Vice President Murphy, I'm Morgan Kincannon, and I'd like to welcome you to the regional conference. Would you care to meet some of the others, or would you like to see your suites first?"

Boris took Morgan's hand in a firm grasp and shook it, Jack repeating the motion afterwards. Sparing a glance at his VP, Boris noted Jack had his game face on and was no longer frowning but showing a warm smile as he greeted Morgan. Taking the lead, Boris replied.

"We'd be happy to meet some of the others. Although, would it be too much to ask to have someone direct our staff to the suites?"

Boris indicated the five men standing just within the entrance of the building. Whilst they were bodyguards they were also perfectly capable of moving a bit of luggage.

After a moment of consulting with an unseen figure over a device Ryath and Thor did not recognise, the man before them directed them towards the entrance of what he called the main conference building. Thanking him, the pair moved towards the building at a brisk pace.

Ryath kept her gaze locked on the building before her yet Thor's eyes wandered, inspecting everything within sight.

"They certainly have taken many precautions. Perhaps we may end up dealing with mages."

Thor nodded, continuing his inspection.

"Perhaps. From what I've gathered the nations within this region are as diverse as anything we could imagine, some of which do have their own supernatural creatures and magic students."

Ryath smiled slightly at Thor's comment. Despite him being hundreds of years old and the most magically adept human in Khadrim, he still considered himself and all other humanoids to be students of the arcane, especially compared to the knowledge and skill of other creatures such as dragons and elves.

Returning to silence, the pair reached the conference building and casually entered the building, noting five men that stood idly by but certainly did not appear to be staff of the conference. There were others ahead of them and the pair expected someone would be able to inform them of where to go.

Thank you Lieutenant," Colonel Abagail Hardcastle - she'd gotten a hard earned, last minute promotion - stepped out of the TMZ diplomatic Hummer, taking her laptop with her. "Just get the 'in' team set up in our suites and I'll find you all later." CSM Marrianne McQuest and Elf were heading the team and she had complete confidence in them.

Lt. Kade Whitebear, her aide and currently driver nodded "Yes ma'am. Want me to let the Imitorans know we've got a special team here?"

Abagail didn't even need to think on that "Yes, they might appreciate knowing where the 'out' team is loafing."

He tossed her a half salute and the hummer did a credible job of peeling away.

She headed up the steps at a near trot looking crisp in TMZ's 'Relaxed Officer Attire'- neatly pressed deep indigo jeans and a custom polo a matching indigo blue that had a miniature TMZ flag on the upper left and Colonel's birds embroidered on the points of the collar topping dark blue and black cross trainers that bore no distracting logos.

Once inside she noted that she had entered just behind two others, though she didn't recognize them from the dossiers she had memorized. As she looked about she saw and nodded to the Tanaarans she knew - which were all of them. The TMZ worked in close harmony with their neighbor and Abagail not only knew but was close friends with most of the Tanaaran inner circle.

Then she saw Karavel, whom her aide, Lt. Whitebear had dated extensively, and she waved to her discretely, as the Tanaaran seemed free at the moment. Then she noted the two had entered before her seemed to be looking a little lost. Their robes and the man's stave were noted, plus their lack of luggage...

She moved around them so she could get a better look at them. "Hello. I'm Colonel Hardcastle. Are you here for the Regional Conference?" Her voice was friendly but she didn't want to assume - and she didn't extend her hand. Not just yet.

Yellen turned as he heard someone coughing to his side. He smiled warmly as the Tarlachian ambassador introduced herself. Tarlachia has always been one of the Golden Simatar's oldest and closest allies, keeping good relations with them was always a priority. Yellen shook her hand. "Pleasure to meet you Ms. Sephirio. I do hope to meet the Empress sometime before I leave office. This man here is my aid Isaac Rhymer."

Rhymer smiled and gave a short bow of the head to the woman. He gave a short handshake to her. "Nice to meet you ma'am."

Yellen looked from Trovlia as the Tanaara representative introduced herself as well as the Imitorian group. He smiled and shook the Imitorian's hands before turning his attention to Madrigal. "Good to meet you Ms. Madrigal. I know our nations have a bit of a disagreement concerning non-human citizens...but I do want to assure you that I'll look into it and find a way to resolve the issue."

Rhymer's ears twitched as he heard Yellen speak to Madrigal. He would have to speak to the President later concerning the policy with non-human citizens of foreign countries. Rhymer looked Weymuth security detail. "I must ask Mr. Weymuth. Don't you think that the firepower that your detachment has is a little excessive for a meeting?"

Pres. & Vice Pres Assington / Kincannon

"We'd be happy to meet some of the others. Although, would it be too much to ask to have someone direct our staff to the suites?"

Morgan waved an aide over as he replied "Certainly Miss Donatella here will here will be glad to get your men settled, and can act as a liaison through out the conference."

She was a pleasant faced brunette with kind eyes and a ready smile. "Mister President, Mister Vice President" She gave a half bow and was quick to let them know she was on call for them twenty four hours a day for the run of the conference, and that anything legal that they wanted she would manage to get a hold of. Then she was heading over to snap up the Assington' security personnel and escort them up to the suites assigned.

That dealt with Morgan ushered the Assington's over the others. Just in time for the trio to over hear TGS President Yellin ask Ambassador Weymouth of Imitora...

"I must ask Mr. Weymuth. Don't you think that the firepower that your detachment has is a little excessive for a meeting?"


He also noted Colonel Hardcastle intercepting a pair of strangers. He nodded to Travis who had just emerged for the elevator that had come in response to the call for one to take the Assington security force upstairs. Travis was escorting Valkidriss de la Mar of Cats Keep.

His keen eyes took in the situation Morgan's hand sign pointed out and he nodded, calling Valkidriss's attention to the pair and both of them moved to join Colonel Hardcastle.

The arc shaped, high ceilinged lobby (http://services.bard.org/portfolio/Facilities/Randall_L_Jones_Theatre/RandallTheatreLobby.jpg) presented a wall of glass and wood, giving the space a very open airy feeling. It had three sets of double doors though they were widely spaced apart along the arcs, with potted plants and padded benches along the arcs of glass and wood.

There were elevators, two cars each at either end of the arc. The back of the lobby was flat, with three sets of double doors together in a bank of doors in the center, as they led to the main conference room.

Map of first floor. (http://atddm.com/confl1.gif)


All hallways are 12 ft wide/ all single doors are fully 4.5 ft wide/ double doors open to 9 ft wide - all of the building is fully wheel chair accessible
Pink - doors, or banks of doors.
Aqua - banks of windows.
RR are men’s or ladies restrooms
Elv up/dn are the banks of paired elevators.
There are no stairs in the Lobby
The east and west wings on ground floor are conference/ media/ etc rooms.
The north section hold aa restraunt - on the west side - and a night club on the east side
The Restraunt has alfresco dining in the inner gardens
The night club has an out door patio on the outer gardens.

All ceiling heights unless other wise noted on the floors are 12 ft.

All parking is underground - there are two levels. It has live guards and all the security one would expect.

The conference grounds also have live security and concealed monitoring/ surveillance. The grounds are fenced and for this gathering no one but accredited delegates & assigned staff will be allowed to enter the grounds.

The grounds cover one hundred acres. There is a helipad on the grounds that can hold two normal sized birds if prior notification is made.
There is also an ambulance and crew on stand by in the 1st level of the under ground parking.

All the suites for delegates are on second thru 6th floor. The seventh floor is a banquet hall, ball room, day spa, gymnasium, weight room, mini theater, library, smoking room, card room, and more.

"Certainly Miss Donatella here will here will be glad to get your men settled, and can act as a liaison through out the conference."

Boris and Jack made their greetings to Miss Donatella and Jack indicated to the lingering security agents that the woman before them would take them to the suites, they knew what to do once they were there.

Moving towards the rest of the ambassadors and conference guests, Boris took one last glance at the team as they were being guided towards elevators which would no doubt take them to the suites.

"I must ask Mr. Weymuth. Don't you think that the firepower that your detachment has is a little excessive for a meeting?"

Boris smiled wryly as he leaned over towards Jack to mumble something in his ear.

"That Simatarian may just learn that it's not necessarily a good idea to question an Imitorian about excessive use of firepower."

Jack produced a quick, sharp smile of his own before returning to a blank expression.

"I know I'd rather have an excessive amount of weapons rather than come up short."

Chuckling slightly, Boris continued to watch the exchange between Weymuth and Rhymer.

As Ryath and Thor proceeded into the lobby they noticed at first a single woman approaching them who was soon accompanied by two others. The trio appeared to have something to do with the conference and carried an air about them that suggested they knew where they were going and what they were doing.

Now within a conversational distance, Ryath began with introductions.

"Greetings. I am Ryath and this is Thor. We represent the High Council of Khadrim. I am aware our presence was not announced and I apologise for such... there are certain circumstances within our homeland that have caused significant disruption of government and communications."

It was clear that Ryath carried seniority between herself and Thor, although technically they sat as equals on the council, even Izual and Bifrost had deferred to Ryath's knowledge and experience in many cases.

Thor simply inclined his head in greeting and held onto his stave, observing his surroundings in silence.

OOC: Kahdrim, please just a note- check the picc's I linked above -you all are in a spacious lobby, not a hallway, and Colonel Hardcastles is Colonel Agbagail Hardcastle...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Travis eased to the front of the group, and listened carefully to thier response to Colonel Hardcastle's question.

"Hello. I'm Colonel Hardcastle. Are you here for the Regional Conference?"

"Greetings. I am Ryath and this is Thor. We represent the High Council of Khadrim. I am aware our presence was not announced and I apologise for such... there are certain circumstances within our homeland that have caused significant disruption of government and communications."

"I am Travis Darkhorse, one of Archon Fortier Hexx's Ministers. We have heard of the disruption in your country. Do you have the invitation that we sent? I don't mean to be rude, but it would vouch for whom you claim to be and represent." The invitations had certain ...security aspects. implanted that would vouch for them. That would have to do, for at least the moment, though they woudl at once begin trying to verify the identied of the pair.

He glanced over at Valkidriss, seeking anys ort of nonverbal cues from her perspective and unique ability to assess the situation.

"Do you have the invitation that we sent? I don't mean to be rude, but it would vouch for whom you claim to be and represent."

Ryath glanced to Thor for a moment and he shook his head. Turning back to those before them, Ryath spoke.

"I am afraid not. Without going into the details, we are the only members of the Council presumed to be alive at this point and we have not been within Khadrim for over a year now. Any invitation sent to whatever order remains there would have fallen on blind eyes and deaf ears."

Ryath attempted to maintain a straight composure but the sadness of her nation's predicament was clear within her voice.

"Is there some other way we could prove ourselves?"

"Is there some other way we could prove ourselves?"

With Travis's quick glance and the question posed by the Khadrimans's, Valkidriss knew it was time for her to step in.

"I am Accredited and Certified Adept Valkidriss de la Mar, Tenerista of Cats Keep. If you accept the oaths I have sworn as binding, might I probe your minds to ascertain your identity and official relationship to the nation of Khadrin." Her stance and tone of voice was one of long held authority, though she looked only in her thirties. She was considerably older than that but simply chose not to look it.

"Lady Valkidriss is second only to Lady Shalamar in authority for the Towers of Cats Keep" Travis advised Ryath and Thor so they would have additional information on which to base their decission "Cats Keep is Tanaara's oldest ally in the region and with her verification we will accept you unreservedly."

"Miss Sephiro, the pleasure is mine," Weymuth started the rounds with the Tarlachian. The Imitorans had always shared a strange sort of friendly rivalry or love hate relations with the Tarlachians, extending far back beyond diplomatic ties to the friendship of former First Speaker Thomas "Hoot" Gibbson, the grandfather of Master Chief Petty Office McReary, and a Tarlachian street racer who had competed in one of the many Imitoran cross country races. The First Speaker and Lance had bonded during the race, and it had only solidified the friendship when Lance rather impetuously drove a 1969 Camaro SS off the cliffs at Denton and into the ocean, due to a faulty GPS.

Weymuth quickly made the rounds of introductions, being sure not to use any respect to titles of any nature beyond a standard gender prefix. It was the standard Imitoran attitude, not really caring if he offended anyone by leaving out a "Mr. President" or other wise. When it came to the Simitarians, he decided to simply address them by nothing more than their last names.

I must ask Mr. Weymuth. Don't you think that the firepower your detachment has is a little excessive for a meeting?

Weymuth returned the question from Yellin with a full and hardy slap on the back, laughing. "What, you mean a couple of guys with handguns? Christ, if that's excessive, then I'd hate to see what your military consists of. Still using harsh language and sharp sticks out there in the boonies? Anyways, better off to have it and not need it than need it and not have it."

He laughed again, and watched as a waiter turned up with a glass of chocolate milk, handing it to Yellin. "Wow," Weymuth said, watching the transfer. "Chocolate milk. Awesome, we are what, three again? But hey, I'm just giving you a hard time, really, nice to meet you Prez."

Without waiting for a response Weymuth turned to the Assingtons, extending his hand in the same friendly fashion. "Mr. Lepedius, and Mr. Murphy right. Can't have a gathering without Mr. Murphy." Again that hearty laugh and slick hand shake "Here to fill your traditional role, right?"

The commentary was entirely good natured, though one would have to look hard to notice it as anything more than base insults. Of course, one would have to have a true understanding of the culture to grasp the nature of the insults. Then again, one might also have to have an understanding of Mark Weymuth. It was times like these that having the rifle toting Master Chief as a translator around would have helped. Though McReary had other responsibilities, and while it was one thing to have an ISS detail with Sig pistols, it was another to have a Navy SWORD Master Chief loaded down with assault gear.

___________________

Alistair and his small detachment followed their guides up to the sixth floor and into the reserved suite. The trip was more than just one to deposit the luggage into a suite and get it prepped for their purposes, it also served as an impromptu map search of the conference hall. As they walked, a small, not exactly encoded beacon in his coat pocket broadcasted his position to the QRF team at the storage center and the full security platoon waiting at the airport with the plane. Though the trip up to the suites was not a long one, it was necessary for the SWORD teams to have at least the most rudimentary layout of the building. It would be cross referenced with blue prints on hand later on, as well as emergency response and assault plans. Baring any planning conflicts, a small contingent of the hybrid reaction team would take a "tour" of the city later that night, working on possible escape routes. It was all standard operation procedures for diplomat security, and should the need arise, the team would work with any locals or out of country teams if they felt they had the qualifications. It may have been a cocky attitude to date, but in the somewhat storied history of the SWORD Crews, there was a reason they managed to survive and thrive.

Upon arrival, Alistair and his team went to work. Winston had, at one point, been assigned to the IAF's Intelligence Operations Wing, the IAF's counterpart to ONI. They quickly did a base visual sweep of the room, using black electrical tape to mask up anything they thought to be a camera. Next came a basic electronic sweep, only picking up the bugs that were broadcasting hot. They never expected to pick up every little thing, and they had fully expected the room to be at least somewhat hot. However, they had found that often, the best way to destroy intelligence gathering was to simply go old school. After all, you couldn't exactly bug a piece of paper.

Satisfied with the sweep, which he knew would be more of an annoyance to anyone listening in than a prevention measure, he directed the team to set up its security measured, and then snapped out a small cell phone. He hit the three key and then the dial key, and the speed dial connected after only one ring.

"Jamie."

"Hey. Alistair. Security is set up. We are good to go."

"Pleasure to meet you Ms. Sephirio. I do hope to meet the Empress sometime before I leave office. This man here is my aid Isaac Rhymer."

Smiling a set of pearl white teeth, Trovlia also shook Rhymer's hand. To Yellen, she spoke her response, "I'm sure the Empress will meet with you before your term is over. She tends to make such political relationships to be of importance to her.

Before she could think of something else to say, she was greeted by the Imitoran, Weymuth. "Mr. Weymuth, I am pleased to meet you as well. I've heard much about you and your people, but this is the first time I've had the pleasure of meeting one of you in person." Her eyes sparkled at him, "I see the stories hold true about what they say about Imitorans. Though, I do wonder at something. Is it true that some of those of you who race, put miniature pinschers on the hoods of your cars as hood ornaments?"

Yellen forced a smile as Weymuth railed against the Simatarian military and slapped him on the back. Sure, in the past maybe, the Golden Simatar never focused heavily on military progress as it hadn't been involved in any major conflicts for decades. After the Demonic War however, the Simatarian military had gone under a radical change. New weapons, new training, equipment, and with Project Starlight still under production, if anything the Simatarian military would be ahead. Though at the moment, the military was busying itself with peacekeeping operations and occasionally pitching in troops to help eradicate vampire nests in the country.

Rhymer also had to force a smile. Maybe the Imitorian's prodding would have some benefit for him in the long run. It might make Yellen reconsider cancellations of Rebecca and Eclipse.

Yellen tried his best to ignore Weymuth as he tipped the waiter. Yellen took a sip, cool, refreshing, and a perfect amount of flavoring. Yellen turned to Weymuth. "What can I say? My mother raised me well. Good habits die hard...such as manners."

Yellen started to drink his milk again. He didn't drink alcohol, it didn't agree with his body and tended to make him fall asleep. As he did he listened in on Trovila, a simple sentence caught his ear.

"Is it true that some of those of you who race, put miniature pinschers on the hoods of your cars as hood ornaments?"

There was a hacking sound and a small spray of milk as Yellen gagged. Rhymer pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Yellen as he wiped the milk off his face and suit. Rhymer looked over to Trovila. As her gaze met his, he mouthed: "He has several."

The Simatarian President's eyes were wide in shock as he looked from Trovila to Weymuth.

"What the hell is she talking about?"

"I am Accredited and Certified Adept Valkidriss de la Mar, Tenerista of Cats Keep. If you accept the oaths I have sworn as binding, might I probe your minds to ascertain your identity and official relationship to the nation of Khadrim."

Ryath and Thor exchanged another glance between each other before finally nodding, Thor stepping forward slightly.

"You may examine myself first."

The pair weren't exactly comfortable with being probed by someone they didn't know at all but they did realise their acceptance into the conference was important and it was a small sacrifice to make if it would gain them entrance.

Preparing himself, Thor shielded away certain aspects of his mind that he didn't wish any wandering probe to uncover. Open to inspection for Valkidriss were memories of Thor standing before the Circle of Mages in the human capital, Knossoss, his induction into the High Council of Khadrim, joining Ryath, Izual and Bifrost as the governing body of the nation. Other images also slid across the memories, the invasion, ordinary people suddenly taking up arms to fight for a force that had claimed their minds, their very beings. The memories would certainly be enough to prove that Thor had served as a Mage and High Councilor for several hundred years.

Ryath also began her own preparation, structuring her thoughts in a manner that could be easily comprehended by Valkidriss. She knew from experience that a dragon's mind did not function in the same manner as human, not that she could be sure Valkidriss was human but she would assume for now. Images of Ryath flying high over Khadrim passed through her mind, taking in the mountains the dwarves called home whilst also examining the many human cities and the vast elven forests before finally returning to the mountain peaks she called home. Memories of the High Council formation passed through her, of the chaos beforehand and the peace she had worked for by uniting the races. Finally it ended with the recent strife in the nation, armies marching through the desert towards the dragonic peaks, intent on slaying the creatures that had originally inhabited the entire nation.

Both Ryath and Thor remained silent as Valkidriss continued her probing, awaiting her response.

"Mr. Lepedius, and Mr. Murphy right. Can't have a gathering without Mr. Murphy. Here to fill your traditional role, right?"

Boris took Weymuth's hand in a firm grip, producing a somewhat mischievous grin. On initial impressions he decided he liked the man, anyone that did away with formalities always gained a few points in his book.

Murphy shook hands with Weymuth but didn't have much to say as he wasn't particularly fond of people that couldn't bring themselves to act properly in a formal setting. Boris took the opportunity to speak before Jack replied with some scathing comment.

"Jack here has his uses, otherwise he wouldn't have a job. And what about you Mr. Weymuth, what would you say your role here is?"

As a waitress passed by, Boris grabbed her attention and asked if she could procure him an Assington Ale, a brew he had been very fond of since his youth.

What the hell is he talking about?

Before Weymuth could answer the Tarlachian's question, he found himself dodging the geyser of chocolate milk, and he met the Simitarian's wide eyed gaze.

"Well, I can't speak for most, the racing I dabble in is mostly the top end stuff, going from a fifty or sixty mile an hour roll and seeing where we end up from there. I try to keep my car as sleek as possible in that respect. But the leader of the emergency response team that came with us, Master Chief McReary, he does a fair bit of racing, he'd be the main one to ask about that. I would hardly be surprised if any of the drag racers and wheel lifters have a few strapped on. Those guys can be something else."

But again before the Simitarian could respond, Weymuth turned to address another question from the Assingtonian delegate.Hope I got the proper noun for that

Jack here has his uses, otherwise he wouldn't have a job. And what about you Mr. Weymuth, what would you say your role is here.

"Well," he started, "I would say I'm just representing Imitora. The First Speaker, being new to the job and all, took the time now to head down to South Imitora, where we seem to have an interesting refugee problem popping up. Seems that we have found our fair share of the citizens from other nations that have by now dissolved."

He held up the conference booklet, thumbed through it for a brief second, before turning back to Boris. "Its somewhere in here, I think. The Second Speaker, well, he's off hosting or speaking or otherwise appearing at an economic conference out of the region, so it fell on Mr. Donald Sinclair to come out, being the Secretary of State and all. But, the flu bug nabbed him, so he picked me to come in his stead, with approval from the First Speaker. So, long story short, I'm here to pretty much make a mess of things and disagree with everyone, only to offer a counter solution that is the exact same idea, just worded differently."

Abagail began to relax as Travis and Lady Valkidriss stepped in. She was hoping that someone from a nation more 'senior' than TMZ's would step in. And she was flat out glad to see Travis. They'd quietly been dating for a year now, and were thinking about ...well she was, at least, thinking about getting serious.


Elsewhere, to whit a small self-storage set up with a Imitoran chopper set down near by.

A very large dog of indeterminate breed- perhaps a lot of shepherd, or malamute in him - chased a rabbit, but didn't bother to catch it. It was just too warm for any real effort as the he saw things. Besides the rabbit had just been cover. Tail held high and wagging in friendly fashion he trotted down the row of storage sheds his dog tags jingling merrily. The supple body harness he wore blended into his plush fur, and was almost unnoticible from any distance.

Stopping in the road way in front of the two storage sheds that had their access hatches raised, he idly scratched at a flea while eyes that weren't exactly canine too in the set up. He waited to see if any one would pay him any attention.


The Looie figured he'd give them five minutes...

A light rumble broke through the silent background as the massive ships came to a hault approximately 100 yards off shore. The transportation of the prophet was a cautious maneuver since leaving his home land was an extremely rare occasion. He traveled across the water surrounding the island but way of a submarine highly protected by three aerospace gunships flying over head in triangular formation.

The massive purple ships use an energy compression engine that turns miniature super nova’s into fuel, which can run for weeks without having to refuel. The submarine is a nautilus (http://www.domain-omega.com/Portfolio/Virtual%20Media/Vehicles%20and%20Vessels/Nautilus-Class%20Submarine/Nautilus-Class%20Submarine%20Undersea%20-%20Prow%20Detail.jpg) and can travel for months without having to dock, the Silver line is a royal flagship.

Once the island came into sight the three gunships (http://forums.filefront.com/attachments/stl-modding-editing/62174d1203948906-official-legacy-starship-request-samuss_metroid_prime_3_gunship.jpg) fell back and headed home. At which time the submarine went topside and sent a radio message.

…this is nautilus class silver line asking for permission to dock… over.

Sir we have arrived. Said a small new recruit, in a light toned squeaky voice. Are you ready to go yet?

Yeah, yeah, let’s get to the briefing room.

"You may examine myself first."

Lady Adept Valkidress was every thing she was advertised to be and more. Her touch was light, and skillful, consumately professional. Kind without being personal, and painless. She examined them both thoroughly, touching no where near anything private, but leaving nothing 'public' un-examined. In return she offered - should they choose it the 'public' knowledge about their fellow deligates, a 'turn about is fair play' offering, though she also made sure that what she had learned of them was private between them without explicit permission.

With an apologetic thank you and welcome she withdrew as gently and as undramatically as she had come.

"Welcome Lady Ryath, Lord Thor to the Fatal terrain Regional Conference. And I should mention that Lady Shalamar met Lord Izual just recently. He ws alive and well within the last few months." The Keeperess gave a slight curtsey to the pair as she slid her starstone back in its small silk pouch.

"Good to meet you Ms. Madrigal. I know our nations have a bit of a disagreement concerning non-human citizens...but I do want to assure you that I'll look into it and find a way to resolve the issue

Madrigal nodded politely, and having noted the President's VP's look, she knew that his comment was little more than hot air. But she'd never say so to his face.

In the exchange between Imitora, Tarlachia and TGS, the Tanaaran's managed to not laugh aloud - while they weren't a nation big on the small breeds of dogs, they also knew that it was highly undiplomatic to irritate other nations for no reason. But then again Tanaara was just about the most diplomatic of the Fatal Terrain nations - and what an odd situation that was.

Mostly the Tanaarans were content to sit back and observe the interaction between the various delegates. It was invaluable. And Morgan was already beginning to asssign mental code names to all of them.

Across the lobby...

"Welcome Lady Ryath, Lord Thor ...

With Valkidriss vouching for the pair, Travis stepped forward with his own bow and then offered hand. "Please forgive our concern, a dozen years ago it wouldn't have been there but with the last few years rise in terrorism nad other difficulties, we have to be more cautious"

"Might I have the priviledge of introducing you to some of the other delegates?" Travis indicated the small group across the lobby.

The International Isle port

…this is nautilus class silver line asking for permission to dock… over.

The port authority replies quickly, graning permission "This is II Harbor Control. Please dock at Pier E three four. Tugs are standing by" That was standard proceedure - a submarine just couldn't park itself. No visual contact with the top side world- periscopes just couldn't cut it - meant that they surfaces, killed their engines and tugs nudged them into the port and to their assigned dock - which was different than the normal run of peiers as well. But it wasn't as if the II port authority was any stranger to subs.

((Don't worry, y'all. Further posts will be shorter. I just like making an entrance...a complete, long-winded entrance at that.))

The Alpha Miraade of the Miraadery of Catawaba, Errant Mira’ad, stared out the window. The ‘Aye-Aye,’ as his Guard had come to call the International Island, was pretty, at least what he’d seen of it from the window of his CAF Kangaroo as it came for a landing and now the window of Maureen, his HMMWV, as his convoy rolled towards the conference building. He leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes, visualizing the day.

He’d flown hours in the confines of an Air Force Kangaroo transport aircraft. Hopefully that would turn out to be the most stressful part of his day. All of the CAF’s Kangaroos had been grounded for inspection ever since the Roo carrying his sister, the Beta Miraade and now ambassador to Tanaara, and his UN ambassador had fallen from the sky. They’d overhauled the Togovian Prat and Witless engines and begun replacing some of them with more reliable Tanaaran designs. Errant’s aircraft and the two that accompanied it were the first to come out of the replacement process.

With the helpful presence of a flight of CAF Dragonfly fighters, the flight went smoothly and without any excitement. After landing, the Kangaroos opened their rear ramps and let loose the small convoy of four HMMWVs and two Deuce and a Half trucks that would carry his delegation, all their baggage, and himself to the conference. Errant opened his eyes and looked out behind him at the one Hummer and the Deuce and Halfs behind his vehicle. Catawaba was a new nation, too new to find glamorous pride in luxury. Even though he was commander and chief and a trumped up civil warlord, he didn’t believe in riding around in limos or pumped-up Suburbans.

He’d made it a point to only ride around in military vehicles. It sent a lot messages to a lot of people. To his troops, considering the reserves and compulsory military service was a sizable majority of the nation, he expressed confidence in the equipment they used and would depend on when pins hit primers. To the wider public, he tried to show that he was still…well trying to still be…the same fairly simple Marine/Hero of the Revolution/Ornery Young Man they’d put in this job. And he supposed to anyone who might think ill of him, he was constantly reminding and warning them of his and Catawaba’s military focus.

Besides, Errant did like the color olive drab, couldn’t bring himself to spend any large sum of money on himself, and he didn’t know of a vehicle more reliable than his Maureen. He patted the door frame proudly, and since beskar mining and processing was finally getting product into availability, Errant felt even safer riding in the old girl. The thin beskar plating in HMMWVs Miraade’s Guard used, especially Maureen, were worth steel plating inches thicker and of, unbelievably, heavier weight.

Beskar, ‘Taung Iron’ as it’s sometimes called, is rare earth metal that seemed to occur only or at least more plentifully in the south and oldest end of the volcanic island of Catawaba. Some geologists have surmised that the beskar might have been the core of an asteroid that struck the Earth at some point in the past, gouging a deep trench and perhaps exposing the volcanic hotspot that would go on to create Catawaba. Scientists have cited a preponderance of nickel and iron in the sea floors core samples south of the island and in the south of Catawaba as support evidence.

Errant massaged his temples as his brain started meandering closer to some complex geological and mining briefings he’d been subjected to as Miraade. So many times he’d just wanted to yell, ‘Dig it up gorramit and leave me be,’ but he also made it a point to learn as much as he could about the details of running all parts and facets of his government. He delegated authority to the most knowledgeable in their fields, but he never tolerated allowing himself to be totally ignorant in an area of his responsibility.

Thinking back to his up-armored Maureen…beskar had strange properties. It didn’t transmit heat or electricity very well, barely at all. It wasn’t ferrous, meaning magnetism had very little influence on it. It was however very, very dense and strong. In two comparable sizes and thicknesses of steel and beskar, the beskar was exponentially stronger and heavier. So a thin piece of beskar could stop a greater force that would require a thicker and heavier piece of steel.

Errant again massaged his temples as the minutes of an economics meeting flashed through his mind’s eye. It was just as well that you needed less beskar to do the job than steel because not only was beskar exponentially stronger and heavier, it was also exponentially more expensive. There were a lot of hopes that Tanaaran cooperation and technology would make beskar easier and cheaper to mine and process.

The Miraade sighed and looked out the front windscreen. The two lead HMMWVs, or Mytha’liks “Tiny Mythosaur” as the Guard called the beskar-armored HMMWVs, were turning off onto the boulevard that led up to the Conference building. Errant nodded appreciatively at the beautiful trees and planters lining the boulevard.

The tall, regal lady next to him reached over and placed her hand on the skin of Errant’s knee, bare below the hem of his black kama, a traditional Taung kilt. “Calm down. You’ll do fine, Errant”

Errant turned his ice blue eyes on the lady Mercedez Merideath Hexx, former Queen of the Dominion of Tanaara, presently the Tanaaran ambassadress to the Miraadery of Catawaba and in a less official capacity the Miraade’s Mistress (despite the Miraade’s urging she has so far refused to have that last title printed on any of her stationary or calling card...much to the dismay of the Miraade). He loved the way she said his name. It was quiet, subtle, but the way she said it, the lilt she made when she spoke his name. It was personal, warm, and only for him. “That’s easy for you to say, you’ve done this before, Mercy. Me? I’m only good at two methods of dealing with foreign leaders: threaten them with death and seduce them into my bed.” A nervous yet mischievous grin spread on his lips.

"Threatening them with death would not go over well, especially with the Imitorans - they are meaner that you are." Mercy also grinned, but sobered quickly.

"Be polite, speak your mind, and just talk to them like you talk to me" She paused at that and smiled "Like you did before you seduced me"

She frowned at the memories of the last conference and said slowly "The last conference got nowhere fast, and it's a long story." She sighed and began.
She talked quickly, succinctly, but painted a complete picture of the last conference. The difficulties of logistics, a rather ruinous party that nearly ended in homicide, and the conference itself which failed to meet any semblance of regional quorum. She talked and had Errant’s full attention, he loved to listen to her speak on anything, until he noticed something going on up front.

Up in the front passenger seat, Major Margaret Delaney glanced down at her watch on the inside of her wrist. She leaned back and put a hand on the boot of the Guard standing up in the turret. The turret was lacking the normal .50 cal machine gun as Lolimba Bevu, the Secretary for Foreign Affairs, thought it might send the wrong message.

The Guard in the turret squatted down, bringing her head down inside the vehicle. The motion of the Guard’s leg folding was odd to anyone not used to vornskrari as the canine leg with its odd proportions of ankle and knee collapsed and moved. Sergeant Gold Mira’ad’s long, dark auburn mane was braided into a tight pony tail. It swung as her head snapped around to sweep the vehicle; her broad pink, canine tongue swung in the opposite direction to her ponytail. Her reflective crimson eyes came to rest on her commanding officer.

Delaney tapped her wrist. “Time to look presentable, Sarge.”

Gold nodded, “Tongues in it is, ma’am.” Following her own order, she pulled her tongue back in, going from looking like the heavily armed camouflaged pet out on a car ride to a militarized hellhound, alert and ill-tempered. She reached up and squeezed the tabs of her throat mic and barked once loudly and authoritatively. She then stood up and surveyed the other vornskrari in the roof turrets of the Mytha’liks ahead of them. She nodded as she saw they too looked much more professional and serious.

Errant glanced over Mercy. “Is it any surprise the only positions the Pack’s been volunteering for has been tank commander, roof gunners, shotgun on trucks, and bow gunners on patrol boats?”

She smiled. “No, I dare say it is probably genetic, an instinct passed on from the vornskr base of their genome.”

Errant nodded and smiled. “If we still flew those big four engine bombers like we had back in the Forties, they’d probably step up for waist gunner, any chance to stick their heads from a moving vehicle.”

Mercy shook her head and smiled at the thought of Gold or Mird, two of the vornskrari in the Miraade’s close protection detail sticking their heads out the large cutout port of a bomber, somehow enjoying prop wash in their face with mouths, tongues and ears flopping back in the airflow. She opened her mouth to say something but was cut off as the Catawaban convoy rolled to a stop in front of the Conference building. Gold rotated around in the roof turret as she scanned the grounds. Delaney raised a hand to her ear as she heard the chorus of confirmations that the area was clear.

She twisted around a looked at Errant. “Ready, sir?”

Errant nodded. Delaney squeezed the tabs of her throat mic and began issuing orders to her troops. They poured out of the Mytha’liks and set up a quick cordon. Their bullpup 6.5mm MOR assault rifles pointed down but at the ready as they scanned their surroundings. Errant gave them a moment, waiting for Delaney’s signal.

Another chorus of clears and the major jerked her head towards the door. Errant opened the heavy door and slid out of the seat. As his boots set foot on the ornate paving stones, his ice blues flicked about obeying old imbedded instincts scanning not for guns, which there were a considerable number here on the I.I., but gun pointed at him with hostile intent. With no mental alarm banging away in his head, he spent a moment to check the disposition of his Guard contingent. Out of the lead Mytha’lik came Romeo and Juliet, the two Tanaaran bodyguard sworn to Mercy and Mercy alone, and two of Errant’s Miraade Guards, including Mird who was a staff sergeant and beta male behind Errant in their pack.

The Mytha’lik just in front of Maureen held four Guards, an entire fireteam by Catawaban standards. However, it could not viewed a completely equipped fireteam as the grenadiers would be quick to point out as they held their MORs which mounted a MORS shotgun attachment instead of their beloved MORG under slung grenade attachment. Again, it was decided that heavy weapons like grenade launchers sent the wrong message. Foreign Affairs officials thought it might hint that the Guard had no confidence in the abilities of International Island security. Guard grenadiers have been quoted, off the record of course, as saying, “Well, of course we don’t. That’s why we’re going with the Miraade after all.”

Behind Maureen were the two Deuce and a Half trucks which held three Guards between them. Behind the trucks was the tail end Mytha’lik which held another fireteam of Guards. Collectively there were three fireteams which with a medic and Gold as senior sergeant made up a Catawaban squad. Major Delaney was overall commander of the entire Miraade’s Guard as a battalion strength branch of the Catawaban Military and overseeing this mission in particular.

However, Delaney and the Miraade didn’t anticipate the need for a full Guard squad. One of the fireteams would return with the trucks, Guard drivers, to the Kangaroos and rest under the guard of the Air Force Asset Protection detail of two fireteams that was watching the transports. That way, Delaney could rotate the fireteams on the Miraade’s detail and ensure all were rested and alert.

Errant nodded with satisfaction and no small measure of pride. He’d been a Marine before Catawaba decided he might enjoy being the job and elected them as their own petty, civil warlord. He snorted and pulled down on the hem of his sleeveless split-side tunic which was decorated with the angular native Taung pattern of his Mira’ad clan, which was a blend of all other Taung clan patterns, in deep blue, black, and green. He then reached down and tugged on his belt which held Bard Arms Company .357 semi-automatic pistol and his ceremonial kad, a Taung cutlass. Semi-confident that his tunic and belt was straight, he turned and extended his left arm to help Mercy slide out of the Mytha’lik.

She stepped gracefully to the paving stones beneath, her heels clicking slightly on the stone. Errant had expressed a brief concern over her heels and the paving stones, but she had quieted those fears. He suspected this was some mysterious female secret skill that he didn’t understand. She briefly smoothed her sleeveless deep blue sheath dress, ankle length in polished cotton which Errant thought complimented her gorgeous blue eyes very well. Her long blonde hair flowed over the shoulders of her unstructured, full-sleeved over jacket in a translucent chiffon block printed with a Taung clan pattern, in fact Errant’s Mira’ad clan pattern, in gold, dark green and black accents.

Next to her, Errant felt like a homely, little man. She was tall and athletically lithe with a beauty that many would classify as Classical. Sure, he wasn’t much shorter at five foot eight inches. And he liked to think of himself as ruggedly handsome in a boy-next-door sort of way (Mercy had confirmed some of this so far in calling him ‘handsome’). However whatever he lose in standing next to his tall Venus, he sure more than made up with an aura of toughness with his broad shoulders, keen eye, and the twin tattoos of a vornskr eating a shrew and a mythosaur eating a grouse spiraling down his strong biceps and forearms.

He took a deep breath and looked up at Mercy. She smiled softly, confidently and nodded for him to lead on. She wasn’t armed, said she was confident that he could protect him. She was so good at manipulating people, that they liked it. He did enjoy the manly thought of protecting his woman. It made his chest puff out. He felt more confident about himself. She was so smooth and tricky and that was one of the reasons he loved her.
Errant glanced to Major Delaney and signaled her to go. With a hand signal she had the Guard in motion. One fireteam and the Shakespearean Security Spouses, as the Guards called the married couple of Romeo and Juliet, went with the Miraade and his Mistress. A second fireteam went in advance up to the Catawaban delegation’s rooms to sweep and prepare them. The third team went with the vehicles to the garage where they could be unloaded.
Errant marveled as they entered the tall and architecturally ornate Conference Building. Other than the Tanaaran Palace, it was the second most beautiful building he’d ever been in….which isn’t difficult compared to the brick and marble eyesore that he called the People’s House and his home. As he took in the foyer, the group ground to a stop.

Unbeknownst to Errant, by his mere entrance into the Conference Building he had probably made things easier for the Imitorans in many respects. It was hard to fault someone for a handful of Sig semi-autos and an assault rifle or two when all but one of the Catawaban group was armed with a side arm mostly in .357 and all but two of them were carrying either 6.5mm assault rifles with shotgun or submachine attachments underslung or .420 semi-automatic precision rifles. Also two Guard out of every fireteam were miffed because they lacked their grenade launchers or squad support machine gun due to diplomatic reasoning.

"So, long story short, I'm here to pretty much make a mess of things and disagree with everyone, only to offer a counter solution that is the exact same idea, just worded differently."

Boris grinned once again.

"Sounds like the usual negotiations then. I wonder if this year things will be as interesting as last time. I'm sure you probably heard, there was an uninvited visitor that put a bit of a dent in the usual rabble and we never really got back on track after that."

The appearance of Arithon had been a wake up call to Boris and the rest of Assington. They hadn't participated in the Demonic War as that period covered the time that Mark Kulstov had been in office, doing as much damage to the nation and its relations as he could.

Due to such, significant funds had been invested into research of the demons occupying Fatal Terrain and the development of technology to combat them. So far there had been some success but progress was somewhat slow.

Weymuth nodded.

Sounds like the usual negotiations then. I wonder if this year things will be as interesting as last time. I'm sure you probably heard, there was an uninvited visitor that put a bit of a dent in the usual rabble and we never really got back on track after that.

"I can understand that. I saw the debrief, and well, its always the uninvited that make things the worse. We've been working on ways to take care of what you could consider his kind, and so far so good. Its a pretty easy solution, really, we've found that it holds true that nothing much can with stand a center mass or head shot from a fifty caliber incindary round."

A quick glance at the Catawabian delegation earned nothing more than a sigh from the Imitoran guards. One of them pulled out a cell phone, snapped a quick picture, and sent it off, followed by a call.

"Yeah, looks like a bunch of wannabe's showed up. The usual."

The Imitoran Secret Service team went back to milling about, taking the 'I'm not paying attention but really am' angle as the delegation rolled in with the full assault squad.

Weymuth just shrugged, then threw his arm around Yellen.

"See Prez, this is what I was talking about. You look at these Catawabians, walking around all Rambo like. And yes, I'll admit, my boy Kevin may have been slightly the same. But there is a difference. You see, these guys, they are stacked hard. Much more than my own little team of five guys and a chopper. But, and here is the essential difference you must note, is that, unlike the Catawabians, Imitorans know what they are doing."

The small wooden galley's crew was busily moving about the vessel, pulling strings here, pulling strings there, and shouting different coordinates all the time. It was all greek to Vakaras Numura, as he had simply no idea what the crew was doing, nor did it matter. For Vakaras, he would simply be content as long as the vessel made it safely to its' destination in one piece. They had encountered several storms on their journey thus far, and the twenty year old had nearly been washed off the boat twice. Thankfully Sukri had better sea legs than him and managed to keep the young man from becoming another victim of the deep blue.

It was with a huge grin then when the navigator shouted that land had been spotted and it was indeed the crew's destination. Vakaras was more than pleased when they docked at the pier and he and Sukri made their way towards the conference building on International Isle. He had been warned by the Empress of the many dignitaires that would be attending the conference and of the vast arrays of technology that they would be wielding, still he was in awe of the limo that was transporting the duo. The Kingdoms were still very much technologically backwards, stuck in the fuedal age, and cars and the like were just stories told at night to scare the children.

It is a thing of wonder and delight this machine. To think that there are billions, maybe even trillions of these around the world is simply astonishing. I must be focused on my purpose though, I am here to represent the Kingdoms and our Empress. If I make a bad impression, then our country makes a bad impression. Stay focused and be mindful and all will go well Vakaras.

The duo arrived, and Vakaras took one last deep breath before heading in. Upon entering the spacious lobby where the many different representatives were gathering and mingling with each other, it was clear that the two would be sticking out. Vakaras was dressed in his customary ceromonial robes, which were in a deep blue with a special white floral pattern that wrote "Honor Hand of the Empress" in the native language of the Kingdoms. Meanwhile, Sukri was dressed in his warrior garb, as well as having his two swords with him, properly sheathed in his leather belt.

"Well, I definately think we're a little underdressed my friend. I hope Empress Fortuna knew what she was doing in appointing me to be the delegate." Vakaras leaned over to whisper into Sukri's ear. "Best to stay on your guard, I don't like the look of a few of these people."

"Welcome Lady Ryath, Lord Thor to the Fatal terrain Regional Conference. And I should mention that Lady Shalamar met Lord Izual just recently. He was alive and well within the last few months."

Ryath smile in return.

"We are glad to be here, but I must correct something regarding Izual. We have heard of this man named Izual that seems to wander the region. He is not the same as the Izual that sat on our High Council. The Izual we knew was an elf and native to Khadrim. We are reasonably certain this other Izual is not native to Khadrim, although I cannot say for sure as I have never met him."

Thor simply nodded. This other Izual had sparked his curiosity and he would certainly like to meet the man but he knew it couldn't be his colleague, his friend. That Izual was dead and due to the trap set on his corpse, the entirety of the elven forests were frozen solid.

"Please forgive our concern, a dozen years ago it wouldn't have been there but with the last few years rise in terrorism nad other difficulties, we have to be more cautious. Might I have the priviledge of introducing you to some of the other delegates?" Travis indicated the small group across the lobby."

Taking note of Travis once again, Ryath gave him an understanding smile.

"We understand, security is an important aspect of these events and we would be happy to meet some of the other occupants of this region."

The Catawabans may have ground to a halt but the man all but leaping from the nearest elevator had not.

"Errant, Mom, I got tied up or I would have met you all when you touched down." Rob's long legs ate up the distance and he swept first his mom then Errant into brief but heartfelt bear hugs.

In spite of their rather odd first meeting, or perhaps because of it, Rob and Errant had become good friends. He looked pleased at how happy and relaxed his mother looked. He'd known from the first that she and Errant had belonged together, and had worked with Errant on making sure Mercy knew that.

"So after being Kanga'd in do you need some down time, or want to wade right into introductions?

He lowered his voice to pass on the gist of what the discretely worn mic’s the various Tanaarans carried had picked up. There was a bit of a snicker in his voice. He, on a personal level; didn’t think much of TGS as a whole and he had some strong political feelings against them as well. "Weymuth, the snake oil salesman of an Imitoran Ambassador has the Gee Seer’s frothing, and he’s being aided and abetted by the …lady…that Aeris sent in her place.” His voice changed there.

Rob was distinctly unhappy that his wife hadn’t come. He had hoped to spend time with her. And he didn’t like Ms. Sephirio. Something about her set his teeth on edge.

Mercy looked at Errant. It was up to him.

Yellen owned four miniature pinschers, he was unmarried and so they were his only companions. The very notion such loving animals would be mounted on cars was one of the most barbaric things he had ever heard. Yellen tried to move from the Imitorians. If Weymuth was try getting on his nerve, he was succeeding in spades. The Simatarian turned to Boris, President to President, hopefully the Assingtonian would prove better, and much more polite company than Weymuth.

He barely took a step when he felt Weymuth's arm wrap around his shoulder and spun him in the direction of the doors. Yellen was instantly greeted by the sight of a heavily armed group of troops. As he listened to Weymuth drone on about Rambo and weapons and such, Yellen turned to face him. Yellen couldn't take it anymore. When he had finished, Yellen calmly removed his arm from himself.

"It is President Yellen to you Mr. Weymuth, not Prez. I don't know if this is how politicians in Imitoria conduct themselves, but in conference with high ranking members and national leaders of other nations, it is not proper conduct." Giving Weymuth only the briefest second Yellen continued. "And concerning our use of 'sticks and stones in the boonies', within a few years time...Imitoria will be coming to us for some pretty damn big sticks and some damn big stones."

Not allowing him a chance to respond, Yellen passed Weymuth and moved over to Boris. The Simatarian President smiled warmly. "President Lepedius, good to finally meet you. I hope that the Golden Simatar and Assington will remain friends for a good many years to come. If you need help with anything, just ask."


Rhymer smiled as he watched Yellen turn on Weymuth. Yellen might have a pair after all... He turned to Madrigal. "I have to admit I wasn't expecting such a high amount of everyone bringing their own private armies with them."

"I have to admit I wasn't expecting such a high amount of everyone bringing their own private armies with them."

"Catawaba, less than a year ago, became their own nation, freeing themselves from a fairly tyrannical rule by the Togovian Empire. The fighting was brutal, and the Alpha Miraade, Errant Mira’ad, he's the man next to the Queen Mother" She spoke of Mercy, known as the Queen Mother since her abdication - and who was now the Ambassadress to Catawaba "Has had over a dozen assassination attempts on his life. The Togovians have a big hate on for him, and lots of money to spend on assassins. I can understand their caution."

"They prefer to be open about carrying weapons, believe that concealing them is sneaky and almost an admission of something under handed."

But, and here is the essential difference you must note, is that, unlike the Catawabians, Imitorans know what they are doing."

Morgan hid a smile as Yellin gave Weymuth a firm put down. Then stepped in with his own comments.

"And Mister Weymuth, as Madrigal just noted, Catawaba hasn't quite had the time to get as good as Imitora. But they were the ones that helped us, at their own peril, when we were ambushed off of Tranderson by Red Tide." He let that sit a second then continued - his voice firm, but dispassionate

"And if you will take a look at that MOR battle rifle they are carrying. They developed that completely on their own. And I've used both Imitoran gear and the MOR, and I can say that it compares favorably to your own equipment. Oh not your special one offs, but mass produced to mass produced, very equal. And they'll be playing with the regional varsity with in the next five years I have no doubt."

His look at the Imitoran was amused "You might want to do your home work before casting aspersions."

…This is II Harbor Control. Please dock at Pier E three four. Tugs are standing by.

A loud beep filled the submarines speakers

Docking preparations are being made, prepare for air decompression.

Water splashed from every side as the Silver line went topside. First to rise was the hatch followed by the portholes, light streamed into every corner of the ship filling the antique styled rooms with life.

Sir it’s an honor to meet you I am Lynda Barrie senior public affairs officer. I am here to brief you on the upcoming conference.

It’s a pleasure; however please call me Artorius, if we will be working together than there is now need to be formal. Lynda, what can I expect from this conference?

First things first this is a folder of things that I put together it holds the invitation you received , that will act as your passport so to speak, the next packet is a list including an itinerary and what you hope to accomplish from this conference. Last but not least is a list of all the nations there leaders and how to approach them without offending anyone, per Tarlachia, or that’s the goal at least, from what I’ve read these conferences have somewhat of a troubled track record. Now that you have this you should be on your way you don’t want to keep them waiting.

Then let’s get going shall we.

They walked at a quick pace as they passed between each room and hatch they exchanged small talk to pass the time.

Once they reached the final location Arortius seated himself next to the exit hatch as he waited for the docking procedure to finish.

"Well, there ya go Prez, get fired up," Weymuth joked, releasing the Simitarian and giving him one last slap on the back.

He looked over to Rhymer, and nodded. "Bout time one of you guys actually showed some fire. I was thinking I'd have to start talking about your mothers or something to get some emotion out of you guys." He dropped his voice down in volume, but not so much tone, as he continued. "But he might want to check up on his intell, if he gets any decent briefs. Between IMI, IMI Heavy Industries, Shinseki Aerospace, and the raw amount of funding, I don't think we'll be buying Simitarian pop guns anytime soon. I mean, we already have satellites that can put a pencil thin laser up the ass of one of these minpins you all love so much, and the funding just keeps on pouring in."

It was a well known fact that the Imitoran government gave public funds to nothing. There was no public education, no public health care, no public transportation. The only two publicly funded bodies were the military and law enforcement, and the military often won out beyond that. The numerous arms manufacturing agencies received grants that would put the budget of a moderate sized nation to shame to develop newer and better weaponry to rain down the "bright and shining sun" of Imitoran fire power. It would take years, if not decades, for the Simitarians to catch up to Imitoran military prowess. The gap in training would take even longer to bridge.

"But hey," he said, stepping back towards the Tarlachian, "whatever floats your boat really. But then again," he said, turning directly towards Sephirio, "I just don't know. No female companions, chocolate milk, gets a little too personal when you talk about his dogs? Might make someone wonder."

By this time, Weymuth had decided he was ready to grab a drink, and, oddly enough, rather politely caught the attention of one of the waiters walking around. "Just black coffee. The more it tastes like it was filtered through an oil filter from an MBT, the better."

He turned finally to address the Tanaaran speaking.

And Mister Weymuth, as Madrigal just noted, Catawaba hasn't quite had the time to get as good as Imitora. But they were the ones that helped us, at their own peril, when we were ambushed off of Tranderson by Red Tide. And if you will take a look at that MOR battle rifle they are carrying. They developed that completely on their own. And I've used both Imitoran gear and the MOR, and I can say that it compares favorably to your own equipment. Oh not your special one offs, but mass produced to mass produced, very equal. And they'll be playing with the regional varsity with in the next five years I have no doubt. You might want to do your home work before casting aspersions.

Weymuth just shrugged. "Well, I'm sure you and the Catawabians will have great fun playing around in the varsity locker room."

He paused, his own voice equally dispassionate. "We'll be waiting for you up in the pros."
__

Jamie had watched the dog chase a rabbit into the field of vision, and then stop to observe the small contingent of shooters.

"Probably a spy," he said, going back to the computer.

"Whatdya mean?" asked another one of the Crew sailors, clicking another round into the magazine for his own rifle.

"Well, look. See the fur pattern? Really odd waves with no coloring changes. Most likely mounting a harness or something, but really well hidden." The other Crew Swimmer didn't notice it, but Jamie had been long blessed with vision that made perfect 20/20 compare to astigmatism. "That, and notice where he stopped. Well trained, gives it a perfect view of our little set up here without the shadows from the MH-60 obscuring anything."

"Christ man, how do you know this shit?"

"Counter intell. Its my job to know this. That, or its some shape shifting were person."

"What?"

"Yeah, they are all over the place in this region. Out of every country, us and the Argonians are the only damned normal ones, and with the Argonians its still arguable. I wouldn't be surprised. They like to think these intell games are fun or something, I dunno. Hell, if they'd just walk up and ask we're authorized to tell them. Security detachment."

"Well," the other sailor asked, his right hand casually resting on the Glock in its thigh holster, "what do you want to do about it? The Chief is sleeping, want me to ask him?"

"Naw, he gave me the call to make decisions. Just go 'shoo' it off. If it comes at you, or shape shifts and comes at you," he leaned over and grabbed the other sailor's own customized Mk6 rifle, "shoot it in the head a few times. If it's a dog, it dies. If it's a were, then we'll burn it or something."

The other sailor nodded, taking the silence rifle. "You know one of these days we oughta just stock up on all this anti super natural weaponry supposedly sitting around and go to town on this people. Take away the magic powers and see how bad ass they are."

"I hear that," Jamie said, his focus back on the computer screen. He could hear the other Crew Swimmer walking off to get rid of the dog.

"Hmmm," he mumbled to himself, looking at the newest reports, "Point nine percent APR for sixty months." The alarms and alerts on his security hacks, watching for fire alarms and emergency response alarms, along with the police, fire, and ambulance scanners were relatively quiet.

"I can understand that. I saw the debrief, and well, its always the uninvited that make things the worse. We've been working on ways to take care of what you could consider his kind, and so far so good. Its a pretty easy solution, really, we've found that it holds true that nothing much can with stand a center mass or head shot from a fifty caliber incindary round."

Boris nodded in appreciation. He knew the Imitorans would likely be more advanced in the field of killing demons since they had been a major participant of the war against them.

"Indeed, you get a big enough gun and it will kill anything. We're currently in the process of developing weapons you can give the standard soldier to deal with any demon he might come across. Not everyone can carry a nuke or fifty cal machine gun along with them."

"President Lepedius, good to finally meet you. I hope that the Golden Simatar and Assington will remain friends for a good many years to come. If you need help with anything, just ask."

At the sound of his name being spoken, Boris turned to face President Yellen after the man had just delivered a small rant on Weymuth.

"Good to meet you too, President Yellen. I'm sure we can maintain a close working relationship. How's the vampire situation going back home?"

Boris was well aware that Assington had been the first to offer assistance to the Golden Simatar upon them learning of the existence of vampires within their nation. Both the Assingtonian VP and the equivalent forces in TGS used similar gear and methods.

"So after being Kanga'd in do you need some down time, or want to wade right into introductions?

"If I let myself be tuckered out by my own airplane, it wouldn't set much of an example for my people or an image to the world at large. But I will be using this trip as an excuse to put that plane out to pasture and get something new." He stopped for a moment and smiled mischieviously. "Or...one could say I've finally come to Roo the day I ever decided to keep that bucket of bolts in service."

He let his pun gather groans for a moment before waving towards the group of diplomats. "Let's introduce ourselves."

The two vornskrari in the fireteam around Errant, Gold and Mird, already had their attention on the squabbling diplomats. They looked at each other with glance that said sentences before Gold (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v35/jedierrant/?action=view&current=Gold.png) nodded and leaned into Errant to speak in his ear. She spoke lowly in Taung'a.

Errant glanced at her and shrugged. "We all read the dossier on Imitorans, kinda expect that."

Mird, who had his attention on the ISS agents who were coyly playing peekaboo with the Catawaban delegation. He leaned in and whispered Taung'a in Errant's other ear. The Miraade sighed. "Thank you, Corporal."

Errant turned to say something to Rob when Gold murmured another bit of Taung'a this time mingling with a subtle growl. Errant rolled his eyes. "Weymouth and his bunch of chakkare are really a cheery band. Someone oughta tell'em that it ain't polite to gossip and that a vornskrari's ears ain't there just to make'em look more canine. Best be on about it. Lead on, Rob."

Rhymer listened intently to Madrigal as she gave a very brief rundown of Catawaba. "Understandable then. We're lucky that our nation formed centuries ago back when the longbow was the highest form of weapon technology. Tarlachia being splintered with the Demon Takeover and then reforged, other nations collapsing around us...it seems that region stability is going downhill."

Rhymer could only smile, a slightly comic, devilish smile as Weymuth talked about the bottomless funding of the Imitorian military. In the minds of the Simatarian Military Research Bureau, it was imagination and ingenuity over money that mattered.

"Oh...okay, sorry to threaten to poke a hole in your bubble of military superiority." Rhymer spoke in a slightly sarcastic, 'know it all' tone. Gotta love Imitorians and their constant compensation. Rhymer was curious to know how the man would react when the First Generation Starlight XRT-42 rolled off the line. It would be the first of a new line of Simatarian heavy weaponry. Already soldiers carried the new Brakner A23 rifle, replacing the venerable Heckler and Koch G36 after numerous decades of service.

Rhymer looked over at Morgan. "Can I ask what is 'Red Tide'? A terrorist pirate group?"


"Our vampire situation, if I may be so bold, is a bit more under control than yours at the moment. In the sense we've curtailed expansion and formation of covens. That we know of." Yellen commented. Compared to Assington's vampire population, the Golden Simatar's was small. Estimates put it at only a few thousand broken up into bands of less than twenty or so members. After it came out about the Golden Simatar's lack of vampire defense, many outlaw vampires from the region came into the country. With help from Assington and Taralchia, the Golden Simatar had formed the Vampire Bureau of Investigation, now renamed the Paranormal Bureau of Investigation.

The PBI's arsenal included home-grown cold-thermal tracking guns (many were given as thank-you to the Assington and Tarlachia), silver nitrate rounds, cuffs, flamethrowers, nitrate spray, and something that the vampires could never defeat, heavy tanks and APCs. The arrival of armor (and at times military forces) outside of any nest usually resulted in a speedy destruction. Besides hunting down outlaw vampires and other non-human creatures, it also covered research into them. Something that Project Eclipse covered, prior to Yellen's axing.

"Estimated three hundred killed last year in combat with our forces. However, we did capture three too, all are still in our custody. We give them the option of surrender and extradition to a more friendly country...but they always chose to fight. We've encountered less foreign and more Simatarian vampires. Sad really, even they're just as aggressive against their countrymen. However all we seem to be doing is blunting any expansion, we're not decreasing their numbers any. But they have yet to form covens...those who stay in one place for more than a few days are hunted down by a special team of trackers who then relay the information to our forces. They then go in during the daytime to prevent any escape. We've even started to encounter werewolves. Thought they'd stay under cover, being as they can move in the sun and keep human form. Maybe we should send some of our trackers your way...might help find a major coven or two."

Khadrim...

"We understand, security is an important aspect of these events and we would be happy to meet some of the other occupants of this region."

"Might I act as your hostess?" Colonel Hardcastle offered. She wanted to make up for her seeming lack of friendliness. Plus Khadrim was barely a hundred miles off of TMZ's western most islands.

Neighbors they had never met, but the TMZ's satellite net had provided countless hours both real time video and photographs of the seemingly endless civil war.

Elsewhere on II...

You know one of these days we oughta just stock up on all this anti super natural weaponry supposedly sitting around and go to town on this people. Take away the magic powers and see how bad ass they are."

The Looie had listened interestedly, it's tongue loling out in the equivallent of a wolfy laugh,allowed him to be shooed off. He was pleased by the Imitoran reaction, but surprized that they didn't think of useing very unconventional forces themselves. He was so very obvious, but there were may who were far less so than he.

Lady Valkidriss nodded agreeably at Colonel Hardcastles offer.

"Lady Ryath, Lord Thor, would you care to have dinner with Lady Shalamar after the meeting adjurns for the evening? She would be glad to pass along what she knows of the one calling himself Lord Izual."

Then she half turned as she felt the lady in question pass by. Valkidress started to speak to her out to her, but was forestalled by a raised hand.

Lady Shalamar had come out of the elevator with the Archon, and was intent on greeting Mercy. She nodded pleasantly to those in the group about Lady Valkidriss but it was obvious that she was some what preoccupied.

Kalkidress turned back to the Khadrimians. "I'll bring her over for introductions as soon as she's free,"

Then she noticed the other group that had entered just behind the Catawabans. "Oh I believe those are the delegates from Three Golden Kingdoms."

With their precence suddenly called attention to, the young delegate sighed as he tilted his head downwards just a bit. Swiping aside a lock of his hair that was covering his right eye, his stepped forward with his chin held high and his chest out.

"I am Lord Vakaras Numura, a loyal servant to our Empress Elsie Fortuna of the Three Golden Kingdoms. This is my loyal bodyguard Sukri Nakamoto, who has protected both me and my father before me for over twenty years. Do not attempt to address him as he has taken a vow of silence. I am here to be a representative of the Kingdoms and act on the Empress' behalf. Her highness was unable to attend as she was occupied in an ongoing land dispute between two of the high lords inside our lands. Rest assured though, that despite my youthful appearance, I am well studied in the arts of negotiation and am empowered to ammend whatever treaties we might sign in the forthcoming conference."

Taking just a moment to collect his breath, he waited for the reaction of his fellow delegates to decide what sort of demeanor he would use for the duration of the evening. Sukri stayed just a step behind his lord, his hand constantly resting on the hilt of his blade and his eyes scanning for any potential threat.

"Our vampire situation, if I may be so bold, is a bit more under control than yours at the moment. In the sense we've curtailed expansion and formation of covens. That we know of."

Boris nodded in understanding, he wasn't surprised that TGS was dealing with the issue better than his own nation, they did have a much smaller vampire population and caught it early. And yet he couldn't help but think if they became too cocky the Simatarians might find themselves bitten on the arse, quite literally.

"Some advice, if I may. Do not underestimate the figures of the vampires that you don't know of. Those that remain hidden are smart whilst they may not be in any large numbers in any one place, do not underestimate their ability to organise, even across the nation."

The VP had essentially wiped out any sloppy coven of reasonable size but they were positive of the existence of highly organised covens that remained well hidden and were likely led by very old vampires.

"Ten thousand recorded vampire deaths in Assington this year alone. We can find a loosely organised coven easily enough but the serious communities are well hidden and likely have human assistance in their hiding. Whilst we certainly don't see some of large scale conflicts involving vampires that we used to, their expansion is very difficult to prevent."

"Might I act as your hostess?"

Ryath nodded in agreement.

"We would be happy for you to do so. If I recall the maps of the region I've seen correctly, your homeland lies off the east coast of Khadrim?"

"Lady Ryath, Lord Thor, would you care to have dinner with Lady Shalamar after the meeting adjurns for the evening? She would be glad to pass along what she knows of the one calling himself Lord Izual."

Both Thor and Ryath nodded though only Ryath put words to the agreement.

"We would be most grateful if it could be arranged. Whilst I doubt this Izual has any relation to elf we knew, there have been reports of him within our borders."

"I'll bring her over for introductions as soon as she's free,"

Ryath simply nodded.

"Of course, whenever is convenient."

OOC: Okay every one...this post gets every one currently at the conference center introduced. That leaves Sanshyuum, just arrived in port -
with Nexxus; Argonia;Unseelie Sidhe; and Arithon having not responded yet

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Colonel Hardcastle, Lady Ryath & Lord Thor, & Lady Valkidriss

Might I act as your hostess?"

"We would be happy for you to do so. If I recall the maps of the region I've seen correctly, your homeland lies off the east coast of Khadrim?"

Yes, our islands are barely a hundred milkes off your east coast." Abagail nodded then broke off as ...

"Oh I believe those are the delegates from Three Golden Kingdoms." Lady Valkidriss said just second before the delegate from TGK introduced himself and his companion in a voice that silenced all other conversations in the lobby - if but for a moment....

http://www.atddm.com/bar3.gif

Someone oughta tell'em that it ain't polite to gossip and that a vornskrari's ears ain't there just to make'em look more canine. Best be on about it. Lead on, Rob."

Rob signaled to one of his aides, a quick handsign to bring him over and sort out which of Errant's troops would be staying down stairs, and which would be going on up to the Catawaban's suites.

Rob then swept Errant and Mercy over to the newly arrived delegates form TGK, arriving about the same time as the party of Lady Ryath and Lord Thor, Lady Valkidriss, Travis and Abagail did

Introductions were made all around, save for mercy who was a few steps back talking quietly and intently with Lady Shalamar. Once the two rejoined the group their introductions were made.

Rob then escorted every one in that group over to the know of delegates from the older Fatal Terrain nations and made introductions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Can I ask what is 'Red Tide'? A terrorist pirate group?"

Morgan gave Rhymer a look. "Red Tide is an aggressor nation in the Corithia region, heavily militarized. They were attempting to invade Tranderson, a very small nation whom we had sent three hospital ships to. The hospital ships protective task force, which was waiting in international waters, came under attack by the invading fleet. They launched over five thousand anti ship at our taskforce, and 192,000 anti-satelite warheads at our satelite network." His voice was calm but a grin touched his lips as he added. "Only one hundred of their anti- satalite warheads managed to achieve target." His demeanor turned serious again "Catawaba with but little more than hand full of Vietnam era ships put theirs in among ours to to add their anti missile capabilities to ours. We lost the Serpents Kiss" That was one of the Tanaaran Drakon class super carriers "and ninety percent of her crew as well as almost a thousand more. However none of the Red Tide fleet returned home."

"We'll be waiting for you up in the pros."

Morgan just laughed "I though no Imitoran worth his salt would miss a Clancyism."

He then turned away from Wyemuth to greet the Archon as Rob lead the group over. He bowed to each as Rob made introductions all around - Save Mercy she got a very deep bow then a hug - she was aunt Mercy to most all of Robs inner circle...

"Might I present Lady Ryath and Lord Thor, representing the Khadrim Council; Lady Shalamar Tenerista Cats Keep and Lady Valkidriss; Colonel Abagail Hardcastle from The Militarized Zone on behalf of their Senior Advisory Council; Alpha Miraade Errant Mira’ad of Catawaba; You all know my mother She is our Ambassadress to Catawaba; and from the Three Golden Kingdoms Lord Numura representing Empress Fortuna."

Then he made the other half of the circle "President Lepedius, and vice president Morgan of Assington; President Yellen and his chief aid Mister Rhymer. Ambassadress Sephirio of Tarlachia who is here on behalf of Empress Aeris; Ambassador Weymuth of Imitora. Also my Ministers Morgan Kincannon, Travis Darkhorse, and Madrigal Shimada, currently the Tanaaran Ambassador to DMG - but I'm about to promote her to my Cabinet."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

West and east wings 2nd through 6th floors

West Wing ( left side wing as you look at floor plan ) :

Imitora - 6th floor
Tanaara – 5th floor
Catawaba & Cats Keep – 4th floor
Argonia - 3th floor,
Assington & Tarlachia - 2nd floor

East Wing – (right side of building )
Tanaara – 6th floor
TGS & Sanshyuum - 5th floor
Nexxus * Khaxrim – 4th floor
TMZ – 3rd floor
TGK & Unseelie Sidhe - 2nd floor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OOC: Just to let every one know - on my next post either Friday night or Saturday I'm going to start the confrence proper - so get any further preconference social interaction done by then.

Introductions etc...

Sargeant Gold Mira'ad peeled off to follow the Archon's aide and accompany the Miraade's second protective fireteam, callsign Soft Two. The vornskrari's long legs ate up the distance to put her at the head of Soft Two's formation. She still had her MOR at the ready. However, Soft Two's weapons were shouldered as they carried equipment to perform security sweeps. They trusted Tanaara and by lesser extension the other Fatal Terrain forces, but the Miraade's Guard had a saying, "We not paid or trained to believe the world was happy, peaceful, or trusting, just to ensure that it is." The remaining protective fireteam, Soft One, was situated behind and flanking the Miraade, with Major Delaney doggedly, silently standing to Errant's right.

Errant nodded respectfully to each representative and ruler in turn as they were introduced. To Madrigal Shimada, he added sincerely, "Congratulations on the promotion, Ambassador. I hope I'm correct in assuming a position in the Archon's Cabinet is more of a honor and reward for good service than it for those poor souls I rope into my Council of Secretaries."

~~~~~~~

Elsewhere at the airport...

The third Guard fireteam, callsign Stick One, pulled up in front of the three Kangaroos. The two Duece and a Halfs they were escorting ground to a halt as well, and the Air Force drivers and Guard shotgunners climbed down and wandered towards the transport aircraft. The commander of Stick One, Corporal Maria Salva climbed out of the Myth'alik and looked to her fireteam. "Alright, fall out, boys. The AFAP guys got our back. We're on rotation as Soft One in eight hours."

The three Guards nodded and headed towards the ramps up into Roos to break out their cots. The cavernous transports would serve as home sweet home and a place to relax for the one fireteam acting as Stick One at the moment. The Air Force Asset Protection fireteam, the Air Force drivers, and the pilots would rotate guard duty around the aircraft and ground vehicles. The AFAP airmen were up first. The rest were resting inside the Roos or under their gigantic wings.

Salva instead headed for the group of pilots that were sitting on cargo boxes. She hitched her MOR up onto her shoulder and stopped behind one of the pilots. "Gambling, General Quigley? Aren't you supposed to be an example showing how disciplined and.."

The pilot and commander of the Dragonfly flight and of the Catawabanshere at the airport, General Matthew Quigley, turned to look over his shoulder. "Wrong, Corporal. I'm here to keep the rest of you out of trouble...."

The rest of the pilots looked at each other. One, a captain, spoke up. "You usually invite and cause trouble, sir."

Quigley turned his attention on the captain.

"With all due respect, sir."

The General smiled. "Good, good, you're finally learning how to backtalk commanders. Remember 'with all due respect' or 'begging your pardon' with a smattering of 'sirs'..."

"Or 'ma'ams', sir." A young lieutenant said, a smirk on her seemingly innocent face.

"Exactly, Williams....and other than that you're golden. Remember backtalking commanders isn't only cathartic, it's vital to the wellbeing of every man jack..." Williams gave Quigley another smirk. "Or...woman jane in this military against stupid commanders and their bumbling."

Salva gave the general a raised eyebrow. "So this is also training exercise, sir?"

Quigley nodded. "Exactly, ethics, proper handling of officers, and strange foriegn card games are covered during the exercise. Sit down, Salva. I was just getting to Deadwood Draw. It's a variation of poker that I picked up while I was on leave once. It's good story."

Salva shook her head and sat down as Quigley began dealing cards and rolling into a story about how he ended up buried up to his neck in an ant hill in a desert. She wondered how he'd get to learning a card game from this prologue, but a Quigley story was all about the journey and wondering how much was reality and how much was BS.

OOC: Well it looks like very one who's going to show up has shown, so lets kick this pig, as the saying goes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The luncheon had just finished and in a few minutes the conference would get underway. Aides were doing the last minute adjustment and checks - removing the chairs reserved for nations that had not bothered to send deligates, making sure that each nations conference controls worked, carafes were full of ice water with spotless crystal, and every other need the deligates might have.

The round table (http://ec.europa.eu/commission_barroso/grybauskaite/images/photos/Grybauskaite_roundTable_020407b_full.jpg) was of what had become the standard design, hollow in the center, with the nations laid out by alphabet.

Assington, Catawaba, Cats Keep, Imitora, Khadrim, Sanshyuum, Tanaara, Tarlachia, The Golden Simatar, The Militarized Zone, Three Golden Kingdoms..

The aides double checked and tripple checked everything.

Archon Robert Ryan Fortier Hexx, and Morgan Kincannon as his senior minister took their places at Tanaara's section, as the other deligates were welcomed into the room and escorted by aides to their sections.

In the center of the empty space was a detailed hologram of the Fatal Terrain Region and the nations that had dissolved, fallen into anarchy, highlighted. Callisdrun, Central Worlds, Vashnear, Dragons Reach, Highport, Skull Kingdom, Ravea, Vashnear

Once they were all seated the exstraneous aides moved to the side of the room to wait patiently and discretely until needed.

"Thank you all for coming, and I hope that we can work together to deal with the problems facing our great region." He paused and continued. "Eight nations, and five of them in less than a month, have fallen, their governments dissolved, billions of people left with nothing. I have reliable reports and assessments by trained operatives in those ex nations. None show any signs of anything resembling a legitimate government being assembles. Yes there are numerous warlords, and very small scale, piecemeal efforts but nothing of any serious substance"

The data was in the electronic notebooks before each delegate - and the nations had had access to the information for several weeks - the Tanaarans had made sure of that, so that each nation's deligate would be reasonably informed.

"There are over twenty billion people floundering to just to stay alive and they are turning to the only places of stability they know and that is us. And no Imitora and Catawaba just because you are islands doesn't mean they're aren't trying to get to you too. Less than to those of us where all they have to do is cross land, but still they are heading your way."

"As are the pirates that have become an even greater threat now that the desperate are swelling their ranks."

"I believe that more than just individual nations responses are needed. I believe that we need a response to this on a regional level. The Fatal Terrain Red Cross is doing what they can but they are being targeted by warlords on land and pirates on the seas."

"Now I will be the first to agree that most of those nations have had little interaction with the rest of us here in Fatal Terrain but I think it is in all of ours best interests to respond to the situation. To actively work to some solution rather than just turn out backs."

He swept his look around the table, already willing to guess exactly what various responses would be.

Yellen sat quietly as he listened to the Tanaarans speak, his eye occasionally drifting down to the computer notebook in front of him. He was thankful at least that despite the collapse of several nations, the Golden Simatar remained strong and together.

Nation Collapse scenario was always played with in college, how would you react to that? Let them flounder and fight amongst themselves for a new leader? Move in and annex the land for your own? Or move in and keep the peace while trying to form new governments. Twenty billion people, no one to control them.

"I think we have to move with all possible speed in this situation." Yellen said calmly. "I suggest we create an Fatal Terrain Peace Keeping Force to go in and steady the situation. With eight governments now gone, their military facilities lay wide open. It is my opinion first and top priority is to seize all stocks of nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons and have them transported to our own military bases for safe keeping. Armories, navy, air force and army bases must also be seized.

We cannot allow a warlord to have their hands on powerful military equipment. To have one or several armed to the gills with tanks, planes, or God forbid WMDs would jeopardized any chance of a successful humanitarian mission. I cannot imagine how deadly pirates armed with a state of the art cruiser or attack submarine could be.

We also cannot allow these weapons to be sold off on the black market or have terrorist move in to take them for themselves. It is my opinion, taking and holding military bases and facilities should be first priority. Once they are in our control, we will wipe away a large segment of possible weaponry for these warlords. If we hold the bases, we will also have safe zones where we can store medicine and food and where people can receive medical attention in a safe, clean environment."

After he had finished Yellen drank some chocolate milk. Rhymer sat quietly next to him, his eyes focused on the President. He smiled to himself, Yellen might actually turn out alright. Yellen set his glass down and waited calmly to see how everyone would react.

The Alpha Miraade looked down to fiddle with his electronic notebook. He could have requested paper copies, but he needed to figure out how to use all this new fangled electronic osik. Couldn't have his secretary Jessica do it for him all the time.

He listened to each speaker, glancing up at them to show them he was paying attention. When they were finished, Errant looked up from the notebook to speak. He first looked to the Archon to respond to him. "I wouldn't think to say that Catawaba haven't been getting its share of refugees, sir." He said formally. Robert might be his friend and son of the woman he loved, but they were both wearing the mantles of their official positions and that put a different air about them. They were allies, respectful, close and yet distant.

He looked around to the other delegates. "The number and frequency of refugees arriving on my shores is low. The distance..." He waved a had towards the holographic map. "...over water from any of the chaos is the reason for that. But that hasn't stopped them from coming all the way to the north end of Catawaba."

Errant glanced downwards for a moment before looking up with a slightly remorseful expression. "And the conditions in...boats better suited to intercoastal travel than open seas...they've been horrendous. My coastal patrol craft have had to tow...what amounts to plague ships into ports...and more than a few bodies have washed up on the North's volcanic shores.'

He suppressed a shudder as he moved on. "Even before Saint Fabian and after which Catawaba officially joined as a Fatal Terrain government, my freighters were beginning to see a rise in piracy in the region. As training and precaution, I'd even assigned one of my precious few destroyers to accompany freighters in a small, escorted convoy." That decision would ever haunt him. The CNS Renown had been that escorting destroyer and was absent from the fleet off St. Fabian. He would always wonder if he'd had the Renown at St. Fabian, could more Tanaaran and Catawaban lives have been saved?

Errant took a deep breath and turned his focus to President Yellen. "I believe your gut reaction is right, sir, and your basic outline of the duties of peacekeeping forces is correct. However, the formation of any organized, cooperative, extraterritorial 'Fatal Terrain Peacekeeping Force'..." The Miraade paused to let everyone hear the theoretical capital letters in the name. "...would take too much time. Any organized, cooperative military force would need to train together in order to operate as a cohesive military unit. That's time we and those people in the dissolved nations don't have."

He again looked around to the other delegates. "Is the idea of a Fatal Terrain Peacekeeping Force necessarily bad? Perhaps not, but at the moment it is a moot point that should be discussed later at some time in the future. Right now, we need something that, if you'll pardon the Marine in me, puts boots on the ground and muzzles in faces. We might want to think about something along a divided stewardship of territory akin to that laid out in the Potsdam Conference after World War Two."

Once Miraade Errant had finished Colonel Hardcastle was recognised. She gave the young Miraade a acknowledging nod but had an air of 'but' about it.

"Actually Miraade Mira’ad, The Militarized Zone is currently trained with, or has trained with, most every nation here, as we had our origins in the Dark War. However I completely agree with President Yellens and yours assessment. We must move to secure the military armaments before they fall into impropper hands. We of TMZ are willing to bring in whatever troops, material and resources we have, and offer our expertise in cooperating and coordinating with the other nations which agree to relief and recovery efforts"

"However we have the serious problem of the fact that some of these disrupted nations operated on majikal technology. And many of the personell wouldn't recognise a majikal WMD if it walked up to us and introduced itself.

I also must add that the Operating Council has already been approached by individual's claining to have possession of WMD's from some of these collapsed nations. We have them 'on a leash' but do not have, as of this moment, the information as to the veracity of their claims."

Trovlia Sephirio used the electronic pen to jot down quick notes of the discussion provided in the field offered by the notebook for such a purpose. She simply noted whom spoke what, to refer back to such notes as needed.

As the discussion turned to the magical weaponry scattered throughout the collapsed nations, she raised her pen to command the attention of the others.

"While the presence of magical weaponry is indeed a concern for some, Tarlachia has the capability to identify and if necessary secure such problematic issues. I'd suggest securing those weapons at the military bases made secure by those nations tasked to do such. This would eliminate some of the cost of transport at least initially. Then, when the areas are more secure, and possible new nations arise from the ashes of fallen governments, we can return them to the people after ensuring they are stable governments who have not arisen to effect hostile regional activity."

Before entering the conference room, a small slip of paper was passed from a messenger to one of the ISS agents, and then on to Weymuth. He unfolded the note, read it for less than a second, then pocketed the paper. Finally, he removed a small pill from his coat pocket, popped it in his mouth, and swallowed.

“Antibiotics,” he explained to one on looker. “Had a nasty case of strep last weekend, still trying to kill it all off.”

He waved off the body guards as he entered the conference, room, found his seat, and leaned back in a fairly comfortable chair. He had no aides with him in the room, no assistants or watch dogs. The ISS details remained outside the conference room, keeping a watchful eye over the main hall whilst the delegates inside did all the talking.

Mark was carful to at least appear to be paying attention during the opening sales pitch, as he called it. He let the Tanaaran have his speaking moment, opening up the conference on more concerns of pirates and war lords. To this point, neither had really been much in the way of interest to the Imitoran government. It was one of those things they were used to just dealing with. While the other nations in the region may have been glad for the warm and fuzzy feeling of addressing the issue, putting it to vote, discussing it more, and philosophizing on the proper way to handle it, Imitora had always just, to coin a phrase, gone and done something about it. The recent operation out of Camp Casablanca had taken all of five minutes to authorize. The ICIA handed off the intell, and the First Speaker signed off on it, handing it to IMSPECWAR, and told them to go have fun. Operation Wave Crest had been handled much the same way. Intell had brought in satellite images, HUMINT reports, and some good old fashioned hard earned field intell to the First Speaker. Ten minutes later, the Navy and Air Force were conducting joint operations in the seas in and around the region, shooting, boarding, sinking, and other wise playing hell for anyone who didn’t belong.

Of course, boomers were a bit of a different story. The thought that some nut job intent on burning down the world could get their hands on a nuke didn’t bother him much, Imitora long had counter measures that had proven effective against such attacks for quite some time. The same went for the germs, those were usually handled quite well with thermite. Chemicals were the scary ones. Imitora had never been opposed to the use of chemical weapons, and in fact had quite its own stock pile. In a world where nukes were used as frequently as the seventeen cent bullet, and germs could be killed off within seconds by a nice warm thermal event, you still had to have a way to scare the shit out of who ever you were shooting at. Those came in the form of the Imitoran style of chemical weapons. Nerve agents and mustard gas were quite passé. The Imitoran’s preferred the goo that cleanly stripped flesh from bone, or caused a near complete and instant evaporation of the water in the human body. Then there was the quasi chemical/germ weapon that was its final stages of testing, one which rewired the human body within an instant to have the white blood cells decide the brain or heart or lungs were foreign agents that needed to be removed.

He pondered the Simitarian response for a brief moment, and took a long sip of the black coffee.

“Simplify it.”

He let it sink in for only a brief second, then continued. The Prez here has a good idea, but you need to simplify it. Don’t seize anything. Just blow it all to hell. What are you going to do with a stock pile of AK47s? Or bombs? Or nukes? Everyone here has their own super weapons, its not much of a secret. So lets just make it so they can’t have any. We have KMAVs that can put a laser up the ass of a flea from high earth orbit and blow it to high hell, lets just turn ‘em loose over all these weapon sites.

“Same thing with their military bases. I don’t know about you, but I could really care less about what the hell they have when I know our boats and planes are better. Smart bombs, bunker busters, lets just take out everything while its still on the ground. Besides, speaking from the pilots seat myself, I’m not to worried about some starving refugee taking out an advanced combat air craft. Its not as easy as they make it seem in Microsoft Flight Simulator. Be easier and more effective to just catch it before it takes off. We can put a few dreadnoughts up against port, light ‘em up. And look at the long run of the situation. After they rebuild their nations, they have to come buy guns and boats and planes from us.

“As far as roving bands of rebels and terrorist and pirates? Well, we just spent about a year in, uh, Tarlachia, working with their forces shooting up bad guys in the outback.”

He said Tarlachia, and while Imitoran Marines had worked with Tarlachian forces in counter terror exercises and operations in the border lands and wastes, the real operation had been on the other side of the border. Though every map and shipping number and logistic record would put Camp Casablanca in Tarlachia, any basic GPS would put it fifteen miles on the eastern side of the border.

“It was effective, to say the least. If you want to pick any of these guys up, I’d recommend some of our teams, some Argonians. You wanna kill them, you wanna question them, whatever. I hear our SWORD Crews liked working with the Argonians when they’ve gone out together. But there is no question, you got to make the war lord’s disappear first. You never run humanitarian operations when the bad guys are still running around. That’s when you end up having to send in teams and crews to rescue a group of self righteous doctors or dumb ass college students who think their pithy Che tee is hip and cool and edgy.”

He paused for just another brief moment. “I wouldn’t worry to much about our handling of the influx of illegals. Nothing wrong with more cheap or free labor, and we can handle population control just fine. Been doing it long enough.” Besides, he didn’t add, it gave the Little Bird pilots and Navy gunners good small moving target practice.

“And, as is standard practice, Imitora is now and always will be against the creation of a Fatal Terrain Peace Keeping Force, or any such body. We’ve been there and done that with the Sambizians, and we won’t be going back. Say what you will about how it will be organized, commanded, whatever. It wont work. But if you end up sending some Red Cross or whatever, I’m sure that the IMC will show up to handle security and shoot things. They haven’t been let out of their cage for a while now.”

Errant listened quietly, politely, attentively to the representatives from TMZ and Tarlachia. He had to defer some to both as more experienced members of the region. He respected The Militarized Zone for their military prowess and their international cooperation. He looked forward to organizing some cooperation or training with his military forces at some point during the conference. In Tarlachia, he was glad to see someone who knew the hell how to handle Mystical WMDs step up. He jotted down notes of what anti-mystical capabilities Catawaba possessed. The list was short, amounting to his Guard with the vornskrari for tracking and identification of mystical targets and entities, certain members of the Taung community who he could recruit, and one General Matthew Quigley who was his only experienced anti-mystical asset.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across the island at the airport...

Quigley sneezed. The poker hand was interrupted by a chorus of 'Bless you...with all due respect, sir.'

He opened his eyes and looked at the last player in the game besides himself. The Kangaroo loadmaster, a tech sergeant, smirked and pushed his entire pile of chips into the center of the cargo container. "All in, sir." He said, voice dripping with cocky mirth. He laid down his cards, a royal flush.

Quigley looked down at his cards and then up at the sergeant. He laid down a hand of a two pairs of aces and eights all black with the nine of diamonds, the Deadman's Hand, and the ultimate hand in the Deadwood Draw variant of poker.

The tech sergeant’s jaw dropped. "But you..."

Quigley shook his head. "The sneeze wasn't a tell. It was a foreboding sneeze, usually means I'm going to get roped into something more dangerous, unusual, and strenuous than I'm used to doing on a daily basis.'

The assembled pilots and Guards that came to watch the game gave expressions dripping with doubt. "Bullshit, sir!" They yelled in unison.

"With due respect, sir." Lieutenant Williams chimed in gleefully.

Quigley gave her a sidelong glance. "You say that now, but when we're...I don't know...dogfighting griffons, I'm taking that opportunity to write 'I told you so' with my contrails."

~~~~~~~~~

The Imitoran, Weymouth's, addition to the discussion was anything but quiet, polite, or attentive to the rest of the region, which was mostly the reason that Errant felt the same way towards Weymouth. Mercy had warned him about this. She'd gone at great lengths to brief him about each of the countries and their own eccentricities. She'd tried to prepare him for the...heavy-handed approach that Imitorans used. She'd hoped to cushion the blow against what she'd called his off-white armor of Knight Erranthood.

Sitting next to him at the table, Mercy knew she'd tried and failed. She put her hand over Errant's trying to forestall him, but all she could do was stop him from jumping to his feet. He glanced over at her for a brief moment, his ice blue eyes colder, and she knew his off-white armor had no give and Weymouth had pulled none of his blow.

He turned a glare on Weymouth. "I knew y'all were gorram'd, chakaaryc, di'kutla dar'buir'ade."

"Errant." He could hear Mercy hiss beside him. Even said in a combination of Catawaban slang and Taung'a, the tone laid it somewhere around an insult of Weymouth's parentage and by the use of 'y'all' and the 'e' at the end of 'dar'buir'ade' most of Imitora in turn.

Errant partially regretted blurting that out, but he was torqued. Images of the old Togovian rule of Catawaba and then Saint Fabian conjured up inside his mind's eye and whipped him on. "But gorram, I didn't finger y'all for fascists." The part of him that had tried to learn some shred of culture and civility cringed as his anger erased any trace of educated speaking and dropped straight into his Catawaban slang and twang.

“Not just a fascist dar’buir’ad but a jingoist at that.” Errant snorted. “Yeah, it’d be a damn mite simpler to just go in blow the ruttin’ hell out of every stockpile, base, and ‘flea’s ass’ in the damned place!”

Mercy squeezed down on Errant’s hand. He looked at her and made himself take a deep breath before returning to his tirade, a little calmer. “But everything there was bought and paid for by the blood, sweat, and tears of those poor bastards in those chaos zones. Even if their government folded around them, gorammit, everything in that nation’s boundaries belongs to the people.”

Errant slammed his free hand open palmed onto the table. “And I’ll be damned, and y’all be too, if we start makin’ that a precedent for correct behavior in this region. I…my whole damn country fought tooth, nail, and bullet to free ourselves from that sort of di’kutla osik. Fifty-six of my men and women and just about two thousand Tanaarans died not three months ago fightin’ blarekkare who expounded the same course of action.” Errant breathed in heavy snorts as he tried to bring himself back under control.

Numura had taken his seat along with the others, but was completely perplexed as to how to use the device given to him. His eyes just stared at the piece of technological achievement and were lost. He had not the slightest idead how to even turn it on, much less on the best way to make notes on the speeches being made by the different delegates. Obviously flustered by his lack of technological savvy, an aide kindly removed the computer and gave Numura a quill, ink, and some paper. Happy to have something that he was used to, he quickly dipped the quill into the ink and jotted down what he thought to be prudent information.

The outburst by the Catawaba representative had disturbed what Vakaras thought was a tranquil atmosphere, and thought it best to add in what he could.

"While I do not agree entirely with what our good Imitorian has proposed, I do agree with him on certain parts. It is completely folley to send in peacekeepers and other humanitarian aid before the threat level is significantly reduced to where casualities are the exception. Furthermore, the idea of a Red Cross style organisation, while noble in idea, can not work in such a large region, nor would I desire to commit support to it from my country.

To be perfectly honest, there is little I or my country can do for these people, nor would we desire to do so if were in a position to. At most, if it is needed, we would be able to bring in a hundred thousand of these refugees. We would be able to give them shelter, proper rations, and professions. One hundred thousand, not a single soul more, as we simply do not have the manpower or the infrastructure to support anything beyond that."

He paused for a moment, and slowly stared in to the eyes of each of those representatives assembled, while taking a neccasary sip of the glass of water that was provided. Once finished, he put both of his rather small hands on the table with his palms facing down, and stared directly at the Tanaaran Archon.

"I appreciate the thought and the idea behind trying to aid these poor souls, I honestly do. Yet I cannot in good concious allow what meager forces and recourses that my country has at its' disposal be wasted on the care of others while our own people are left starved and defenceless. Doing so would jepordize all that the Fortunas have worked soo dilgently to achieve. So, it is up to you then Archon, if you want these plans of yours to succeed."

Leaning back into his chair, he relaxed just a tad and slowly took in some deep breaths while awaiting for what he was sure was going to be a swift and severe verbal reprimand.

Yellen had to smile to himself. He was a President by default, barely in office for a half-year and what his idea was actually making some people talk. He turned to Colonel Hardcastle to ask him what a 'majik WMD' was, but before could ask, Weymuth spoke. Yellen turned his attention to the Imitorian.

"Simplify?"

Yellen sat there, his mouth open as he stared at the Imitorian in horror. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Despite the fact those nations no longer existed, it didn't give them the right to be firing lasers and destroying military sites. Not to mention possible nuclear explosions, chemical and radiation clouds spreading...Yellen could hear a flurry of English and some other language being screamed, obviously at the Imitorian. He didn't make out what was being said, but the speaker was certainly angry.

Yellen twisted his head to see Errant being slowly calmed down before he unleashed his final tirade, then he was quiet. Yellen nodded and turned back to Weymuth.

"The only thing I can find to agree with you is that the warlords must be removed. Peacefully I must add, killing them in the middle of the night will not win these people over. I should say on Errant's suggestion of dividing up the lands would make them easier to control, however a Regional Board should be established to ensure that conditions are fair and good in all sectors. We can't have nations reformed only to find some of them were pushed back into the Stone Age.

On Weymuth's...other note about the stockpiles, I must to agree with Errant. What you are proposing is sheer insanity. Baring the fact that blowing up stocks of WMDs and other weapons would instantly kill thousands, if not millions in the eruptions...it would cause clouds of radioactive waste and God knows what else to spread into the atmosphere. That would kill millions more not only in those lands but also in the countries bordering them should the wind bring the clouds over.

"Sending in troops as peacekeepers and to restore order is one thing and thuggery another. The Republic of the Golden Simatar will not be involved in any action that entails such use of military force."

Boris and Jack made their way into the main conference chamber and promptly found their seats. Boris arched back in his chair, getting comfortable whilst Jack immediately began examining the electronic note pad provided for them, quickly identifying how to operate it.

Now listening to the opening speech, Boris allowed Jack to handle all the note taking and such as he preferred to simply listen and let the details sink into his head. Despite his age, Boris was still as sharp as anyone half his age, a fact he prided himself in.

After listening to everyone speak, Boris decided it was his turn to throw in some input. Purposefully not getting involved with the argument between Imitora and Catawaba, Boris simply offered his own opinion on the issues already discussed.

"Seizing weapons and military bases is definitely a good idea. Even if some of the gear is not that easy to use it would be foolish to think someone out there wouldn't be able to figure it out. As for destroying them, that seems terribly wasteful and unnecessary.

"As far as a regional peace keeping force, I will have to agree with Mr. Weymuth. Those sort of operations are generally plagued with issues that can end up doing more damage to the intended cause than aid. Anything larger than the current regional Red Cross would likely become difficult to manage. I would suggest we send in our own forces but coordinate heavily with each other, divide territories up between our forces so we know who is handling what. I believe that would be more effective.

"As for the warlords and pirates, we are happy to deal with them in a manner that should put an end to their shenanigans. Despite being off the mainland of the continent we have been receiving a fair amount of refugees. Due to such we have begun the establishment of a colony on the land to the south of Khadrim, establishing dwellings and infrastructure for these refugees to settle themselves and rebuild their lives. I believe we covered some of this at the last conference. So far this is going well and we would be open to taking more refugees into the colony borders."

Ryath and Thor were reasonably ignorant of most regional issues despite what they had managed to learn in their year outside of Khadrim. The electronic notepad in front of Ryath may as well have been a rock as far as she was concerned, almost entirely useless for recording anything. Thor on the other hand had picked up a keen interest for the advanced technologies of the surrounding nations and within a few minutes was easily writing a few notes on the pad, mostly about the character of certain nations portrayed by their representatives.

Evidently Khadrim wasn't in a position to provide assistance to refugees or acquiring military bases as its own meagre army was engaged by the hordes of people controlled by the god assaulting their nation. Whilst Ryath and Thor certainly could offer some assistance in detecting arcane weapons that was about all they could offer until affairs in their homeland were sorted out.

Taking a brief pause in the discussion as opportunity to speak, Ryath stood.

"As some of you may or may not know, Khadrim is current under siege by an army greater than ours. This restricts our ability to offer significant assistance but Thor and myself would be willing to offer some assistance in regard to dealing with arcane items as that is where our expertise lies. And, if possible, I would like to raise the issue of Khadrim's predicament at a later point in this conference."

As the representative from Khadrim finished Lady Shalamar stood, and waited, unspeaking for a long second, catching every ones attention with her commanding silence. Letting the weight of her Presence be sink in.

Then she caught Errant’s eyes with her own, and shook her head gently but there was little censure in her tone. "I appreciate your passionate convictions, and objections to the Imitoran’s outlook. But it won't change them" She said mildly, but the look in her eyes as she turned to the Imitoran, Weymuth, was nothing friendly or approving "but then again I don't expect anything would make the Imitorans other than what they are."

"I do not wish to see a Regional peacekeeping force. Oh doubtless ours would indeed have the teeth that the U.N.'s blue helmets lack. However I too have seen the problems mentioned. The TMZ is about the only similar force that has managed to perform not only well but in an exemplary fashion.. However even they would be stretched past sensibility given the sheer size and scope of the problem. The Fatal Terrain Red Cross is an excellently organized organization and well equipped to handle the civilian portion of the problem – if given the needed personnel and materials. And military protection..”

Once again she met the Imitoran’s eyes “However I can not and will not agree to Mister Weymuth’s suggestion for dealing with the stockpiles of weapons – be they conventional or more.”

She addressed him directly - Her tone was hard but she had never raised her voice – it just naturally carried well. “Sir, it may please your nation not to think of the environmental damage such vigorous destruction would cause, but rest assured your nation would suffer just as much as the rest of us would. You nation may be an island but it like man is not unentwined with the rest of ours and us. Despite your contemptible lack of empathy and concern”

The Tenerista turned her formidable attention back to the rest “Additionally President Yellen, and President Lepedius, and Alpha Miraade Mira’ad are all correct. Those weapons belong to those people, even if it is not safe to have them in their hands at the moment. The military bases and arsenals need to be seized and made safe. The warlords and the pirates dealt with firmly.” She had not one whit of a problem with assassination, or capture and execute summarily – she could be as blood thirsty as any Imitoran – it just depended on the circumstances.

“However it is not just traditional or magical WMD’s that are at risk.” She gave a quick glance over to the Tanaaran Archon who nodded slightly. “Ten days ago the remnants of the Central World’s Legion SpaceForces underwent a mutiny and nearly turned their weapons on planet side targets. The problem is now mostly contained and most of the ships are under Tanaaran control. However not all are and many weapons of highly advanced natures and those trained to wield them to their deadliest effect are still at bases in the Central Worlds. I have it on good Intel that they are holding out as best they can, but they are close to collapse.”

She wondered if any one would catch the oddity of her reporting on what was ostensibly a Tanaaran operation.

OOC: Do Not ask me how many times I lost the post for this today, and I won't bite your head off...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robert Ryan Fortier Hexx looked around the table mentally checking off those who had spoken, and gave a mental nod. Standing once again he began what he believed to be a fairly consise summary.

"The majority of us here do not want the the formation of a Regional Peace Keeping Force. I agree whole heartedly with that, and it was never my intenion for this confrence to see to the organization of one. My thought was very much along the lines of what President Lepedius has suggested." He gave Boris a nod.

Then he directed his gaze to Colonel Hardcastle "I do wish to thank TMZ for their willingness to undertake coordinating efforts. That can certainly be done without the formation of a regional Force."

Colonel Hardcastle nodded, trying to coordinate over the entire scope of the region would certainly stretch them beyond stability. However the Operating Council had their own thoughts tht they'd tasked her to present when the time was right.

The Archon's eyes lit on the Imitoran representative "President Yellin is completely correct that your suggestion is not feaseable Mister Weymuth. I will not allow the majority of the region to take a toxic, biological and radioactive hit just so your boys can have fun blowing things up. And as Lady Shalamar says it would affect you as well."

One of these days Imitora was going to learn that there was more to life than merely being the best ass kicker about. And he could have told Errant that his upset was simply wasted on the Imitorans. Rob might respect the Imitoran military, but he mostly didn't like their government or their culture.

However he needed to have a private word with President Yellen. He needed to realise that his nation had terorist training camps and worse peppered like fleas all along his northern borders and that Rob had strong concerns about his military being any where near capable of handling the troubles along his southeren border. Not with the Djeri empire just south of that...

"I will pledge on Tanaara's behalf four hundred and fiftey three Billion Aurics to the Fatal Terrain Red Cross." Privately he hoped that the other wealthy nations of Fatal Terrain would match that, though he knew that Imitora, the only ones that could truly match Tanaara, most likely wouldn't.

"Lady Ryath, Lord Thor, I will gladly speak with you later about adding your issue to the conference agenda."

Lastly he turned to Lord Numura of the Three Golden Kingdoms and his voice was mild ut firm. "I can understand your postiion and inability to give more than the intake of a nomial number of refugees. We would not ask you for anything your nationn would not willingly give." And his eyes said he'd be damned if even a single refugee was sent their way. He could stop those that approached on their own, but he'd do his best to make sure that there were far better options open to them.

"Seeing how as dusk is descending" And it was well past six in the evening. "I shall call this conference for the day."

"La Nocturne has been reserved for tonight and tomorrow for our dining pleasure. I will be dining there from 7:30 on for whomever would care to enjoy some lesiurely discussion; all of you are welcome to enjoy the culinary delights as our guests."

The four star restraunt truly deserved the rating and the al fresco dining patio was exquisite.

OOC: *slips on beskar helmet* Not a lot to lose, what are ya a clutz? ;)

Errant pardoned himself to the representatives of Assington and Cats Keep, trying to salvage something of a professional reputation, then excused himself to Mercy and got up immediately after the Archon adjourned the conference for the night. His Guard seperated themselves from the wall to fall in behind him.

The Miraade paid them no heed as he shoved aside a door that lead down into the garden courtyard with it's crashing waterfall and koi pond. He felt like an ass. No, he knew he'd made an ass of himself. He'd screamed obscenties at the representative of a much larger nation, ill-advised at least, genocidial for his nation at worst, no matter how well that representative deserved those obscenties.

His boots clattered down onto the rough cobble stones of a foot path that wound towards the waterfall. He went there hoping the calming water would remind him of better times and images than those that had sparked his tirade in the conference room. He was twenty-six, extremely young, and Errant caught it in look and expressions of most everyone in that room. There was respect also in their expressions, because one does not usually get to be ruler without some bonfide of quality.

And as Errant started into the turbulent water at base of the falls, he saw a convienent allegory for his own turbulent life. True, he was only twenty-six, but he'd packed a lot into the last eight years. He'd gone from juvenile deliquent forced to enlist in the colonial marines to military commander of a rebellion to only surviving senior leader of that rebellion to Miraade in eight years.

If the sheer pace of changes heaped on him weren't enough, it was the hardships others had suffered along his way. Villages shelled by artillery to bring his rebel forces into fights he knew he couldn't win, fights he'd forced himself to ignore. Two towns full of corpses that died wretching from chemical weapons because they'd aided him. Finding one of his platoons wiped out because their antiquated piss masks, the only protective gear he get smuggled in and could issued them, couldn't do a gorram thing to a chemical that seeped in through the skin.

He couldn't think. He reached up to place a hand over his face. He felt so foolish. He felt so angry. He couldn't even participate in the tail end of today's discussion without feeling like he was going to fall apart one way or another. It was probably a good thing he'd just stayed quiet while Mercy squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him. Errant didn't think he could have talked civily even to Rob, and definitely not to his northern neighbor, Lord Namura from the Three Golden Kingdoms, without cursing other young man's country for not being more generous which might have kept those refugees from flinging themselves into unsuitable boats over dangerous waters to his far away shores.

He ran his hand down his face to his neck and looked down in the water. "Dammya, Raul. Dammya and that ruttin' cell meetin'..."

"Well I hate to be a party pooper, but me and Sukri will not be joining you. I have much to do before the next day, so if you would excuse me, I shall take my leave."

Giving a bow to the delegates, Numura made his way out of the conference room and Sukri deligantly following behind him. He saw the disdain in the Archon's eyes and he had already decided that he would not be trusting him, or any other Tanaaran's for anytime in the near future. Still, he had his secondary mission to complete, and making enemies with one of the largest powers in the region was a step in the wrong direction.

Perhaps Tarlachia or The Golden Simitar might be the path to choose, they seem to be more on the level. Though the Archon being wed to the Tarlachian Empress might pose a problem. Further probing must be done before I make a move.

As usual, the Argonian delegation arrived 'fashionably' late, and they hoped they hadn't missed anything important. Their small jet had had some mechanical difficulties on the trip over and delayed them significantly.

Compared to the other delegations the Argonian group was small, consisting of four delegates and four security personnel, all of which were lightly armed. Argonians being the warrior culture that they were, a meeting of this scale was best attended by high-ranking officers, and that's just what they sent.

Colonel Keyton Kerrich was a veteran of many campaigns in his homeland during the Second Civil War, and had been recently promoted Officer In Charge of the entire Argonian Special Warfare Command. Kerrich's resume included many years in the Argonian flavor of the Special Forces, as well as the Longhunter Corps before that and several medals awarded for valor in combat, to include the Red Cross he'd recieved for losing his left eye.

His second in command, and head of the Argonian Navy's specialized unit, STAB, was Colonel Ket Keltin, another veteran of many battles during the Second Civil War as well as the pirate campaigns against the smugglers supplying the Insurgent forces who hadn't yet surrendered or assimilated themselves into the auxillary units of the Argonian National Army. Colonel Keltin, along with Colonel Kerrich, had participated in the successful, at least to them, 'Cruise Ship Incident', a joint operation with members of the Imitoran Naval Special Ops and Tanaaran agents. Keltin himself was eager to see if Chief Wickwire would be in attendance, but he doubted it.

Grandmaster Whiptail, to use his official title, had been brought along for his diplomatic expertise and his pleasant relations with several of the other nation's delegates. As a Shadowscale, Whiptail also had a unique position to advise the others on whatever black operations that might need to be undertaken on behalf of their allies. He was rather annoyed that his people had remained out of the Dark War and wasn't going to let that happen again, even if he had to fight another such conflict on his own. He doubted that, however. With Kerrich and Keltin sharing his feelings, and least Argonian SPECWAR troops would be supporting him and his government agents in the field.

The final delegate was an odd one, a human mercenary by the name of Dekker Bray. A long-time friend of Whiptail and newly-hired military advisor to the Argonian military as a whole, his help in developing training doctrines and tactics for the many specialized units that made up the bulk of the Argonian Armed Forces had become invaluable and he'd been complelled to attend the conference.

The security detail was a small one, two Special Forces operators hand-picked by Colonel Kerrich, and two STAB operators selected for this mission by Colonel Keltin. All four were hardened veterans and seemed alert as they fanned out to protect the others from whatever unseen threats there might be, but all doubted they'd see any action on this deployment.

They hadn't come dressed to impress, fashion sense wasn't an Argonian trait. Kerrich and his boys wore the standard digital jungle pattern while Keltin and his two troops wore the digital naval pattern. Whiptail had gone with a conservative pair of khakis and a black polo, and Bray had chosen a similar set-up, only his polo was bit larger to cover his massive chest. Weapons were also in evidence, and openly carried along with individual luggage.

The security detail marched behind the four-man delegation, two STAB's in front and two SF in the rear, all carrying the issued weapons of their respective divisions. Kerrich's trademark M1911A1 Springfield Operators sat in twin SERPA holsters, one on either thigh. A tomahawk bumped along on his right side, and a Cold Steel Black Bear Classic matched it on the left. Keltin simply carried the issue Glock 21SF in a SERPA on his left side and the Mercworx Proeliator knife at the small of his back. Whiptail's knives were in the same position, and he wasn't carrying a sidearm this time, he didn't feel he'd need it. Bray was wearing his custom-built Kimber Gold Combat II in an aged black leather shoulder rig, but he'd removed the usual KA-BAR as he felt that was a little much for a diplomatic conference. Once he'd seen the size of the knives carried by Keltin and his boys, he'd began to think that it was a moot point.

The timeline Whiptail had been given stated they'd already missed one of the important talks and now everyone had gone to dinner. He dismissed the security detail for the evening and motioned for the others to follow him to the in-house dining facility, 'La Nocturne'...

"I'm getting a nicer jet next time, these budget cuts are killing me..."

"Dude, chill... Knowing these guys they haven't gotten much accomplished today, it was just a bunch of meeting-and-greeting and some throwing of ideas..."

The brief exchange between Whiptail and Dekker reflected the merc's ideas on how these things worked, but Whiptail knew better...

"Probably some discussion on what they're going to do with all the refugees flooding in and how to control the terrorists and pirates we've been encountering. Good thing we brought Keyton and Ket..."

"Yeah, couldn't hurt..."

The two Colonels would be handy for such discussions if they hadn't missed them completely. Then they'd be useless, except for Ket's Zen-like patience and Keyton's quick temper...

"Damnit Whiptail you just had to show up late didn't you?" Rob roared as he all but materialized that the Argonian's side and wrapped him in a brief bear hug. "And made the Imi's go boy's day....if you brought some Hisst with you."

He gave Colonel Kerrich and Colonel Keltin little more than mere nods. "Colonels. I'm glad to see they sent their best."

He had taken a deep dislike to Kerrich - with large amjounts of justification given some of the things Kerrich had said and done - during the Monoceros exploration - to the point where the planets given to the Argonian's were actually the personal property of one Grand Master Whiptail.

But as he respected the Catawaban military for builing themselves out of near nothing so did he respect the Argonians for the same thing.

"Still I'm glad you came. Care to join the round table I'm hosting at the restraunt? And you must be Dekker Bray, their new military advisor. I'm Rob."

The young Archon pro~offered Dekker Bray a hand while aides also materialised out of seemingly thin air and offered to have luggage taken up to the Argonian's suite. "Your men can probably roll loose. We've not only got the local security pukes, and my folks but Imitora rolled in with more than the eye can take in, Catawaba showed up locked and loaded, mom's here with the SSS, TMZ has something special lurking around and Lady Shalamar not only brought herself, but her second in command...all we need is a terrorist in a pear tree and fun will envelope us all"

"You've got about thirty minutes - you want to get settled in and chill or have a brew on tha patio and let me fill you in on the days chatter?"

Lady Shalamar requested Valkidriss to invite Lady Ryath and Lord Thor to dine with her and others. It had been planned between her and the Archon, to hold down separate tables, And see who ended up where. She’d be there at roughly seven thirtish and that would give her time to change - after she had a chat with the young Alpha Miraade from Catawaba.

As Lady Valkidriss moved off to issue the invitation on behalf of the Tenerista, Shalamar turned and followed the path taken by Errant. Nodding to the young mans guards - she knew they'd alert him - not that she had any intention of sneaking up on him, but she was naturally soft footed even in human form - an enterprise she spent rater considerable amounts of personal energy on. The shape her body fell into most naturally these days tended to be disquieting to people.

“Don’t feel bad. Even though I’ve dealt with them for years, their attitudes pull much the same response from me. Though my cursing is seldom so creative. You were broadcasting the thought concepts behind them pretty strongly.” She raised a hand to forestall any protests “No I wasn’t reading your mind and under the Words and Wards no one else was, or was ‘hearing’ you.. I simply recognized the ‘energy shuffle’ so to speak.”

Her tone went acerbic “And you are absolutely correct. They don’t respect anyone, they don’t care what any one thinks of them, they are arrogant and over competitive, and have immense egos. The only two Imitoran’s ever worth a damn, well one’s dead and I wish the other was here instead of Weymuth.”

Dekker shook the offered hand with a firm, but not too firm, handshake, his large mitt wrapping securely over Rob's...

"Nice ta meetcha, man. Godzilla's told me a lot about you..."

Kerrich threw a harsh glance in Rob's direction. There was no love lost between the two, the human had more than a little disdain for his methods and Kerrich harbored more than a little resentment for the human's underdeveloped sense of practicality. Colonel Keltin, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so cold in his methods...

"And this is Colonel Ket Keltin, head of the new STAB teams..."

"A pleasure to meet you, Archon..."

Bray released Rob's hand and leaned in a little closer...

"You'll like him, Kerrich is a little cold even by my standards..."

"Dek, give the man some room. You're too frigging big to be crowding people..."

Whiptail's voice came somewhere from the right, a familiar sound to both men...

"It's good to see you again, Rob. We're working on getting colonists together, in case you were wondering. The President and Parliament weren't too happy that you gave the planets to me, but hey, what can they do?"

There was a laugh at the end of the statement, something that seemed to piss Kerrich off a little bit. Whiptail and Kerrich had earned a bit of respect for each other on the Monocereos expedition, but it was more of a professional respect than the personal version. Whiptail had begun to respect Kerrich's resolve to do what had to be done under whatever circumstances, so long as the objective was accomplished. It was a useful trait under some circumstances. Kerrich had begun to appreciate Whiptail's finesse and resourcefulness, but not too much so. He still felt the assassin didn't have enough backbone when it came to certain things but then again he hadn't been along on an operation with Whiptail and couldn't really say...

"You mentioned drinks? I like drinks..."

Dekker was a fan of beer, and any offer of beer was usually quickly snapped up...

"You're a fucking alcholoic, Dek..."

Whiptail's comment was in jest, but he was still shaking his head all the same...

When the young lord made his way into his and Sukri's accomodations, it was clear that the silent conflict between he and the Archon was still weighing on the representative's mind.

"I don't care if he is the leader of one of the most power nations in the region, the world even, that Go-to-Hell stare was simply a line he should not of crossed. I come here because the Empress asked me to, despite my numerous protests, but still I came here for her. I know that I am supposed to be well-behaved and a personification of the the best of the Kingdoms, but I can not hide my feelings as well as our respected fellow representatives.

Do you think I was in the wrong Sukri? Should I go to that resturaunt and try to reconcile, try to further our aims?"

The veteran bodyguard merely smiled and handed the young man his formal dress robes, the ones that he had arrived in the previous day. Vakaras let out a half-sigh half-laugh and shook his head. For all his formal training the past two years to be a diplomat, a hand of the Empress, he still had to rely on Sukri for morale support. He wondered if it was some sign that he was not fit for the part, that a trained diplomat could not make the best decisions when a man trained to do nothing but protect and kill could.

"Oh Sukri, perhaps Kasai would of been the wiser choice, but I am here aren't I? I dare not think of the many blunders I would have made and those that would have been worse had you not been at my side. I, and my father before me, have been truly honored to have had you been our sworn protector. Perhaps the time for that protection is to be at an end soon, but know that for my part, I have always considered you more of as a friend and mentor. So, as a friend, I ask you to take the night off as my protector and enjoy the scenery and allow me to spring forward alone into the chaos. If I am to falter, then I will falter and accept my shame." Taking one last look at his silver-haired friend, the smile and pride coming from the warrior made a smile once more make its' way to Numura. As he took his step outside the room and moved to close the door, he whispered, "Wish me luck old friend, wish me luck."

With the sly smile on his face, Numura swallowed his pride and headed towards La Nocturne, with his watch, a birthday gift from Empress Elsie herself, told him that he had just a few minutes to make his way to the resturaunt if he wished not to be late.

With the first round of talks called to an end, Boris and Jack departed their seats and made their way towards the exit. Boris had expected similar comments from the Imitoran representative and he had briefed Jack on such so neither had been particularly surprised at that or the outburst from the Catawaba representative.

Assington didn't really have a lot to do with Imitora on any level. Whilst the nations did agree and do things in a similar manner regarding some issues, like many others in the region, Assington did not like Imitora. Boris never saw such as a significant issue though, the two nations had always kept to their own business and never bothered each other and he was happy to keep it that way.

Exiting the conference hall, Boris and Jack made their way towards an elevator on the west wing that would take them up to the second floor. Stepping into the elevator, Boris leaned casually against the wall.

"So Jack, what table should we attend tonight? From what I read in that booklet, Rob will be hosting one and so will Shalamar."

Jack nodded, indicating he knew such.

"I'd say we dine with the Archon tonight. Traditionally we've had little to do with Lady Shalamar and her nation and whilst I believe we should further relations with Cats Keep, for now we should focus on Tanaara."

"Indeed. We've got enough time to clean up a bit."

Two members of the Praetorian Guard stood outside the Assingtonian room whilst the others were likely inside. Boris simply gave the men a brief nod before entering, Jack right behind him.

Some half an hour later the pair emerged from their room, Boris wearing a plain button up shirt, long pants and a sports jacket whilst Jack was garbed in suit, highlighted by a red tie and black shoes shiny enough to act as crystal clear mirror. Boris simply shook his head as he looked over Jack.

"Always so formal. One of these days I will teach you to relax a little."

Jack simply shook his head in return.

"And one of these days I will teach you to dress and act appropriately for the occasion."

Boris simply unleashed an amused chuckle as he indicated they should leave, heading back to the elevator and down onto the ground floor. It didn't take the pair long to locate La Nocturne and once they had arrived they were greeted by one of the restaurant staff, the young man recognising Boris immediately.

"President Lepedius, Vice-President Murphy. Where would you like to be seated?"

Boris gazed around the restaurant for a moment before replying.

"We are taking up the Archon's invitation to dine with him tonight."

Ryath and Thor eagerly accepted Shalamar's invitation from Valkidriss, stating they would be happy to dine with her. With that said and done, the pair departed the conference hall and began their short journey to the fourth floor on the east wing to locate their room.

Again, Ryath noted that Thor had adapted to the mass use of complicated technologies rather well, being easily able to operate the elevator. Ryath still found herself somewhat uneasy around all the machines. Dragons had always been a very natural species in Khadrim, they did what they could with their physical or arcane abilities and that was enough to get by. Humans and dwarves were far more industrious species and whilst she was happy to see them excel in their own ways, it was somewhat disconcerting to dragons.

The suite was quite large for human standards as far as Ryath could tell and even Thor commented on such, even though he was used to being holed up in some library within the Mage's Keep back home. The pair spent their idle time examining the suite and the many objects within for a while before a clock upon the wall indicated they should begin making their way to La Nocturne. Both remained in the clothing they had worn to the conference as they were the only clothes they had with them, although they possessed the ability to change them at will.

With a map in hand, the pair managed to get to the restaurant with little trouble and were promptly greeted by one of the staff.

"Lady Ryath, Lord Thor. Where would you like to dine tonight?"

Ryath gave the young man a brief smile as she took in her surroundings.

"We have been invited to sit with Lady Shalamar tonight."

The Miraade and the Lady Shalamar...

In the meandering cobblestone path, Corporal Mird Mira'ad had heard the soft footfalls on the stones, but he wasn't the first to spot Lady Shalamar. Private First Class Chris Wiggins returned the Lady's nod and dutifully greeted her by name loud enough for the Miraade to hear.

Mird turned to greet the Lady, his head canted slightly to the side. She didn't walk...well...loud enough for a human. She obviously wasn't sneaking because Wiggins didn't alert to any odd behaviour on the Tenerist's part. The tall vornskrari inclined his head to her as he stepped aside to let her talk to his Miraade. However, there was something off about her.

The Miraade Errant heard Wiggins's oh-so-subtle greeting of the Tenerist. He took a deep breath and drew on the power he'd perfected as a sargeant to compose his expression into a mask that looked attenative or at least serious but hid any emotion or thought.

The Miraade gave a weak smile. "Figurin'...figuring out what I was saying shouldn't have been too difficult for even the deaf, ma'am. You'll have to pardon my...language in there."

He glanced back towards the conference room. "I wasn't appointed Miraade because I have fancy things to say...or that I know how to same them. They occasionally find their way into my mind...but no, Catawaba rather likes that I...speak my mind." In all likelihood, some Catawabans would be angry and embarrassed that he'd flown off the handle...but the same group and more would feel proud he'd said what they would have wanted to a proposal of the Imitoran sort.

Errant took a deep, clearing breath and made a stronger smile. He let is sargeant's mask relax as he tried to push some of his emotions aside for the moment and focus on what he was supposed to be doing here, being the Miraade. He stepped closer to Lady Shalamar, extending his hand. "I'm sorry that we didn't get to meet early. Mercy's said good things about Cat's Keep and ya."

"I'm sorry that we didn't get to meet early. Mercy's said good things about Cat's Keep and ya."

"And no I don't pardon your language. It needs no pardoning. Stop doubting yourself. Several million people don't doubt you. And two of the most doubting people I know - I know them, I trained them. don't doubt you." She took both his hands in the odd palm to inner wrist double grasp that Mercy occassionally used.

Shalamar snorted delicately "If she is then she's being diplomatic. I am a cantankerous old woman who is used to having her way and say unhindered by what anyone else thinks or does. I don't like the Imitorans because they are just like me if I chose to let myself get out of hand. Which I don't" Her amber brown eyes were level and unflinching.

"And while I might suggest that in the future you use a calm cold tone rather than raised, you spoke the truth in there. Painful but pure and that I'll respect every time." Sitting down on a neaby bench, she turned the discussion to a more serious note.

"We have been invited to sit with Lady Shalamar tonight."

Lady Ryath, Lord Thor" The decidedly recognizable voice of Colonel Abagail Hardcastle came from behind the pair, as the maiter d' started to escort them to the large table reserved by Lady Shalamar. "Could I speak with your for a moment first?" Colonel Hardcastle craned to look around them - she knew which table had been set aside for Shalamar, she was also going to be there this evening.

"As Lady Shalamar has not arrived yet, could we sit on the patio? I have an offer from the Operating Council." The young officer said earnestly. She was in well tailored but comfortable evening wear, with a small clutch under one arm.

Once they were seated she and drink orders places she looked at the Khadrins very seriously "We're your closest neighbors save for Assington, and we've been trying to think of how to approach you for some time. We would like to aid you in your efforts in your civil war. And I think that the TMZ, with our foundations in the Dark War would be superbly trained and equipped to do that. Also we wanted your permission to found a colony below your southern border. Though I believe that the Archon was going to ask Imitora if they wanted to claim some of that empty land."

"Could I speak with your for a moment first?"

Ryath and Thor spun around to find Colonel Abagail addressing them, requesting their presence. Considering no one was seated at the table they would be dining at, the pair nodded in agreement and followed her out to the patio.

Whilst Thor's face remained under the shadow of his hood, Ryath's face maintained a serenity and dignity that made it obvious she meant business as well.

"Firstly I must say we are very grateful for the offer and would gladly accept. Perhaps it may be prudent for us to give you a little background on this war. Approximately five hundred years ago Khadrim was plagued by a god that stumbled across our lands, finding no other gods protecting it. He raised an army and began to spread his taint over our lands. It took the combined efforts of myself, Thor and the other two Councillors to banish him. We assumed it had been permanent, apparently not."

Thor took the pause in Ryath's speech as an opportunity to speak himself.

"He was sealed away with the aid of an item I retrieved and whilst it is still in our possession we cannot use it upon him unless we encounter his physical manifestation. And even so, we cannot be sure it would seal him away for long since he managed to escape already. In the past, his army was a combination of his own creations and foreign men. This time he has corrupted the minds of nearly half the human population in Khadrim. Men throughout cities and towns simply took up arms against their own friends and family with no warning. Whilst we could normally deal with such a situation via our own arcane means, these soldiers have been imbued with something that makes them immune to magic. This makes detaining them very difficult and we would prefer to detain them and reverse the taint rather than kill them."

Ryath simply nodded in agreement, not feeling the need to add further detail

"As for the land south of us. We have no intention of expansion and no problems with you establishing a presence there. I do believe the Assingtonian delegate stated there was some form of colony down there for refugees from lost nations but from what I understand he would likely be agreeable to your presence. Of course, I do not speak for him though."

"And while I might suggest that in the future you use a calm cold tone rather than raised, you spoke the truth in there. Painful but pure and that I'll respect every time."

The Miraade shrugged. "I didn't mean to pardon what I said, but how I said it, ma'am. I was taught better than to burn ears like I did."

"What got my hackles up wasn't what Weymouth said but how he said it. And, ya know, I'd rather be rude and rough in my sanity than polite and proper with barbarity." Errant found a boulder on the edge of the water feature and sat down after brushing it with his hand to make sure it was dry.

"I'd imagine you've read a bit of how Catawaba came about and ya sensed something behind my outburst. I don't take kindly to that sort of...reckless, Cowpens 'kill them all and let God sort out his own' strategy. I made a decision a long time back that I couldn't ignore that...stuff just because it was happening to someone else...just took longer but it came to me and mine."

It was not a long trip for Numura to take as he soon found himself outside La Nocturne. In his haste to leave the conference early, and then his room just minutes ago, he neglected to find out what sort of cuisine that they would be having the pleasure to dine on. It was not a troublesome matter, as Numura was open to many unique delicasies, so long as there was good company. Sukri on the other hand had very refined tastes, and often found it neccasary to bring his own rations in order to enjoy a pleasant meal, one of the underlying reasons Numura suggested he stay in the room for the evening.

It was as Vakaras was about to make his entrance that he noticed Lady Valkidriss. He remembered that it was she that had noted his and Sukri's entrance the day prior, and was somewhat pleased to see her. To be honest, he knew little about the woman, apart that she was amongst those in control of Cats Keep, but it was better to have someone whom he had not yet agitated to speak to.

"Good evening milady, it is a pleasure to meet you in a more intimate setting, as opposed to the gathered masses in the lobby. Would you mind if I joined you at your table tonight?"

Ms. Sephirio walked into La Nocturne wearing a pearl evening dress and a few choice jewels to round off her appearance. Coming toward the maitre'd, she nodded as she was addressed and chose to sit with the Archon's table. She was informed however that the Archon had yet to arrive.

"I shall be speaking with the delegate of Three Golden Kingdoms. Do be kind and inform me when the Archon arrives will you?" Trovlia requested with a dazzling smile as she had spied the delegate in question. Accepting a glass of wine a moment later, she approached them quietly.

"Your civil war isn't causing any problems is it?" she asked, clearly a small joke on her part before she turned slightly to Valkidriss, "Pardon me for interrupting, my dear." Then, she turned back to Vakaras. "If you wish, I can present your case before the Empress and see to it she is counseled appropriately. There's a good chance she'll be willing to commit a portion of Tarlachia's aid to assist Three Golden Kingdoms reunite their people."

She took a sip of her wine, "That is, if you wish for our assistance."

Shalamar & Errant, in the garden near the Koi pond/ waterfall

I made a decision a long time back that I couldn't ignore that...stuff just because it was happening to someone else...just took longer but it came to me and mine."

"Given Cats Keeps usually unspoken of abilities, yes we know of your origins, and I thoroughly agree with your sentiments. Despite the fact in Cats Keep's turbulent history I have had to resort to just that. I'm not proud of it but the fact remains is that I can and have been utterly ruthlessly practical."

She gave a wry grin "And yes the Imitorans are past masters at pushing others buttons. I don't know if it is a deliberately taught and practiced; or so ingrained in their cultural meme that they don't recognize how much it harms their relations with others.”

”But that isn’t want I came out here to talk to you about. I really needed to know how sensitive you were, if you were capable of handling PALADIN armor. Mercy wants to know so she can order some for you if it would be worth the expense.”


Lady Valkidriss & Lord Numura, in the Foyer of Lay Nocturne, joined by Ms. Sephirio

"Good evening milady, it is a pleasure to meet you in a more intimate setting, as opposed to the gathered masses in the lobby. Would you mind if I joined you at your table tonight?"

“Lord Namura you are most welcome to join myself, Lady Shalamar and others tonight. I am sure she would be very interested to hear your concerns and requests” Lady Valkidriss then turned to the new arrival, and while her countenance remained cordial, her voice held a distinct tone of frost.

"Pardon me for interrupting, my dear."

“Oh most certainly. Please don’t let my presence interfere with your meeting with Lord Namura. In fact, if you will excuse me.” Her bow was so small as to be insulting “Lord Namura I look foreword to dinner with you”

A deeper bow to him and Lady Valkidriss stepped away, apparently intent on meeting Morgan Kincannon whom had just arrived.

A muddled Miraade and a testing Tenerist asking coyly beside the coy pond...

”But that isn’t want I came out here to talk to you about. I really needed to know how sensitive you were, if you were capable of handling PALADIN armor. Mercy wants to know so she can order some for you if it would be worth the expense.”

The Miraade blinked for a moment and looked over to Major Delaney. Maggie shrugged. She had no idea what was going on. Errant felt better because he was just as confused. He looked back to Lady Shalamar. "Erm...either it slipped Mercy's mind to mention or slipped mine to remember, which is the more likely...I have no firm idea, ma'am. But hazardin' a guess...I'm figuring you're talking about jota...mystical sensitivity...and PALADIN armor ain't a self-propelled howizter."

Errant & Shalamar

I'm figuring you're talking about jota...mystical sensitivity...and PALADIN armor ain't a self-propelled howizter."

"If it wouldn't give the various seciruty types mycardial infarctions, I'd tell you to shoot me." Shalamar replied without heistation. "but as it would ...ask Romeo and Juilet, they'll back me up on it's effectiveness. An no its not Divine, or majickal sensitivity, but mental sensitivity, though the other two can do in a pinch."

The Keeperess let her eyes droop closed, just a split second concentration, and a faint shimmer appeared about her, as if she were covered, just an atoms width outward from her body by a rippling blue glow that wasn't exactly visable. Then it vansihed as if it had never been. "Made by the Phoenix Empire of Tanara. Billions and billions of interlinked, interlocked nano web emeshed matrix crystals no bigger than the mesh itself." She looked at the Majors side arm "From ten feet, the kenetics might knock me off my feet if I were already off balance, and if hit in certain spots might leave a bad bruise. But that round would hit, flatten and slip off -most of the kenetic energy would be absorbed or refracted.when worn and properly keyed in to you it covers all of you including your eye balls, and each individual shaft of hair. It also filters out dust, allergens, virals, and anything 'not normal' air."

She explained a little more "A Matrix, also called a Starstone, is a naturally occuring, or artificially created Psionic focus, or enhancer. You don't need to have but the barest spark of Talent, and we can key a set of armor to you. If not we can work though the other two possibilities, though it will take longer and be not as easy."

Colonel Hardcastle & Lady Ryath and Lord Thor

" As for the land south of us. We have no intention of expansion and no problems with you establishing a presence there. I do believe the Assingtonian delegate stated there was some form of colony down there for refugees from lost nations but from what I understand he would likely be agreeable to your presence. Of course, I do not speak for him though."

"Yes and the Assington colony is along the western shores. We were hoping to build on the eastern shores. Why that whole area could support three midsized nations. But of course it depends on if the Imitorans who are also close by have any designs on the area as well. I just wanted your thoughts on the subject."

Abagail paused a second thinking about what they had said about a deity affecting their people. "We have fought demons, but never the god touched. I think that that Lady Shalamar would have some thoughts on the subject. Why don't we see if an after dinner discussion between our three countries might be planned?" She offered.

Rob and the Argonians out on the patio...

Rob had sat with the Argonians out on the patio bringing them upto date on what they had missed.

"No, to the formation of a regional peace keeping force"

He took a sip of his beer and continued "Equally, and far more vehemently No! towards Imitora's suggestion that we just blow the military bases and their stocks of wmd and military ordinance into tiny bits with extreme predijuice. If Catawaba hadn't told them off, I think Lady Shalamar have indulged in a bit of tutoring about the 'bright and shining fire power' of Cats Keepian disapproval. Instead the young Miraade said what every one else was thinking." He half chuckled at that.

"Assington has made the suggestion that instead of the much despised concept of a Regional Peace Keeping Force, why don't nations be responsible for securing the basses in nations close to them. I think the wmd's need to be removed from the bases, even after they're secured, some think they are safe there once the bases are secured. " He added "We sure can use you growing expertise in anti pirate operations, they're getting damned bold"

He then continued on the days discussion "I think we're going to let the Regional Red Cross handle the civilian efforts - with their security being provided as Assington suggested - That will be first on the table tomorrow."

"Last but not least with you here all of the major nations have responded, several of the newer nations have not."

He finished his brew, and stood. "Whiptail, Bray, Keltin, Kerrich - I'm glad that you all are here. Lady Shalamar is holding fort at one table tonight, and I've got the other. Feel free to join in where ever you like. It looks to be about that time."

Errant and Shalamar

Errant's eyes glazed over as he pondered and tried to decypher what Tenerist had just explained to him. He was sure Shalamar could hear the squeak of ball bearings and grinding of gears as he figured it out by context. "So...it's a shield of really, really small...crystals that can stop a .357 round a short distance and give nothing or at least a bruise....and it's psychic..."

He went quiet as he stuck that into his mind. "A couple of questions then...how does it react against rifle caliber rounds? And how does one know if yer...brain's up to it?" The last one was asked tentatively. He'd hate to disappoint Mercy or worry her if he didn't qualify. He wasn't known for his IQ but for his instincts.

"Your civil war isn't causing any problems is it?" she asked, clearly a small joke on her part before she turned slightly to Valkidriss, "Pardon me for interrupting, my dear." Then, she turned back to Vakaras. "If you wish, I can present your case before the Empress and see to it she is counseled appropriately. There's a good chance she'll be willing to commit a portion of Tarlachia's aid to assist Three Golden Kingdoms reunite their people."

“Oh most certainly. Please don’t let my presence interfere with your meeting with Lord Namura. In fact, if you will excuse me.” Her bow was so small as to be insulting “Lord Namura I look foreword to dinner with you”

After giving a deep and respectful bow to the lady of Cats Keep, Vakaras turned his attention to the Tarlachian representative.

"Well, to go as far as declaring the situation a civil war is a tad on the drastic and dramatic side of things milady. In truth, it is more strife and a general sense of not being united than a country divided, though that could all change at the drop of the hat." A small and short sigh escaped from the diplomat, and his face turned grim as he thought about the current state of the Kingdoms. It was all erased in an instant though as he turned his thoughts back to the lady. "As far as aid is concerned, it is something that could be useful indeed, coming from a power such as Tarlachia. That however can be addressed over a fine dinner don't you think, that is if you will be joining Lady Shalamar's table."

In all honesty, he hoped that the subtle offer would be refused, or that she had already had plans to sit with the Archon. While he was here to reconcile and make amends for his somewhat unresponcible behavior earlier in the day, he still did not want to have someone close to the Archon's wife to be his diner companion. Never the less, he put on his best smile and with a sparkle in his eye spoke once more. "I don't think I caught your name milady. It would be wise for one to know whom he his addressing, espicially when they tempt him with such an excellent proposal of aid."

A slightly bemused look crossed her face as she heard the request for her name, "I'm surprised. I thought you would've known who I was, especially with the profile dossiers everyone recieved at the beginning of the conference. Nevertheless, I am Ambassador Trovlia Sephirio. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Namura." A slight smile at this before she continued.

"Well, there is no definite offer just yet, but as I said, I shall present your case before the empress and at the least we'll have some aid on standby readiness should you choose to accept our help."

Ms. Sephirio shook her head negatively, "Unfortunately, I've reserved a seat with the Archon table tonight.

"We have fought demons, but never the god touched. I think that that Lady Shalamar would have some thoughts on the subject. Why don't we see if an after dinner discussion between our three countries might be planned?"

Ryath had been unsure whether The Militarized Zone would still wish to assist knowing they would be facing a force backed by a god but she did not like to deceive people, especially those that were offering her assistance.

"We would be happy to involve Lady Shalamar in such discussions. It is a most unfortunate predicament we find ourselves in as this army would happily slaughter all those remaining in Khadrim if we allowed such, despite their origins. We are grateful for any assistance you are willing to provide."

Thor simply nodded in agreement. Whilst he was sure other nations could easily overpower the army ravaging Khadrim, killing them would involve killing the majority of humans that populated the nation and that wasn't an option.

Shalamar and Errant

And how does one know if yer...brain's up to it?" Shalamar explained how the armor worked in as great a detail as she could, but had to admit that some of the technological side was past her ability to explain further than the basics she'd been told.

"And it's not your brains, not one's Intellignece at all." Shalamar opened a pouch that sat snug against the wide belt that showed off a trim waist. She lifted out fist sized object that was swaddled in crimson silk. Letting hte material slither in to her lap, and involuntary smile twitched her lips at the sight of the lambernt crystal silver blue and gold corruscation of the Starstone. Every one nearby sensed the shivery pulse of power, and a gentle warmth that might have been only their imagination, but perhpas equally not.

Then Errant found himself falling into the colors as they filled his thoughts for a split second, then it was over and he felt as if he'd spent hours immersed in his favorite hobby.

"Hmmm, more than just enough, and like Mercy, it's Empathy mostly, and some short range precog. We all hate precog." The Lady of Cats Keep said absently as she rewrapped the Matrix and returned it it's thrice lined pouch.

She stoop and stretched slightly. "It will be a mid summers fest gift I think...and here comes Mercy now."

And indeed Mercy had just become visable on the meandering path.

Whiptail and Dekker seated themselves at Shalamar's table, on Whiptail's request since he'd already spoken to Rob about the day's proceedings. Just to irk him a little he suggested that Kerrich and Colonel Keltin follow Rob back to his own table. Kerrich's mere presence would be enough to drive the punchline home, while Ket Keltin was about as interesting as a white-walled room unless the discussion turned to knife-work or ship infiltration tactics. While good at his job, the Colonel wasn't exactly a diplomat or a conversationalist for that matter.

The other half of the Argonian party seated themselves as close as they could to their hostess, Whiptail tapping her lightly on the shoulder as he passed, not wanting to interrupt her conversation. Dekker somehow wedged himself into one of the chairs, having already had the presence of mind to remove his shoulder rig and conceal his sidearm under an untucked shirt-tail while Whiptail situated himself with his tail tucked under his own chair. The last thing he wanted was for some waiter to trip over it, or worse, step on it...

"Pretty damn swanky, Godzilla. Not really my type of place but at least the food'll be good..."

"At least you took off your gun. Those other two seem to think we're on some sort of combat mission, but they'll fit right in when the Imitorans show up..."

"Heard a lot about those guys, sound like my type of people..."

"Trust me, if I didn't already know you were American Imitoran would be my next guess..."

Dekker ended the conversation with a slight chuckle, trying to lay the provided napkin across his lap, it seemed like a good idea. Whiptail had already accomplished the task, but then again Whiptail wasn't 6'3" and didn't weigh 240 lbs. It would be nothing short of a miracle if Dekker didn't wind up cracking someone in the jaw with an elbow by simply trying to reach the salad fork...

"Ya think we should shove that other chair down a little bit?"

"Why?"

"So I don't black some diplomat's eye on accident and get us kicked out of this dog-and-pony show before we score a free meal..."

"Not a bad idea..."

Making sure he wasn't going to knock anything over, Dekker carefully moved the chair to his left over about a foot before moving himself the scarce few inches needed to keep his right elbow out of Whiptail's face...

"Much better..."

"I'll say so. Now I don't have to bask in the scent of Old Spice for my entire meal..."

There was another chuckle on Dekker's part, this time combined with a slow shake of the head...

Errant and Shalamar...and now Mercy...and the fireteam that sadly goes unmentioned...and the koi in the pond..though what contribution they make is very little...

"It will be a mid summers fest gift I think...and here comes Mercy now."

"Huh?" Errant mumbled as he snapped out of his second of colorful daze. He glanced over his shoulder at indeed saw her coming. He got to his feet, feeling strangely relieved and relaxed like he'd been sailing Graceland Bay for hours. His mind was wandering through Shalamar's words. Precog..precognition...he'd had some of his gifts, if you wanted to call them that, explained before. Lolimba Bevu, his aunt and Secretary for Foriegn Affairs, was an alor, a Taung priestess and shamaness.

When it had first come up during the Revolution that Errant might lead the combined forces of the Catwab, foriegn-descended, and Taung rebels, Lolimba had grilled him for hours about his life. She'd said she sensed something about him...perhaps a touch of destiny or the divine. He'd thought she was full of it, it being osik and other foul unmentionables, but he knew he'd have to humor her because he needed Taung forces.

At first, what he'd thought was hocus pocus and spoon-bending came eerily too close to the mark when she described his life with details he'd told no one or that he'd not known for himself but later collaborated on his own. She'd inquired about any gifts he had. He'd laughed in her face until she asked him if he'd every felt anything odd...if any strange had ever happened. He tentatively described feelings of deja vu...but of events he'd thought he'd dreamed about but forgot mostly. It was deja vu about things that couldn't have possible existed or come together until that point in time. He'd also told her how he sometimes just knew when people were bluffing...when they were scared or hiding something...or about to surprise him and attack.

She'd said he was divinely touched, descended from Mira, the Mother Goddess. He'd about laughed in her face, but the expression she gave robbed any mirth he had. She considered that blasphemy and would have no nephew of hers utter it. He respectfully pushed that notion aside. He hadn't fully believed but knew that Lolimba and much of the Taung did. At first he jsut needed their help but later saw them as his kin and for that he respected their beliefs.

However now...to follow the old saying 'If one person calls you a horse, ignore him. If two people call you a horse, begin to wonder if it's true. If three people call you a horse, go buy a feed bag and a saddle." His aunt had said so. His dreams had been clear enough to all but be stamped with a return address. And now someone he barely knew but the ruler of potential ally said so. Errant mused silently about how big a feed bag he'd need.

Table is round -will seat 12 easily with lots of elbow room. Starting at the 12 o'clock position... 12-Shalamar / 1- Whiptail / 2- Dekker Bray / 3 - 6 open / 7 -Travis Darkhorse / 8- Lady Valkidriss / 9 - Colonel Abagail Hardcastle / 10 - Lord Thor / 11 - Lady Ryath

Shalamar chuckled to herself as she took her leave of Errant and Mercy. She adored putting young men into states of jaw hung speechlessness and astonishment. It was so very entertaining. It's so thoroughly evil of me. What I need is to find one of my own to keep me entertained. She though to herself as she made her way to the restraunt. Not that that is likely to happen. But I can day dream... though Errant took it better than most, but being god touched probably prepared him

She nodded to Trovlia Sephirio as she went past, but didn't stop – her daughter had already reported on the just past interaction, or rather the rudeness involving the young Lord from the Three Golden Kingdoms. And Aeris has terrible taste in ambassadors. I need to step up information gathering on that section of the regions. We've been ignoring it for too long. Look at Catawaba and Errant coming out of no-where. And in five years he's going to be a power to be reckoned with.


Shalamar sat for a moment next to Valkidriss and exchanged a few soft voiced words with her, then moved over a couple of seats. She wanted the representatives from Khadrim to be able to sit next to her.


She looked up as her favorite Argonian and a human she didn't know - but was quickly introduced as one Dekker Bray and listened to them josh between themselves.

"I'll say so. Now I don't have to bask in the scent of Old Spice for my entire meal..."

Shalamar turned and sniffed "Why you're right. I didn't know they still made Old Spice. Reminds me of my father - the only scent he'd wear." Deviltry hung in the air at her comment. She looked to be at best forty.

Ms. Sephirio shook her head negatively, "Unfortunately, I've reserved a seat with the Archon table tonight."

As the lady finished her introduction, Vakaras' eye darted as he noticed Lady Shalamar taking her seat, along with those invited to her to table. He recognized a handfull of them, but there were three that he had not know from his reading in the dossier.

"Ms. Sephirio is it? I'll have to remember the name." If only to give another name for Sukri to put on his blacklist. "Now if you will excuse me, I shall take my leave to join Lady Shalamar and the others at her table." He left he with a small bow, and turned towards the table. Silently making his way over, he took a seat at the 6 o'clock position, in an effort to have direct eye contact with Shalamar and to be near Valkidriss if the oppurtunity arose to pick up where they had been soo rudely interupted earlier.

The Catawabans and one Tanaaran, the koi don't count.

Errant was still looking after Lady Shalamar trying to fathom it all. He shook himself free of his daze as Mercy slid beside him and slipped her hand into his. He turned to apologize for leaving her in the conference room, but before he could get out more than "Mer" she placed a finger over his lips. She smiled and shook her head. "I think enough has been said on the matter, Errant"

Physically hushed and lulled by the soft pleasant lilt she used on his name, Errant nodded, grateful that he didn't have to figure out how to say 'I'm sorry for being the stereotype for the FNG, even though you warned me.' Relieved, he smiled and squeezzed her hand softly. "So...two dinner tables, one with..."

"Rob's table." She preempted him.

Again Errant felt himself flanked but again grateful. "Well, that made things simple." He took a step down the path and then stopped, looking up at her again. "Okay, I gotta know. Why Rob's? Ya know I love Rob, and I think I've had enough mysticism for one day to avoid Shalamar."

Mercy's smile slily grew into a mischievious grin, and she leaned in to whisper her ((lookin' at you, Shal)) reason. Errant jerked his head back and looked at her with wide eyes. "Wow...to think you'd say that about them..."

Mercy smirked and tugged Errant back into motion. He was still slightly flabbergasted, which was quickly becoming his default emotion of the day. "Wow...does my 'Off-White Armor of Virtue" burn your skin? 'Cause that was downright mean, darlin'."

The Ambassdress laughed, that melodic, ringing laugh the Miraade loved to hear. "Oh, quiet. Just because I don't blurt it out, doesn't mean I don't think as crudely as you can."

The couple stolled along the path that lead out of the faux rainforest to the restuarant. At the edge of the low palm and fern jungle, the life, powerful form of Sargeant Gold waited. She had exchanged her MORS for a more compact submachine gun that hung from a tactical sling across her chest. She held another in her hands, really digipaws but Errant liked simpler terms.

Major Delaney nodded to the Sargeant who looked down and away for a brief moment. "Everything squared away up in the suites, Sarge?"

The vornskrari nodded, a dramatic movement as her muzzle swung up and down. "Yes, ma'am, rooms have been swept and Soft Two reports the pillow mints aren't poisoned.

Maggie Delaney rolled her eyes. "How intrepid of them. I'll see about them getting a slot as the Miraade's food testers." She glanced between Gold and Mird. "Gold, you've got Soft One. I'm going up to the security office and see how they're set up. Any questions?" Both vornskrari shook their heads. With that Maggie swung her MORP up onto her shoulder and veered off for the building's security office.

Gold and Mird watched the major go for a moment. Gold handed the submachine gun in her hands to Mird. "Time to change into formal attire, ner vod."

"Thanks, sis." He handed his MORD off to Private Taylor his team's DFM, or Designated Fireteam Marksman, who slung it over his back to keep it out of the way so he could still wield his MORP. He looked down at the weapon in his hands. "Ah, the PCG PDW...like dating my beloved MORD's little sister..." The Personal Coastal Gun Personal Defense Weapon, named for the unusual way in which its action cycled, was actually a version of the MOR-Dual's submachine gun attachment that was meant to be wielded all by itself.

Gold snorted at her brother's comments. MORShotgun wielders always thought MORD wielders were an odd bunch. Actually growing up with Mird, Gold knew how right the MORS bunch were about MORD wielders. "Regs don't say anything against fraternizing with yer kit, ner vod, but keep it to a minimum and another room, oya?"

Mird sneered at her as he slipped the tactical sling across his chest. Gold returned the sneer.

"Are y'all done? 'Cause yer alpha's starvin' and I'm not beyond orderin' y'all flogged with a RUN."

The vornskrari looked behind them to their waiting alpha and Miraade and then back at each other. "Rolled Up Newspaper...our mortal weakness." Mird deadpanned.

Gold glanced back at her Miraade, face transforming into the same sort of sargeant's mask Errant had used earlier but her voice twigned with sarcasm. "No, sir. Sorry, sir. RUN not necessary but incredibly original, sir. Leading the way, sir."

She pivoted on a heelpad and lead the way into the restuarant. She could hear Errant sigh and mumbled to Mercy something about not getting the respect he deserves as an elected dictator. As they came to the doors, she flashed a hand gesture pointing to a spot beside the door. Privates Wiggins and Fyett peeled off and took posts watching the patio.

The party went through the door, and Mird flashed a hand gesture to his remaining team member, Private Taylor who took a lonely post just inside the door but with a good view of the entire restuarant. Errant reflected as he passed, that it was probably a good thing that DFM were screened and selected from candidates who did very well by themselves. They frequently did spend a lot of time by themselves or one other soldier who might act as a spotter to their sniper duties. It did frequently earn an alternate definition of DFM as Designated Fireteam Maverick, though.

Mird led the way through the mostly empty restuarant to the Archon's table. Errant nodded a greeting to the table as he and Mercy took seats to Rob's left, at one o'clock and two o'clock respectively. Mird and Gold spotted an open table, one of many really, behind the Miraade and the Ambassadress. The two vornskrari looked over at Mercy's Romeo and Juliet and nodded in the direction of the table where they could sit and still watch their respective employer's back, and give some illusion of privacy that wasn't granted by heavily armed, intimidating security personnel towering over the table.

Romeo and Juliet looked at one another and nodded "We have got to get them sent to Shadow Realm and through School for a week." Juliet looked at the vornskrari and nodded. Military was okay, discrete in addition was much better, or so she thought. Body guards were supposed to be so discrete that only the body knew they were there, and yet could pretend, or even forget that they were there. That way the body could have as normal a life as possible. And any one thought that wasn't a rare and priceless commodity had never lived in the fishbowl.

"We need to get Aaron 'n Tam, Rose 'n Lando, Oberon ’n Titania, Marc 'n Cleo, Helen 'n Menelaus over to Catawaba. They'd love it there." She commented softly and her husband nodded.

"Dictator"...

"That’s what you get for having family do your security. Not one jot of respect." Mercy teased lightly. "Except from me. "

The vornskrari had already learned that Mercy would shoot without hesitation anyone her subconscious tagged as an unauthorized intruder in the bedroom. The accidental intruder had been lucky to be alive, and Mercy had not been mortified in the least,(over shooting them but had been over it not being instantly fatal ) but had been apologetic. At least once she had been 'weapon up and tracking' on 'vibes' alone - that trying to be quiet and subtle set off all her alarms, but that entering as if with every right to be there, well it might wake her up but not with antiassassination protocols running. And even if she did wake up she'd simply go immediately and gently back to sleep, with no upset at having been awoken.

And she had not beaten about the bush at all about privacy for her and Errant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Archons table 12- Rob / 1- Errant / 2- Mercy / 3 - President Yellen / 4 - Mr. Rymer / 5 - open / 6 – Trovlia Sephiro / 7 – Weymuth / 8- Keltin / 9- Kerrich / 10- Jack / 11- Boris

At that Archons table, Rob had just sat down, but stood with his usual impeccable manners as his mother and Errant arrived. He made sure they were sat to his left and the just arrived Boris and Jack to his right. The two Argonians were seated just ‘south’ of the Assingtonians and right next to the place reserved for Mister Weymuth. Next to Mercy were President Yellen and Mister Rymer who had arrived about the same time Boris and Jack had.

Quietly proficient wait staff took every ones drink orders as trays of fresh baked finger breads, and other appetizers made their appearances. The food was absolutely what any of them would expect from a restraunt of such quality – and selections from each national cuisine appeared on the menu – and not just ‘popular so that every one serves them’, but less known, beloved comfort foods.

With the day's business concluded, Yellen had retired to his room for a brief nap. Rhymer had gone to his own room and spent it reviewing his notes and making a list of thoughts for the upcoming day. It had been a productive day, Rhymer couldn't help but smile as he had watched the Imitorians be put into their place. Then his smile had been dashed when Yellen had vowed an immediate donation of fifteen billion dollars to the Fatal Terrain Red Cross, with more to follow once the President had more time to review the tax cuts and other 'boosting economy' and 'government income' programs his predecessor had enacted. Chalk up another item he had to speak with the President about once they had a minute.

Yellen had opted to sit with the Archon for the evening, hoping to get a private word in or two with him concerning the region's situation. However as he and Rhymer took their seats, things seemed to be focused on less politics and more relaxed small talk. Taking a break from chocolate milk, Yellen ordered a glass of sparkling apple cider while Rhymer got himself a glass of Simatarian Flint "Drinkable Napalm" Firebrand Whiskey.

Yellen ate some of the appetizers, without much concern of trying to study what was what. Looking around the table, Yellen wiped his hands and picked up his glass. He sipped some of the liquid and relaxed. He looked over to the Archon.

"I must say Mr. Hexx you lay out quite a spread. My complements to you and to the chef."

"Ya see Anavaresca," the sailor who had only been identified as Jamie to this point stated, "you can tell the Master Chief used to be an officer by the simple fact of his rolled sleeves. Look how clean and manicured they are. Perfect creases. Not even Command Master Chief Wickwire would roll his sleeves that perfectly."

"Go fuck yourself Jaime," McReary replied, not looking away from himself in the mirror. He had to at least be marginally presentable, and he once more smoothed out his fatigues.

The Crye Precision Multicam fit him perfectly, and he gave it one more quick once over, making sure all the proper unit and rank insignia was in place. He finally attached the Serpa leg rig, and slid his own Glock into the holster. Finally satisfied with the look, he tugged the navy blue beret out of his pocket, and pulled it on, adjusting it so it sat just right.

"You can take the officer out of the cadre, but you can't take the cadre out of the officer," Jamie chuckled, offering up the blank looking manila folder. "Here is all the intell you wanted for Weymuth. I thought those fly boys had everything they needed up front."

"Not like this they don't" Kevin replied, checking over the documents. "You get everything set with Mark?"

"Yup. Your both sitting with the Archon. I wanted to put you with Shalamar, but he was afraid you and this Dekker character would start chugging the Argonian booze and start another war."

"Dekker? As in Dekker Bray?"

"I see his reputation precedes him. Yeah, he's been working with the scale's for a while now, and he showed up with them. Guess the old school mercenary stuff doesn't pay as much any more."

Kevin nodded, and made a mental note that he would need to meet with the man. While very few in the Imitoran military had actually met him, Jamie was right, he did have a reputation that was well known in the IMSPECWAR community.

"Ok Jamie, your in charge till I get back. Same standards. Don't going hacking into anything your not allowed to." Kevin made his way over to the single Volkswagen that they had procured for the operation, but not before grabbing his rifle.

Just in case.

_

Weymuth was waiting out on the steps to the conference center when the black SUV pulled up. "Oh Jesus. You don't happen to have a suit or anything? God, and you used to be an officer."

"Kiss my ass," Kevin replied jokingly. "Pressed fatigues are perfectly acceptable for every situation." Further than the acceptability, Kevin also felt comfortable in the outfit. He had spent more time in the Multicam, the official pattern of the Imitoran Navy, than any other outfit he could think off, and it fit well. Besides, it also looked fairly sharp paired with the dark navy blue beret, the symbol of the Imitoran Naval Special Forces SWORD Crews.

"Well," Mark sighed "At least the Argonians wont be the only ones in cammies." He watched as Kevin walked around the front of the SUV, and then sighed again. "You even brought your side arm?"

"Rifle's in the truck if you want me to get it out too?"

"No no no. Its fine. I just can't take you anywhere, can I?"

"Nope."

Kevin handed over the manila file, and Weymuth flicked it open, going over the images and notes. "We have a pretty good idea on what we would be hitting if we went in hard. But I wanted to see what your teams have found out on their own, and exactly how hard I should be pushing this."

"How'd they react to our first offer?"

"Horrible. You'd honestly think they've never heard of ee oh dee teams or hazardous waste demolitions. They act like we would just detonate the WMDs laying around, and that using some C4 to blow up old planes sitting on the runway would signal the end of the world, and a few KMAVS hitting stock piles of old AKs is the same thing as using our old hydrophobic weapons on a village of school children."

"You expect anything less?"

"Hardly. At least we all agreed on no regional peace keeping force."

Kevin nodded, and followed him up to the large doors.

"Oh, we are sitting with the Archon, but I'm sure Jamie already told you that. Listen, the guy likes your grandfather, but I'm not sure how much he follows family affairs. If he does, then he knows about the incident. Ok, I know you feel justified, but he is Fortier's brother. They do tend to at least attempt to stay in touch. I'm sure RC deserved getting his ass beat, just don't bring it up around his uncle, ok?"

Kevin shrugged, and nodded.

Weymuth stepped aside, pulling open the large door. "After you Master Chief."

The two entered the conference center, rounded into the central hall, and headed towards Le Nocturne

Whiptail gave his best attempt at a grin...

"I wasn't aware you even had a father, I was under the impression you simply appeared along with all that 'Let-There-Be-Light' bullshit they've been throwing around for centuries..."

The comment about Dekker's personal deoderant preference wasn't lost on him either...

"By the way Shal, this is my long-time friend and professional associate, Dekker Bray..."

The large merc carefully extended a hand in Shal's direction...

"Pleased ta meetcha, Miz Shalamar..."

He'd hoped he got the title right, Whiptail hadn't briefed him on her marital status. The extent of the conversation was that friends were going to be there and he needed to come along to meet them. He'd been reminded that he wasn't getting any younger and thirty-eight was ancient in mercenary years. Most guys outside of cushy contracts like Blackwater didn't make it to thirty and no firm he'd ever been with had a retirement plan or even an IRA for that matter. Dekker was a soldier of fortune of the classic variety, not a new-age 'contractor'. His dossier read like a laundry list of hot-zones from the past two decades. In addition to the customary Iraq and Afganistan listings there were those tours in the Congo, Sudan, Darfur, and Angola among others. While his friendship with Whiptail had opened the door to his current position, it was his impressive resume that had sealed the deal...

"And I'm pleased you enjoy my anti-perspirant selection..."

The comment was delivered with a slight half-grin and a flash of deep blue eyes. While Dekker would have called himself an attractive fellow several years ago, not the least bit due to the long scar that ran over his left eye into his hairline and nearly into his upper lip, the years had been harder on him than he liked to admit. Gray hairs were starting to appear, and the wounds weren't healing as fast as they used to when he was a self-described 'kid', which was basically any age younger than his current year count...

Whiptail, on the other hand, was wondering what he was going to do with the ten cases of Hist he had sitting in his quarters. While the Imitorans were known to go a little overboard in terms of operational deployments, he hadn't seen so much as a shred of multi-cam to clue him in to where the forward observation post or whatever acronym they had for it nowadays was set up. He sure as Hell didn't need to down ten cases of Hist, especially at a diplomatic affair. 'Toran commandos, however, would probably enjoy a nice buzz and he was more than willing to provide it for them...

As Ryath, Thor and Hardcastle continued their discussion, a young woman from the restaurant approached the group, informing them that Lady Shalamar had arrived and anyone sitting at her table was welcome to join her now.

Moving to her feet, Ryath addressed Hardcastle.

"Well Colonel, it appears to be time to join the table, shall we?"

The trio followed the waitress until they arrived at the table, Ryath and Thor greeting everyone with a nod before taking their allocated seats.

Ryath took a moment to address her host as she sat.

"Lady Shalamar, we are thankful for your invitation and have heard quite a lot about you lately. It appears we may have several topics of discussion of interest to both of us."

Entering the restaurant, Kevin took one quick look around before setting off on his own.



"Sorry Mark, looks like you sit at the shark table solo tonight. I'm gonna go party with the fun kids."



Weymuth shook his head as Kevin removed the beret, folding it in half and sliding it into his pocket. The sailor made his way instead, over to Shalamar's table, taking the open seat next to Dekker. "You mind if I sit here?" he asked to no one in particular, giving a nod to Whiptail. He would wait till Shalamar and Dekker finished their conversation before stepping in. "The other table looked a bit to stuffy for my tastes. I think I'd find more of my kind over here."

__



Weymuth sighed to himself as Kevin moved off to what he mentally deemed the soldier's table. Never gonna groom you for political life. he mused to himself. He made his way to his seat at the Archon's table, and ordered a simple Stoli and Soda, and took a few tastes of the appetizers.



He was well aware that he wasn't the favorite of anyone at the table, but it bothered him little. It had always been Imitora's place in the region, to offer the easiest, most direct answer to any problem. And Imitora had more often than not proved quite useful in the secret little dirty dealings of Fatal Terrain. It really did help to have a nation full of people who, it was sometimes theorized, actually enjoyed actively pissing off the rest of the world. It may have hurt political relations on the surface, but underneath, more nations than many would think had, in one way or another, contacted the High Republic about certain issues they were quite used to dealing with.



He mentally took a quick note of the day's events, and nursed his drink while observing a few of the side conversations. As had been expected, he hadn't pledged anything in the way of a Fatal Terrain Red Cross, and he had simply ignored any of the stares or sideways glances that had earned him. There were other issues that needed to be addressed, and other places where Imitora would allocate her budgetary allocations.



Taking a long pull first from his drink, and then looking towards the Tarlachian ambassadress Sephiro, he offered a sort of smile smirk that Imitorans were all known for. "Another day, another dollar eh?"



He also made a mental note to get a good conversation going with the Argonians. They had always been a special "project" for the Imitorans, with the Imitoran military industry and machine always offering help in one form or another. And while he hadn't been on the ground, so to speak, as they had, Weymuth had plenty of stick time flying their Imitoran equivalent around on the wrong side (or right, depending on how you looked at it) of enemy lines.

"I wasn't aware you even had a father, I was under the impression you simply appeared along with all that 'Let-There-Be-Light' bullshit they've been throwing around for centuries..."

Shalamar threw back her head and laughed full throatedly at that "Whiptail, you know my father kicked me out of hell, afraid I'd take over and I certainly am not interested in Heaven opening its Gates to me."

Then she turned to Dekker and smiled warmly, taking the gingerly offered hand in a strong one of her own, though there was noting competitive about her grip. Shalamar exercised her body as hard as she did her mind, and riding dressage promoted strong but supple fingers, palms and wrists.

"And I'm pleased you enjoy my anti-perspirant selection..."

"Just call me Shal, or Shalamar if you must be formal" She returned his grin "And it's a damn sight better than that horrid one they are advertising so perniciously ...Axe ? I believe it is? Supposed to be sexy?" She snorted dismissively as she shuddered elaborately “I've smelled goats that were more appealing. Youngsters have no clues nowadays." Dekker scar added interest to his face in her opinion. [i]Now how disconcerting do I get?{/i] She mulled mischievously until her thoughts were interrupted – for the moment – by the arrival of Colonel Hardcastle and the representatives from Khadrim.

"Lady Shalamar, we are thankful for your invitation and have heard quite a lot about you lately. It appears we may have several topics of discussion of interest to both of us."

“I’m pleased to welcome you to the table. And, yes, I had been hoping for an opening to talk with someone from your nations for sometime.”

Then Shalamar introduced the two Argonians to the three new comers “Grandmaster Whiptail of the Shadowscales, and Mister Dekker Bray." She smiled at the dark Argonian and then at his human companion, her smile widening ever so slightly.

"This is Colonel Abagail Hardcastle of TMZ, and Lady Ryath and Lord Thor of Khadrim."

She gave the Kevin McReary, a raised eyebrow at his arrival.

"The other table looked a bit to stuffy for my tastes. I think I'd find more of my kind over here."

She knew he damn well wasn't at her table for the potential discussions of psi or mage war. He was probably looking for the Hisst the Argonians had possibly brought. Shalamar wasn't certain if he and Whiptail had ever met so she introduced them to one another and to the others at the table.

Dekker smirked slightly, informal was a good thing in any case. While his hand just about dwarfed hers she had an impressive grip for a woman of her stature. He released the hand-shake...

"Then Shal it is... I'm also pleased to hear the devil and I share the same taste in speed sticks, the 1-800 PROVE-IT test must really be something..."

He paused, not sure it his attempt at humor would even find a reference...

"Godzilla mentioned you're the leader of a bordering nation?"

He wasn't sure what else to say. Dekker had never met a woman with this sort of power, or one that could carry on a conversation about deoderant for more than two seconds either for that matter, not that that was anything attractive but it did speak volumes for her intellect...

Whiptail, though glad that the two were getting on so well, wished she'd quit using his title during official greetings. The old order was long since disbanded and had been replaced, like most everything else, with an ultra-modern intelligence agency that he wasn't exactly on good terms with. It had something to do with him breaking into their facility and destroying his own records at some point during the recently-resolved civil war. He was just 'Whiptail' now, even his clan had long since been wiped out, so there wasn't a 'of the Longtail Clan' suffix anymore either.

That was depressing shit, however, and this was supposed to be a fun time. Hell, even Dekker's usually socially-inept ass was hitting it off with the leader of a powerful and futuristic nation. Maybe kharma was actually something worth looking into. That humanitarian merc effort in Darfur must have really scored him some big points with someone up stairs, if he were inclined to believe that sort of crap...

"And nice ta meetcha Colonel... And m'lady & her escort..."

Dekker was now bouncing between three more honored guests with more informality that Whiptail might have used, but then again Dekker wasn't easy to intimidate and informality beat arrogance anyday...

"Shalamar loves to embarass me with my official title. Please just refer to me as 'Whiptail'. It's a pleasure to meet the three of you..."

He fired a quick but playful glare in Shalamar's direction...

'You're killing me woman. I hate that title with a passion. If only she knew Dek's title...'

With all the barriers in effect on the island he doubted she'd catch his thought-process but hopefully she'd get the message. Must have been payback for sending Kerrich over to Rob's table. The whole kharma thing was really starting to look viable at this point...

“I’m pleased to welcome you to the table. And, yes, I had been hoping for an opening to talk with someone from your nations for sometime.”

Ryath nodded in understanding. Khadrim had been purposefully isolationist during the majority of its existence and once the war broke out there were other matters to deal with.

"We are indeed overdue in establishing relations with our neighbours."

“Grandmaster Whiptail of the Shadowscales, and Mister Dekker Bray."

Ryath and Thor nodded their greetings, although Ryath was the only one to speak.

"Pleased to meet you. We too, aren't overly concerned with formalities and are happy to be addressed as Ryath and Thor."

Thor's face remained hidden by the hood of his robes, keeping his face in shadow. Some may have considered it rude but Thor never showed his face and rarely ever discussed the reasoning behind such. In his experience people were easier to deal with if he kept himself veiled.

Trovlia had been assigned a seat at the six o'clock position from where the Archon sat, something she noted with a slight frown. Clearly, despite the close relationship of both their nations, thanks to the marriage of the Empress and the Archon; Rob chose not to sit next to her and had in fact placed her as far from him as possible.

I might as well get up and go sit in the corner by myself. she thought to herself as she drank some crystal clear and icy water that sat in front of her. Oh well, she thought some more as she brushed aside a stray strand of hair from her face, He's in for a surprise then. Wait till the Empress hears of it.

Her eyes flickered to the entrance where, as if on cue, a single female stood but a half second, and let her gaze cross the room. She had specifically asked the staff to remain quiet about her arrival on the island, and they watched her as she strode confidently toward the Archon's table. Rob's position made him sitting with his back to the doorway.

"If you'll excuse me a moment." Trovlia spoke, barely receiving a nod from the Archon or any of the others before she rose and made her way to the restrooms. Just as she reached those doors, she turned and caught the empress's eyes, giving her a wink and a sly smile. Aeris, of course had known that some people would not like the Ambassador. She had an edge to her that seemed to grate on some people's nerves. It served well for her to see the true thoughts of those the ambassador encountered. What was not known by many however, was that the ambassador had a quite usable skill at reading faces and body language.

Aeris, dressed in a loose evening gown that hid her growing four and a half month pregnancy, seated herself in the chair abandoned by Ms. Sephirio. She placed her hands in her lap, and casually gazed across the table at her husband, waiting for him to finally take notice that someone other than Ms. Sephirio was sitting in the Tarlachian's seat.

At that same moment, a waiter approached the Archon and held out a silver platter. Atop the platter, a single simple card lay. Inside, in Aeris' handwriting, two words were written in silver lettering.

Look up.

Rob had waved away President Yellen’ s compliment
"I must say Mr. Hexx you lay out quite a spread. My complements to you and to the chef."

"Thanks, I'd like to say I brought him with me but this restraunt is his creation. I just asked that they made sure that every cuisine was represented."

He hid an eye rolling at the split up of the Argonian delegates and arrival of the two Argonian colonels at his table. He and Kerrich did not get along well. But he'd give them the benefit of the evening’s pleasantries. He introduced them around to the others. And he made sure to remember to introduce Whiptail and Dekker around later if it were needed.

Rob smiled at the letter, but didn't bother to look up "Mom, take my place will you", and with a single graceful move he stood and walked swiftly around the table to take the unoccupied fifth seat.

"I thought you'd never get here" He commented happily as he took her hand and laid a kiss on her palm. "Now I am content." He leaned over and claimed a kiss from her.

"Might I introduce my wife, Empress Aeris Greenwood ~Hexx of Tarlachia."

La Mesa de los Tiburones Aburridos

The Miraade got up from his chair gentlemanly help the Queen Mother switch from his left to his right side. After taking his chair again, he slipped his hand into hers. Errant smiled a silent 'good for him' at Mercy as they watched Rob reunite with his wife.

The Miraade raised his glass of papauur, a Catawaban palm wine, to toast the Empress's arrival.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Airport.

General Quigley suddenly swayed, nearly falling to the ground but catching himself on the metal skin of the Kangaroo he was standing beside. The assembled pilots got to their feet in alarm, but Quigley waved them off. Lieutenant Williams, the General's current wingman, ignored the waved off and stepped to his side. She looked him over. Quigley looked pale, suddenly bewildered. "Sir, what's wrong?"

Quigley looked up into the empty sky. "I felt..." His voice was hollow as it trailed off.

"Yes?" Williams asked increasingly worried.

"I felt..."

"Yes?" the rest of the squadron asked, on edge.

"I felt..." Quigley's expression changed suddenly from bewilderment to anger and he began cursing. Williams quickly stepped away as her commander finally lost it. "Gorram, sommabit..." Quigley bit off his cursing as he stopped off towards the loading ramp of one of the Roos.

Williams threw a confused, bewildered look of her own at her fellow pilots and went after her commander. "General Quigley, what is it? What's wrong?"

Quigley was pulling aside boxes in the transport's hold. "I'll tell you what's wrong, Williams." He stopped and turned to her. "The Cosmic Divine had it in for us. I've been feeling it all day, hell ever since the Miraade invited us along. And now...now, the Cosmic Divine threw its hands up in the air and yelled 'rut it all' and gave the Rogue's Gallery a raincheck!"

With that Quigley went back to moving boxes about and young Daphne Williams was left wondering what the hell her commander was talking about. The general either had no idea that he'd left everyone not genre-savy as him two miles back in his dust or didn't rightly care because he kept ranting as he worked. "And the awful thing is, Williams? This was a doozy. Felt it in my bones. That was where the 'dogfighting griffons' comment came from before.'

"Full spectrum...spoonbending, machine gun mooks, nerd ninjas...the works...and some greater power Imitorial decided they don't believe in fairies and decided not to clap along. Their whole plan shot to hell, the black hats packed up and went home....and the cartoon peril was no more."

Williams and the gathering party of pilots glanced at each other. This had to be a test. Perhaps they were supposed to declare him unfit to command and relieve him. Perhaps he really was crazy. Williams again held on to a bit of courage and concern for her wingmate. "Sir, what does that all mean?"

Quigley pulled out a case and opened it revealling a well-worn leather bomber jacket. "It means we're entirely useless here, and that we should go to the conference, find a bar, and claim it as soveriegn Catawaban territory until this is all over."

The pilots looked at each other. Captain Southerly, commander of the Kangaroo flight, cleared his throat and stepped to the front of the group. He pushed his black rimmed glasses up his face. "Sir, we've been ordered to stay here just in case..."

"In case of what, Captain? I just said the Villian of the Week has gone home." Quigley laid the jacket down and looked around for a moment.

"Well, the Togovian Remnant could..."

Quigley moved around the pile of boxes where he was hidden from view for a moment. "Please, Captain. The Remnant, as obnoxious and inbred as they are, aren't going to try to rumble with any sort of force that would really need three Roos and four Dragonflys to thwart. They might try to kill the Miraade, sure, but they'll do that up close and in a way as to not piss off other countries' leaders by splattering them with blood."

The assembled pilots looked aghast at their commander's thought processes. "Well, except for Tanaara, they'd probably be pissed whether they incurred a dry cleaning bill or not..." Quigley walked out from behind the boxes, dressed in dark blue Air Force dress uniform.

Williams's jaw dropped. "How did...where were..."

Quigley simply raised an eyebrow. "Under my flightsuit."

One of the other fighter pilots yelled from the back. "With all due respects, sir, Bull! It ain't sweaty or wrinkled at all!"

Quigley shrugged. "Comes with the rank, Lieutenant. Generals don't sweat, and our uniforms are always immaculate." He walked passed them, picked up the jacket and throwing it over a shoulder. "Now are you going stand there? I came on this little field trip to have fun and take a break from training you fine men and women to be Big Damn Heroes...since I'm not going to get to use my F-1 like an attack helo, I'll have to find another way to get my kicks."

As the delegates arrived and small courtesies were exchanged, Numura sat back and absorbed it all. It was mostly just chit chat, just something to pass the time as everyone made their way to the restaurant. It gave the young lord some time to reflect back on how he had come into the position he was now graced. To think that he was supposed to be the next great warrior-general of the Kingdoms was laughable now, but he was just a small twist of fate from pursing that path.

Allowing himself the smallest of chuckles, he flicked his golden hair and gave another look around and was bemused by the assortment of individuals that were chosen to represent their nations. While they were all a splendor of personality that could of easily given Numura some good company, he was most interested in the Lady of Cats Keep. The Empress had spoken nothing but of the great things of Lady Shalamar, and she might be the key to starting his secondary mission. Waiting for a pause in the conversations, he made a small hand gesture to get the attention of the Lady.

"Milady, if you happen to have the time after the diner, I would most appreciate having a conversation with you. I have heard a great deal of you from our Empress, and I also might be in need of you and your country's assistance, if you would be willing to grant it. If you are busy however, I am sure we could make some arrangement for a meeting sometime before the conference adjourns, no?"

Yellen looked up as Hexx moved around the table and towards where the Tarlachian ambassador was sitting. He hadn't noticed Trovlia had gotten up and a new person now occupied the seat.

The Simatarian President's attention was only grabbed when Hexx spoke from the end of the table.

"Might I introduce my wife, Empress Aeris Greenwood ~Hexx of Tarlachia.""

He looked up and stared down the table at the elf. So this is the famous Aeris Greenwood. He had heard a lot about her, seen her in a few news broadcasts but never met her personally. Marriage between two powerful heads of state Yellen found slightly amusing, something old fashion about it.

Yellen raised his glass to her. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance your Highness. I hope things in Tarlachia are going well."

Boris and Jack had been quietly chatting amongst themselves whilst others engaged in their own conversations. The pair both held an Assingtonian Ale in their hands, although Boris was likely to down a few more afterwards whilst Jack wouldn't allow his senses to be clouded. Although, he did admire his President's ability to consume a ridiculous amount of ales and still maintain coherent thought.

As Trovlia got up she received a brief smile from Boris and Jack, both quite attentive to their surroundings despite the appearance of being occupied with their own conversation. Returning to such, the pair didn't look up again until Rob rose, moving to the other end of the table.

"Might I introduce my wife, Empress Aeris Greenwood ~Hexx of Tarlachia."

Boris simply grinned slyly as he realised that Trovlia and Aeris and orchestrated a little switch and simply rose his beer to the newly arrived Empress. Jack had never met her before but Boris was familiar with the woman from the last conference.

"I'm glad you could make it Aeris, these things are never the same without you."

Jack simply scowled at Boris, disapproving of the informality. Boris simply sighed and spoke again.

"Pardon my informality, I figure we are all friends here but I think I may have offended the delicate sensibilities of my Vice-President. My friend Jack here likes needs to relax once in a while."

Maintaining a blank yet obviously irritated face, Jack simply stared at Boris for a few moments before turning to Aeris, a pleasant smile crossing his face as he offered a hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Empress."

"Then Shal it is... I'm also pleased to hear the devil and I share the same taste in speed sticks, the 1-800 PROVE-IT test must really be something..."

"That always makes me think of the Tuff Enuff (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUFAxJV9qgE) by Stevie Ray Vaughn and the Fabulous Thunderbirds."

"Godzilla mentioned you're the leader of a bordering nation?"

Shalamr laughed at Dekkers nickname for Whiptail. "Not bordering, north by quite a bit and several hundred feet in altitude. Cats Keep occupies a largeish valley" understatement that, it was a thousand miles long and some eight hundred wide " in the Lossefanyar Athan - the 'Snow beyond the Sky', " She mentioned the massive upthrust mountains that did indeed exceed even the Himalaya's in hieght and breath, dividing Tanaara and Tarlachia. The ranges ran north south for more than seven thousand miles - stopping barely north of the DUS / Argonian border.

Then she settled back and covertly watched him get comfortable with the others at the table.

You're killing me woman. I hate that title with a passion. If only she knew Dek's title...'

'What? Yyou think I can't hear whats sent to me? Okay no more Grandmaster. But you are going to need something for your people over on Pacifica and Muddpuddle to call you. Even if you try to hide behind a democracy they are likely to 'write your name in' so to speak...and what isDekkers title? The mental grin was sharp, and tinged by lively curiosity.And seriously Kerrich is lucky he's still alive - that's due to Rob's intervention. He insulted the ship's captain Very Badly. Mm'rr'll's son does not have his mothers easy going nature. Attempting to bribe and threaten him was Not A Good Idea on the Colonel's part. Shalamar's tart reply let the dark Argonian know she had gotten a full report on the incident.

She turned her honey dark eyes away from his as the young lord delegate from Three Golden Kindgoms made a request of her

"Milady, if you happen to have the time after the diner, I would most appreciate having a conversation with you. it. If you are busy however, I am sure we could make some arrangement for a meeting sometime before the conference adjourns, no?"

She gave him an easy smile. While she hadn't paid much attention to the Three Kingdoms- they hadn't been out right imploding - she had kept a light ear on the ground, and knew they had their own internal disasters to contend with. And while she felt he could have made his demural of assisstance far more gracefully she did know he was being honest in exactly how little help they could be. Though neither he nor his government had apparently realised how helpful an influx of screened and motivated immigrants could be.

"I've promised Ryath, Thor and Abagail a talk after dinner...However...Ryath, Thorr, might we discuss your sutiation now, where all here can offer suggestions. Some times a group produces out of the box but productive ideas"

"I've promised Ryath, Thor and Abagail a talk after dinner...However...Ryath, Thorr, might we discuss your sutiation now, where all here can offer suggestions. Some times a group produces out of the box but productive ideas"

Ryath and Thor both nodded in agreement whilst Ryath spoke, facing Shalamar.

"Of course, we are open to any suggestions provided and appreciate the attention you are directing at our plight."

The pair didn't really know what to expect from the conference and were pleasantly surprised to find so many able and willing nations.

"Where would you like to begin?"

La Mesa De Los Tiburones

Errant smirked, listening to the exchange between the two Assington representatives and the Emperess of Tarlachia. He leaned foward in a quasi-conspiratorial manner. "I don't think there's anythin' wrong with informality here, Boris. When we're at the table with our shiny crowns and fancy sashes on, sure, we probably should use all those impersonal titles and euphemisms for each other."

He smiled with bright white, if slightly crooked teeth. "I mean, in there, we ain't ourselves. We're somethin' else, figure heads, symbols...the entire authority given to us by our people. Titles and rank are respect and an aloof signal that we aren't really human then."

"But here? Outa the fishbowl?" Errant glanced at his love. A crooked grin grew on his face. This was an issue the two of them had faced and butted up against to find who they were at their core. "We're still just regular people behind the mask...no matter how much we or others try to delude us otherwise."

~~~~

La Mesa De Las Remoras

At the table behind the Miraade and the Queen Mother, the two vornskrari, Gold and Mird, and the two Shakespearean Security Spouses, Romeo and Juliet, sat. The two vornskrari were slowly scanning the room with not only their eyes but their large pointed ears, which were their main sense at moment. Their sensitive noses were rendered somewhat useless because they had to filter out the ever present scent of food that wafted through the room as the appetizers were served, never mind the pungent smell of alcohol.

Through their vigilence, they were quietly speaking to each other in Taung'a. They were barely above a whisper, but that was all they really needed to hear clearly. Though Gold's whispering was slow and clear, Mird's whispering took on an angry hiss, and he spared a quick glance at Romeo.

Gold brought her gaze down from her scan of the room and locked eyes with her brother. She held her glare and gave a quick, low growl to silience him. Mird glanced away quickly, and his ears drooped as if deflated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

La Aeropuerto Con El Jefe Loco.

Quigley stopped beside the Guard's lone Mytha'lik. He turned around. "Well?"

The pilots glanced at each other. They all looked to Lieutenant Williams, who they figured had the best chance of talking sense into him. She glared back at them for volunteering her for an impossible task. She stepped out of the group and close to the general, laying a hand on his arm. "Sir, I don't think you feel well. Perhaps you should get some rest..."

Quigley looked down at her hand on his arm for a space of seconds until she got the point and let go of him. He looked up and over all of the pilots, dumbfounded. "Well..#$%&."

The pilots gasped, not aghast at their commander's rude language, but amazed that he could actually pronounce an ampersand and a hash. Quigley continued on. "They finally went and did it. They'd been promising it..but..."

Williams, recovering from her shock, asked, 'What's..what's wrong with us? We came out top in our class from OTS and Fishpot..."

Quigley shook his head. "That's just it. You're professionals, disciplined. $#%^, You're military milquetoast. That's fine for the teamsters that fly the 'Roos."

"Hey!" The commander of the Roo flight squealed in offense.

Quigley shrugged in apology. "Sorry, you not only resemble but are that remark, Captain." The other pilots looked back at the captain. He did have those wide rimmed glasses, a comb over and a severe overbite. However even the other Roo crews edged away from him when they actually read his nametap, which proclaimed mildly "Captain Oliver Milquetoast, Catawaban Air Force," lest any of his mediocrocity was contagious.

"But a fighter squadron? A fighter squadron is at its best when it's a corral barely restraining a ragtag bunch of mavericks who conveniently fit into neatly sorted stereotypes." He looked down at Willams. "You, Williams, you should unzip your flightsuit more to proudly flaunt that you are a woman in a world of men but at the same time harbor deep feelings of inferiority which drive you to recklessly attempt to prove yourself better than your male squadron mates."

Williams's jaw dropped at the general's succinct and offensive advise. The stereotype offended her, but strangely she didn't feel any anger towards the general. He said it so dispassionately, so matter of fact. He applied no feeling or approval, almost a sad 'that's the way things are; what can ya do?' tone to it.

Quigley moved onto the other pilots. He looked over Captain Rex Jester. He was tall, good looking, sort reminded Quigley of himself...except taller, less remarkable, and naive. "You're a hardass."

Jester's eyes went wide. "Tha 'ell?"

"No, you need to be a hardass, Captain. You're going to swing your brevet Major's brass soon when we activate the squadron with you in command. You need to be a hardass. Grind your molars alot, dress down the other mavericks in your squadron whilst ignoring your own maverick status in a 'do as I say not as I show off spectularly' manner." He looked hard at him. "You might even have the wherewithall to learn to swear with unprounceable symbols, like so (*^%~. Try it, Jester."

Jester blinked for a few moment, bewildered. "Um....***ing son of a *****, sir?"

Quigley waggled his hand in a wishy-washy gesture. "Asterixes are a good beginning. If you want to take it slow move on dashes next."

He stepped up the last member Dragonfly flight. Not only did he have to step up to this pilot he had to crane his head to look up to the pilot. Quigley frankly wondered how Nantri Odo managed to cram his towering form into a fighter. "Lieutenant Odo...." Quilgey looked up into tall Taung man's eyes. His thick, swarthy feature staring down on him like a troll. "Nantri, I'm sorry, but you're big, scary, and darkly featured. People'll..."

Tantri smiled widely with his perfectly brilliant teeth. "General, do you mean to imply that I will be seen as the 'Big Scary Black Guy.' I quite understand given my intimidating height and Taung appearance, if I do not accept the stereotype."

Quigley blinked for a moment. "Oh, 'Genius Bruiser'...we can work that in too." He looked to the Kangroo crews. "If you'll all come along to the conference, we'll set up in the night club there. I'll need a bit of liquid creativity before try and tackle Air Mobility Command." He waved them over to the trucks and opened the door to climb in the Mytha'lik.

He glanced back at Corporal Salva and her fireteam which was suddenly revealed from behind the pilots as they ran to the Deuce and a Halfs. "Come on, Corporal. You guys are off for a few more hours. Y'all're already fairly ragtag and stereotyped, but I figure we might need y'all for an interservice brawl later if no other target shows."

Salva gave the general a tired expression that was full of curse laden disbelief. Quigley sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh noes, Corporal, I am a senior military official. I'm sure I can't handle myself and my meteoric rise to command has no proof or bearing that 'authority equals asskicking.' Can you come along and make sure I don't get abducted by some mustache-twirling git with some hackneyed plot?"

Salva looked back at her men and shrugged. The fireteam funneled into the mytha'lik and lead the small convoy towards the conference building.

Another of the smallest of smiles creased Dekker's features. The woman had decent taste in music, too...

"So how did you two meet?"

There was a gesture from Whiptail to Shalamar and back again, but Dekker noticed an odd look on Whiptail's face, either he was really mad about something or he was concentrating really hard...

"Wait a sec what the Hell are you doing? Cut that mind game shit out and talk like a normal person, man..."

Whiptail snapped out of his trance...

"Certainly, Commander..."

"You sonuvabitch..."

The Argonian military had developed a habit of promoting excellent non-comissioned officers into officers' positions, and Dekker hadn't been immune to this. He did, however, retain his American military-born disdain for the position. He was a former non-com himself, twice over in fact, and he hated the title that came with his new position...

"We can't have them calling you 'Mister' the entire time, Dek. Like Shal said, we need something for the big-wigs to call you and 'Commander Bray' sounds pretty official..."

"When the Hell did she say that?"

"Just now."

"Like Hell she did, man..."

It was Whiptail's time to chuckle. The human didn't have any sort of facility in mind reading, and Whiptail wasn't about to tell him that Shal wouldn't have any issues plucking thoughts out of that brain of his as easily as she did with Whiptail...

"Just keep your mind right and you'll be fine..."

He looked back towards Shal...

"I'm aware of Kerrich's mistakes. He's not really a people-person in any sense of the word, but he didn't get to where he is today by being a push-over. If I can forgive him for what he's done to me then I'm sure the good captain of the 'Falling Star' can do the same. Injuries to pride heal much faster than injuries to vital organs, after all..."

Whiptail touched a hand lightly to his chest where Kerrich had shot him several years earlier. There was a similar one on his back from one of Kerrich's men. He didn't even acknowledge the fact that his family had been murdered in cold blood after the now-Colonel Kerrich had shot him...

"I think I was much worse off afterwards. He'll get over it..."

About a second after he'd said his piece Whiptail slammed an elbow into Dekker's ribs with enough force to warrant a grunt on the human's part...

"Leave the piece where it is, Dek..."

"You should have told me earlier then. If something happened to my kid you'd act the same way towards the fuck-o that did it..."

Dekker's had slid off the grip of his forty-five, which had been stuffed into the small of his back in lieu of his more obvious shoulder-rig...

"Granted, but now's not the place. As for how Shal and I met, I'll leave that up to her. You've already heard how Aeris and I met, it's the same story of where we found Rob, whom you met earlier..."

Shalamar / Ryath / Thor / Abagail - aloud

"Where would you like to begin?"

"Let me make sure my understanding is correct. And yes this will be very basic, as I will have to admit I have kept rather distant so as to not possibly ascerbate the problem."

"The greater majority of your human population, and even some OTH's have -fallen under it's control."

"So first off -rather naturally you'd far prefer to not have to killed these unwilling combatants. Though I have the feeling that you don't give a tinkers damn about the willing ones" She knew she wouldn't but he needed to know their thoughts on that.

"Secondly they're mostly resistant to magery, from what my people have observed"

" Thirdly most of them have flicker of the mind gift."

She looked at the pair to see if they had any information she had overlooked.

Shalamar / Whiptail / Dekker - mental

"Granted, but now's not the place. As for how Shal and I met, I'll leave that up to her. You've already heard how Aeris and I met, it's the same story of where we found Rob, whom you met earlier..."

Knock knock Dekker, might I speak with you this way? Shalamar's mental voice as polite and non intrusive. She wasn't even reading surface thoughts, and would 'hear' only what he projected - thought 'hard' on.

Dekker ignored the voice in his head for now, but it sounded a lot like Shal's, oddly. He'd get to it, or her, or whatever, in a second or two...

"If I'm going to be any help I'm going to need to know what the 'it' is that has control of everybody's minds, or however they're getting the less-than-willing to participate. Off the top of my head, though, I'd suggest some sort of clandestine raid to neutralize whatever the 'it' is with minimal non-combatant casualties and property damage..."

With more than fifteen years as a mercenary, a good part of which was spent in the role of a military advisor, Dekker had slipped back into his 'work' mode...

"As for the 'magery' resistance or whatever, the prudent thing would be to shoot them. No magic involved there, unless you're trying to spook the locals..."

That said, he turned his attention back to the mild intrusion into his mind...

'That's fine by me, but this is a little fuckin' strange to say the least. No wonder Godzilla's got that blank look on his face most of the time...'

Whiptail had sat back a little further in his seat, listening quietly to the conversation as was his custom. He'd offer advice once he understood the threat better, but Dekker's raid idea had merit at the moment. That might change, however, once the 'it' was explained...

"The greater majority of your human population, and even some OTH's have -fallen under it's control. So first off -rather naturally you'd far prefer to not have to killed these unwilling combatants. Though I have the feeling that you don't give a tinkers damn about the willing ones. Secondly they're mostly resistant to magery, from what my people have observed. Thirdly most of them have flicker of the mind gift."

Ryath nodded as Shalamar briefly outlined the situation.

"That's right. We've yet to examine the means of control in great detail but we are confident it can be reversed. As for those that are his willing servants, their end is necessary. Those that are willingly devoted to him are beyond salvation. From what we can see this army of controlled humans is resistant to any form of magery practiced in Khadrim. It is likely linked to the mind control."

Ryath paused an allowed Thor to cover the last point.

"Most humans in Khadrim have a trickle of what you call the mind gift. It is an essential part of how we practice our magics. Those in the controlled army are not mages. We are quite sure the mind control is linked to the magical resistance and as a consequence, those under control cannot perform any magic. This appears to be why none of the mage class succumbed to this control. There should be minimal mental resistance to any mental techniques your people may employ. I cannot vouch for the willing participants though, there are likely magic users amongst them but they are far smaller in number."

"If I'm going to be any help I'm going to need to know what the 'it' is that has control of everybody's minds, or however they're getting the less-than-willing to participate. Off the top of my head, though, I'd suggest some sort of clandestine raid to neutralize whatever the 'it' is with minimal non-combatant casualties and property damage..."

"'It' is a god, to be blunt. He has gone by many names but has called himself Xerxes for the last thousand years or so. When we left Khadrim he had not obtained a full physical form but that has likely changed. I don't mean to belittle your military but I doubt they could be effective against him. Part of our purpose for leaving Khadrim was to seek out the old gods that forged our nation in order to combat Xerxes. So far we have been unsuccessful."

"As for the 'magery' resistance or whatever, the prudent thing would be to shoot them. No magic involved there, unless you're trying to spook the locals..."

"I am vaguely familiar with these weapons your people call guns. Whilst I certainly admire the ingenuity of such a creation, my understanding is that they are a lethal weapon and the majority of this army needs to be handled in a non-lethal manner."

"We're still just regular people behind the mask...no matter how much we or others try to delude us otherwise."

Boris' grin simply widened at Errant's comments, he was glad to be sitting at a table with someone that shared his outlook. Whilst Jack didn't say anything or openly frown, Boris new the man definitely disagreed.

"Too true, Errant, isn't it?"

Despite Boris' apparent casual attitude he was quite attentive and had read through the conference booklet and memorised most of the people that were attending.

"I've always felt all that stuffy formality is for people that like to speak a lot but not really say much, if you get what I mean. I prefer to be short and to the point without throwing titles and all that jazz around, especially at dinner."

Jack finally decided to chime in, causing Boris to point his amused smirk at him.

"Not showing proper respect can damage international relations more than you think, Mr. President."

The last two words were emphasised with a somewhat disapproving tone. Boris shook it off though, knowing that Jack wouldn't go into a serious nagging session in front of everyone at the table. He was likely fishing for support and Boris was interested to see if he would find any.

Aeris smiled as her husband introduced her to the other delegates at the table, and she cast her emerald eyes around as each of them greeted her in their own fashion. President Yellen was the first to speak with a raise of his glass.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance your Highness. I hope things in Tarlachia are going well."

Taking a wine glass filled only a moment or two before, Aeris raised it to the President and spoke in return, "Things are well, President Yellen, and a pleasure indeed to meet you at last."

President Boris of Assington was next to address the empress and he spoke on a more informal tone. "I'm glad you could make it Aeris, these things are never the same without you." This, Aeris took no offense to and returned such with her own response, "As am I. At least this time I won't be hurting anyone." She patted her stomach with a laugh, "I've got to take a bit more caution this time around." Her hand squeezed Rob's own. It seemed like forever and a year ago that the last conference had occurred. So much had happened between her and Rob since then.

"Pardon my informality, I figure we are all friends here but I think I may have offended the delicate sensibilities of my Vice-President. My friend Jack here likes needs to relax once in a while."

"I think it's safe to assume that since the conference has already started, and we are not in fact, having any business formally regarding this conference, that we are allowed such times of informality." Aeris replied with a partial smile.

"A pleasure to meet you, Empress."

Turning to Jack, Aeris now gave him a nod, "Likewise, Vice President." Her hand reached out and took his firmly, "And please, loosen a button or two. I highly doubt anyone here is going to take offense if you didn't use official titles every time. You've already used the title once, and that more than conveys the necessary respect for our meeting."

Rob might have been wanting to pull Aeris in to his lap and cuddle her close, but he managed to refrain - it showed clearly in his eyes, but he contented himself with holding her hand.

We're still just regular people behind the mask...no matter how much we or others try to delude us otherwise."

"Not showing proper respect can damage international relations more than you think, Mr. President."

"Pardon my informality, I figure we are all friends here but I think I may have offended the delicate sensibilities of my Vice-President. My friend Jack here likes needs to relax once in a while.

You've already used the title once, and that more than conveys the necessary respect for our meeting."

“Proper respect? Actions speak far louder than words. I'll trust a man who speaks honest, blunt, even 'disrespectful' and acts the way I expect a man of honor to act. I'll not trust the sweetest words in the world from some one who’s acts don't match. But then again I’m not, never have been and never will be a politician." Mercy looked around the table -her eyes were cool, and her voice firm. "You see Mister Murphy, you will find that those of us who have been around awhile, tend to loathe politics and politicians with a passion. When a nation changes course every four years or so, it can be...annoying.”

Errant nodded in agreement "Jack, even a newcomer like me can't stand the role and pomp of politics. I wasn't even in this position until three years ago. And when Catawaba came to choose...they cut the bureaucracy out." Glancing at Mercy he continued. "I'd figure they'd done it for much the same reason the Tanaarans voted an autocracy in as well. But it was all to my chagrin because I'd pushed FOR a federal government with a separation of powers...the very type of government that'd have been rife with politics...but that's what I thought was best. My people wanted differently."

Dekker didn't quite understand the whole magic business, but now he had a little more insight on the matter. The raid still had merit, if he could explain it properly...

"Alrighty then. Removal of 'gods' or whatever you people refer to them as, isn't a specialty of mine. Again, however, if you could find a weapon that's effective against this 'Xerxes' individual, the raid would still accomplish its primary goal of bypassing the larger mind-controlled force, reducing your blue-on-blue casualties..."

He hadn't been proposing a raid by Argonian forces, maybe a Black Shield team or a SPECTRE agent or two, but he'd never suggest that here. He was merely an advisor, nothing more at this point...

"We're talking more of an assassination-type operation here, not a full-fledged military deployment. From what I've seen Argonians like to stay out of other people's business, and when they don't they like to be quiet about it. I'm merely making a suggestion here that might help you end this little incident of yours in a manner that makes everyone happy..."

If they liked the idea of the assassination they'd need to talk to Whiptail, the Grandmaster assassin as Shal had so thoughtfully revealed him to be. Dekker didn't think revealing the Argonian delegate to be an assassin at a political function was a great idea, but Whiptail seemed to be on excellent terms with everyone present...

"Dek, just let them handle it themselves. They'll be stronger for it, and they have no idea what you're talking about tactically. Think about where my people were ten years ago and you've got the idea. We were too busy killing each other with spears and arrows to care about the outside world or its advances in technology. We handled our problems our way. You see where that got us, but you get the point..."

Whiptail paused a moment, collecting himself...

"These people see things in a totally different way. Modern military doctrine means about as much to them as their magical teachings mean to you. What you're trying to plan for them has no base in their way of thinking. I'd just let them tell us how they want to handle it, and we'll give them input as they request. You work for us now, ya big bastard. No selling your services to the others..."

Dekker nodded at his old friend, a thank-you for pulling him back down to where he needed to be during the current diplomatic shin-dig. He'd also appreciated the smattering of humor the Argonian had added there at the end. The assassin had a point, though, beyond the mention of his indefinite contract with the Argonian government to provide military advisement. These people had only a passing knowledge of what a gun was, and he couldn't expect them to understand what he was offering to plan for them. It was better if they did it themselves, or if Shal aided in some way. Dekker was an atheist anyway, he believed in nothing along the lines of a 'god' or any other supreme being. He looked back at Ryath and Thor, a bit of concern in his icy blue eyes...

"I'm sorry guys, I'm not used to dealing with your sort of circumstances. If you do want help from the Argonians, however, I'd speak with Grandmaster Whiptail. The Argonians have developed special methods for dealing with what they call the 'supernatural', basically anything magical or otherwise not of the mundane world. He can put you in touch with such resources..."

The former mercenary hoped he'd made some sort of amends for making himself look like an asshole in front of people he'd never met before, but then again Whiptail had been assigned this mission for his diplomatic skills, and Dekker for his tactical expertise. He'd have to leave it to his scaly friend to pull his ass out of the fire if the others had been offended...

'Jesus I need to learn when to keep my fuckin' mouth shut...'

He was also hoping, more than a little, that he hadn't made himself look like a fool in Shal's eyes...

'That's fine by me, but this is a little fuckin' strange to say the least. No wonder Godzilla's got that blank look on his face most of the time...'

Merry laughter chimed softly in his mind. Just like you do right now, but you are handling it far beter than most humans who've never encountered it before. And no I am no reading your innermost thoughts, much less private matters or secrets. Just what you are trying to let me hear. But you have some light touch of the Donas, thats Mind Gifts, yourself. In part what's kept you alive all these years. However I just wanted you to know that if you wanted to talk privately, we can." Shal's mental smile was brilliant.

Then she turned her full attention to the outer conversation, leaving him a door he could open - if he chose.

Dekker's offer was not stupidity, or made out of belittling - he'd never really dealt with anything like a god before and if it had been purely 'normal' his suggestion would have made excellent operational sense.

[I]'Jesus I need to learn when to keep my fuckin' mouth shut...'

That brought her thoughts back to him No Dekker, you made that suggestion based on what you know, and if what they faced had fallen in that sphere I would have completely agreed with you.'

And aloud she spoke, shaking her head at Whiptail. "It's not that they don't understand military doctrine or sophisticated ideas." She'd seen majic based special ops teams, they were every bit as frightful as any technology based ones "Majick can produce just as high a technological level as science base technology can. But gods generally aren't affected by science based technology, untill you get into catagories that make 'weapons of mass destruction' look puny."

Shalamar advised the pair. "Part of what makes a god a god, is the ability to draw power from others belief in him, his 'godliness'. And unfortuantely it isn't a linear growth, it's exponential."


Looking back at Ryath and Thor. "So what we have to do is sever him from his power source in one swell foop." Her lips smiled, but her eyes didn't "And that I can arrange."

"And please, loosen a button or two. I highly doubt anyone here is going to take offense if you didn't use official titles every time. You've already used the title once, and that more than conveys the necessary respect for our meeting."

Boris simply nodded in agreement whilst giving Jack a little nudge to say 'I told you so'. Now that it was obvious everyone wasn't going to be uptight regarding formality Jack would likely loosen up a little. Jack simply nodded. If he wasn't going to cause any problems by being casual then it didn't bother him.

"Fair enough. I suppose I can relax a little, as long as Boris here doesn't drink himself stupid."

Boris slapped his VP on the back as he chuckled.

"I've gotta keep you on your toes Jack."

"You see Mister Murphy, you will find that those of us who have been around awhile, tend to loathe politics and politicians with a passion. When a nation changes course every four years or so, it can be...annoying.”

"I guess I haven't been around long enough to start hating this job but I do agree with your sentiments regarding honesty. I'm not a fan of puffery but there is a difference between slapping someone in the face to tell them the truth and simply laying it out before them in a courteous manner."

"Jack, even a newcomer like me can't stand the role and pomp of politics."

At this point Boris decided it was time for a change of topic.

"Jack may be a politician at heart but he's a good sort and he knows how to get the job done. Now how about we discuss something of interest? Like why the Simatarians over here haven't been exporting enough of that Firebrand Whiskey for everyone to enjoy."

Boris grinned at Yellen and Rhymer, obviously poking a little fun at them.

"You guys can't make a good beer to save your life but I've gotta give you credit for that whiskey."

Whiptail did his best smile impression, then his best attempt at a Samuel L. Jackson...

"Allow me to retort..."

There was a chuckle in there somewhere. Now it wasn't only Dekker who was being misunderstood. He'd do this one mentally, to avoid any further mix-ups...

'Modern military doctrine, Shal, the kind that involves tanks, machine-guns, and attack aircraft. Sun Tzu's teaching reach across the ages, but he couldn't anticipate what we'd have in the present day. My people were a lot like our friends here, that's all I'm trying to point out to my over-zealous colleage. I'm not trying to belittle anyone as backward or inferior. They don't understand what 'blue-on-blue' means or sniper tactics, which I'm sure Dekker's raid would include, since we'd be facing off against a numerically superior force. He's basically trying to describe color to a blind man. We'll be here all night...'

There was a pause in his thought-stream...

'Why do you think I prefer a knife? Some things are better the old way...'

There was another attempt at a grin on his scaly features. Until Dekker forgot he had to actually 'think' something at Shal for her to pick up on it. The grin faded into a hand smacking himself sharply in the forehead...

"I'd love..."

Icy blues darted back and forth quickly, then he realized he was, in fact, speaking out loud, quite loudly actually...

'Sonuva... What I mean was that I'd love to talk more with you privately...'

And then he had an idea to pull his own ass out of the fire this time...

"I'd love to hear how you plan to do that. Then I can add troublesome diety disposal to my resume...

A flicker of mirth shone in his eyes, a combination of his own little crack at humor and that the usually-infallible Whiptail had been corrected in a sense by Shal's statement. The Argonian was like a brother to him, but it was still fun to see him with a confused look on his face...

"I'm sorry guys, I'm not used to dealing with your sort of circumstances. If you do want help from the Argonians, however, I'd speak with Grandmaster Whiptail. The Argonians have developed special methods for dealing with what they call the 'supernatural', basically anything magical or otherwise not of the mundane world. He can put you in touch with such resources..."

The modern military talk had certainly gone over the heads of Ryath and Thor, although Thor caught on a little better than his colleague did due to his sporadic experience with human armies in Khadrim and what he had learned over the previous year. Ryath nodded to the pair of Whiptail and Dekker, acknowledging their advice.

"At this point we are considering all our options and your advice is certainly welcome. There may be a place for your modern weapons and tactics once we deal directly with Xerxes' power base. We imprisoned him once before, we can certainly confront him again."

"So what we have to do is sever him from his power source in one swell foop." Her lips smiled, but her eyes didn't "And that I can arrange."

Ryath and Thor nodded.

"We know of a means to suppress his power but it cannot be severed completely. Even with few to no believers he would possess a core strength that would make him formidable. There is some difficulty in obtaining this means though."

Thor nodded, taking up where Ryath had ended.

"It is somewhere in the ocean off the north coast of Assington. We had hoped to avoid using it but that may not be possible. We would certainly be interested in knowing how you would accomplish this goal, Lady Shalamar."

"Like why the Simatarians over here haven't been exporting enough of that Firebrand Whiskey for everyone to enjoy."

Boris grinned at Yellen and Rhymer, obviously poking a little fun at them.

"You guys can't make a good beer to save your life but I've gotta give you credit for that whiskey."

Errant rolled his eyes. "At least you can grow hops, wheat, and barley. I once froze my butt off on a tour of duty up into Togovia. It ended up being a show and tell where pale EuroTogos could gawk at their dark-skinned subjects from the Orient...but, I ended up falling for hops beer."

The Miraade glanced down at his glass of palm wine. "Rice and millet beers were a let down after that. Palm wine and other drinks are pretty good...but I'm just waiting until my Ag Secretary gets around to our rum industry."

The Simatarians stayed quiet as the others at the table discussed politics and terms. Yellen had another four years of Puroc's six year term before he could make his own Presidential run. There was a three term limit on Presidents, though by precedent, most Simatarian Presidents served one or two terms, only Becky Kimble (President during the Golden Simatar's "discovery" of vampires and other paranormal creatures) made the full three terms. Yellen hadn't made up his mind about running for his own full term, he would wait till near the end of the four years to make up his mind.

His attention was caught as the Assingtonian President spoke about the Simatarian Flint Firebrand whiskey. Yellen shrugged. "I don't drink personally so I can't comment on the alcohol. However I think we can ship a case or two as a sign of goodwill."

Rhymer smiled and lifted his glass of Firebrand up to Boris. "Be careful, sip slowly or get a hole burned through your throat. It didn't get the nickname 'drinkable napalm' for nothing."

Rhymer took a satisfying sip of Firebrand and relaxed into his seat. In terms of rank, Flint Firebrand was ranked as one of the finest whiskeys made in the Golden Simatar. It was still family owned and made in the same plant it had been made in for hundreds of years in the town of Flint outside of the capital of Clarence.

Rhymer looked over at Errant. "Palm wine? As in made from palm trees?"

Yellen sighed as the table relaxed into discussing alcoholic beverages. He had his glass of sparkling apple cider refilled and he took a sip. As he looked at it, it probably would have been better to start the day off with this instead of chocolate milk.

"I've promised Ryath, Thor and Abagail a talk after dinner...However...Ryath, Thorr, might we discuss your sutiation now, where all here can offer suggestions. Some times a group produces out of the box but productive ideas"

Numura nodded and sat back as the duo discussed their nations' predicimant and he listened intently. Much like Ryath and Thor, Numura was left a little more than a little lost when discussing the modern military, but merely let it slide.

Soon enough we will know, be it one method or the other. Soon enough the Kingdoms shall not be soo far beyond.

He stroken his clean shaven shin and pondered what it would mean for him, and his country to be modernized. They had lived for thousands of years in the fuedal system, using swords and arrows as the primary weapons of choice. What would the country be like with all the luxuries, and the responcibilities of the modern technological achievements?

That was his purpose though, and with any luck, he could convince Shalamar or one of the other delegates present to help modernize the country. He hoped Shalamar would be willing to help with that, and the other difficulties that the nation was currently expierencing. The Empress was counting on him to fufill those needs, and the pressure clearly showed as sweat began to form on his brow.

Rhymer looked over at Errant. "Palm wine? As in made from palm trees?"

The Miraade nodded. "It's made from palm saps." He held his glass up towards Rhymer so that he could see the cloudy, milkly liquid. "You can distill or allow natural fermentation. This is distilled, but it's pretty good...and suprisingly good for you. The sap is actually full of minerals and is the base for folk medicines in Catawaba and other tropical regions."

The whole thing sounded a tad bit like memorization based on a long series of briefs and meetings until they'd been drilled into his head. He was surprisingly thurough and informative on the topic, but then again Errant's Secretary for Agriculture, Andrew Mickelson, was entirely fascinated with his work and thought that everyone else should be as well. Mickelson was an artist when it came to crop cultivation and agriculatural developement. Errant hadn't the hurt to do anything but feign interest.

She wondered what their response would be, she had more than a bit of an educated guess. It was why she let so few close to her...

'Sonuva... What I mean was that I'd love to talk more with you privately...'

'I'll be glad to talk with you more later, Dekker, that is if you want to'She replied, her mental voice enigmatic.

"I'd love to hear how you plan to do that. Then I can add troublesome diety disposal to my resume..."

"It is somewhere in the ocean off the north coast of Assington. We had hoped to avoid using it but that may not be possible. We would certainly be interested in knowing how you would accomplish this goal, Lady Shalamar."

Shalamar settled herself back in her chair, taking in every one at the table.
Then reached out and touched all of them with a mental request for permission and greeting - leaving out the Imitoran. He had the hard shield of utter disbelief, and she had no interest in breaching past it. He’d just be cranky about it.

“No Whiptail they might not understand about snipers and blue on blue, but they do understand about such as this…” Her mind opened … It had been several thousand years ago and the last time she’d been truly human. But memory was as vivid, as clear and immediate as if it had been but yesterday.

It had been night – artificial, as the Opposition had been able to block the pseudo sun of the Shadow Realm, and it had been nothing less than three hundred days of night now, and no sign of the dark ending. And more than just night’s natural dark. Cats Keep had been cut off from accessing it’s own Energies. And that Dark gave their enemies unbridled access to their Powers and the endless night gave them unlimited freedom to move.

And our losses continued to mount…

Shalamar’s mind flipped though an album of horrors, and came to the last one, a city that had once been a garden of peace and prosperity. Now it was an abattoir, a coagulation of brutally inhuman suffering - worse than mere death. A twisted, nearly incomprehensible alienness that all of those reliving her memory could not but shudder and seek to withdraw from.

Humans could make horror- they were very good at it, but what her memory held was a foulness and defilement that was Other and unconscionable to the human soul. It made one know that Evil did exist.

“And I walked though the city and the people died” Her mind voice was serene. No one would ever know how hard won that serenity was.

The ability didn’t have a name, it needed none. But she had the ability …and with a single, solitary thought…

Everything, Living or Other, within a spherical radius of five miles died. Including the microbes in the soil.

“I walked back out of the city and did it again, and again, as many times as it was needed.”

“That particular form of application can be …modified, to be non lethal, to sever the betrayed from this Xerxes.”

"I don't drink personally so I can't comment on the alcohol. However I think we can ship a case or two as a sign of goodwill."

Boris nodded in appreciation. Many would call him an alcoholic but he preferred to think of it as possessing a wide alcoholic education.

"Cheers. And if you do decide to drink all of a sudden, we can provide you with real beer."


"Be careful, sip slowly or get a hole burned through your throat. It didn't get the nickname 'drinkable napalm' for nothing."

Jack rolled his eyes as Boris put on a mock insulted face. The man considered it a challenge whenever someone told him how to drink a drink.

"Oh, I think I'll manage."

"At least you can grow hops, wheat, and barley. I once froze my butt off on a tour of duty up into Togovia. It ended up being a show and tell where pale EuroTogos could gawk at their dark-skinned subjects from the Orient...but, I ended up falling for hops beer."

Boris empathised with Errant. During his time in the military he had been stationed at some remote locations where the closest excuse for a beer was some rice based substance that really didn't cut it.

"I know what you mean. I've encountered some poor excuses for drinks in my time, none of which compare to a good wheat brew with a nicely balanced amount of hops to finish it off."

Jack enjoyed a good beer as much as the next man but he didn't consider himself an enthusiast like Boris. He was simply content to buy a good beer and drink it as opposed to Boris who had taken up most of the basement of the Presidential Palace for his home brewing operation.

Ryath quickly allowed Shalamar's broadcast into her mind, being quite familiar with mental communication. Whilst her people, the dragons of Khadrim, possessed a physical language, it was simple and lacked specific detail and thus they preferred to speak via thought. Thor also recognised the request and quickly opened his mind to Shalamar's presence.

“That particular form of application can be …modified, to be non lethal, to sever the betrayed from this Xerxes.”

Thor remained dead silent as the images flashed through his head. He'd never encountered anything like that during his few hundred years and yet he could imagine Khadrim could suffer a similar fate of Xerxes was allowed to gain a nation of believers. Thor had located the Tear of the Gods once before in order to bind Xerxes, he could do it again if need be. The very thought of using that item made him dizzy to the point where he almost lost his concentration.

Ryath also maintained a calm serenity as she took in the images before her. They reminded her of the chaos that plagued Khadrim when each race existed as a separate state and conflict was the extent of their relations. Most humans don't realise that they possessed a highly advanced civilisation as far as humans in Khadrim were concerned but the dragons had all but wiped it from existence. The dragonic nation caused so much death and destruction when at war that Ryath had vowed to never let it happen again.

Once Shalamar had completed her message, Ryath nodded in understanding.

"If we do that and then employ this Tear of the Gods object we should be able to overpower Xerxes, perhaps even kill him."

Dekker was reminded instantly of a neutron bomb, killing everything that lived but leaving the lifeless structures intact like the bones of some massive beast. While terrible, he felt that nagging urge to help again, to do the right thing. Mercenary work was usually a business that lacked morals, but that didn't mean the merc himself couldn't have a few stashed away in the back of his mind. It was why he'd done so much work in Africa, those raids in Mogadishu after the Rangers had been driven back out again and the pentagon had decided to employ other means. It was the reasoning behind his foolhardy and, in hindsight, stupid, foray into Darfur as part of a humanitarian merc effort against the Al-Queda funded Sudanese militia groups.

They'd organized militias of their own, and fought without medical or air support. If captured they'd be executed as spies, since they'd crossed international borders without passports and were fighting against the established government.

Dekker had somehow escaped with his life, after eight months of running operations with the resident merc, the 'Grayman'. He'd even picked up a knife from the guy. An almost crude-looking piece of sharp steel, Whiptail had taken to it right off the bat, and ordered two for himself from the website.

The merc elbowed his Argonian comrade in the ribs again...

"Some sort of magical neutron bomb?"

Whiptail wasn't sure. He had a passing familiarity with magical destruction from his time as an assassin for the old Argonian Elder Council. There had been a few occasions for him to be sent against a witch-doctor or other mystic that the Council determined was a threat. Most had been fakes, using parlor tricks to frighten the locals, but there had been two who had actually been able to 'cast' spells, if he could think of a better word...

"No clue, nasty stuff though..."

As pleasant conversation passed between the members of the Archon's table, Aeris fell quiet for some time, sensing something was amiss nearby, very close by in fact. She scanned the room ahead of her, and settled her eyes upon a mirror, watching the others at the other table as they all seemed as if in a trance of sorts, although all seemed calm.

Her eyes shifted to Shalamar's reflection, and she was met instantly with a mental barrier as strong as any Aeris herself could have erected, if not stronger. Now, she was concerned, and shifted her attention to those of lesser mental fortitude. She could sense a hidden distress, and even Thor's flaking mental strength was enough to confirm something silent was going on between all of them at that table.

Aeris slipped a hand back to Rob's arm, her fingers lightly squeezing him as she directed a thought to him. Don't look but something is amiss. Shalamar's doing something at the other table, but what it is, I don't know. Whatever it is, the Khadrim mage is unsettled greatly by it and I sense he's not one to normally be like that. Her glance moved to the mirror again, and she caught Shalamar's eyes watching her.

I sense a deep troubling...is everything all right? she spoke silently to her old friend, a look of concern in her mental voice.

Colonel Hardcastle thought of herself as a practical...she didn't like to use the word hardened but it was the best she could come up with...solider but the memory that Lady Shalamr had given them. To be at the point where there was no other option than such destruction...that wrenched at her.

She had grown up during the Dark War, and though like any concerned father hers had sought to shield her child self from the worst...like any bright and imaginitive child she had taken what little she had garnered, over heard and over seen, and imagined from it.

What had happened in the long ago war made the Dark War and her imaginings look pallid and rather PG 13.

But as horrible as it was she also had to wonder if she would have had the fortitude to 'push that button' - but it was worse.

Lady Shalamar, herself, was the button, the 'neutron bomb'.

Not something made and stockpiled until needed-- an object that one could divorce oneself from --but within, an integral part of this level eyed, ancient woman.


She worked hard to keep her thoughts and emotions to herself.

Errant was starting to enjoy this little fandango that was finally coming to life at this most serious and august of tables. It merely went to confirm his long held belief that rulers could be and were fairly normal people, barring the fancy sashes, numerous armed personages, and the briefcases of armageddeon. He looked forward to asking Boris how he set up his beer brewing operation. Errant was sure the People's House had room for it, though he'd have to figure out how to get his Chamberlain John Adams to pass off on it.

Maybe...he thought,...if I get him to do...in whatever old way his forebearers, Mister Adams had forebearers, not relatives or even ancestors, just forebearers, ...did it, old wood vats and barrels and people in itchy wool clothing, Adams would insist on wool clothing of a bygone day as a uniform, ...I might just be able to swing it.

The Miraaade was congratulating his cleverness when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. In the back of his mind, in the pit of his gut, he felt old instincts honed searching in the dark bilges of smuggling vessels as a Marine and crawling through muddy jungle paths as a rebel send a shock up and down his spine. He stiffened slightly. He knew where the source of that shock, the source of the emotions came from. He'd had it explained to him by others. He had empathy, felt others emotions like they were his own.

He turned to glance at the Tenerist's table. It was a broil of gut-quivering emtions, but they sat there calm, serene as if they were discussing the weather. There was terror there, horror, perverse interest...interest that knew it was perverse to be interested. That was enough to confuse Errant but one emotion he hadn't expected was sympathy...like a good Simaritan deciding to turn back on that rain night to help someone in need.

His old, empathic instincts, his 'gut' as he'd called for the longest time, were something he'd used to detect harmful intent, ambushes back in the old days and, well, were still useful now, considering the handful or so attempts on his life. However, this didn't feel like an ambush...it just felt off.

Errant twisted the other way and spoke lowly to his packmates at the table behind him. He asked them in Taung'a what had been going on. He knew they'd felt it. They had very much the same abilities he had but more honed. They described what they'd been able to overhear which wasn't much. The table had frequently sat silent for long stretches of seconds, but eye contact had shifted in smooth patterns as if they were still conversing.

Gold and Mird had overheard the discussion of Khadrim's problems with divinities, for which Errant was thankful that he had a slight in with a lady upstairs. They did come to another longer stretch of silence right before the burst of emotions from the table. They could describe a good bit of it in Taung'a, but the words 'neutron bomb' and 'WMD' were spoken in plain English. While Taung'a had words for magic, 'jota,' and many modern products and ideas, it had no concept for an item for destruction of that scale. The nearest thing was a collaquial term that equated to 'volcano fashioned by man.'

Errant worked to keep his face impassive as he turned back around and took a sip of his palm wine.

"If we do that and then employ this Tear of the Gods object we should be able to overpower Xerxes, perhaps even kill him."

Shalamar nodded at Ryath's mental comment to her. I am going to use the backing of the towers so as to encompass as great an area at one time as possible. Any assisstance I can be in dealing with Xerxes I will give.[/i]

"Some sort of magical neutron bomb?"

"Not magical, mental" Shalamar said in a low voice, replying to Dekkers spoken comment. "Me"

She let that sit out there for them to wrap their understanding about. She wasn't ashamed of the ability, or that she had to use it. And those deaths may have been dust in the winds thousands of years gone but they still resonated within her.

Necessary? Yes

Effective? Yes

Did it change her? Yes.

Causing death is always life changing and though it was not the first time she had brougth about the deaths of others, being Shiva, Death the Destroyers of Worlds ...and the last time she'd been truly human.

She looked up as she remembered that there were others in the room that were sensitive besides those at the tables, and realized that she should have wrapped a shield around the table as a whole.

She stretched out and contacted Aeris, Mercy and Rob easily, she had spoken with them mind to mind many a time. Then she reached for the vornskrari and Errant, they deserved to understand. Once permission had been granted she gave them the memory she had shared with the others.

I am going to use the backing of the towers so as to encompass as great an area at one time as possible. Any assisstance I can be in dealing with Xerxes I will give.

Ryath smiled in turn, inclining her head slightly. Whilst her physical reaction was limited, Shalamar wouldn't need any mental capabilities to see the gratitude in her eyes. The destruction caused in conflicts within her own race and against others within Khadrim had caused far more destruction than she was willing to allow occur once again. Such events had motivated Ryath into striving towards peace and unity for Khadrim, eventually resulting in the four races uniting under a federal government, the High Council.

The thought of that being destroyed was heart wrenching, especially for as little reason as a 'god' decided he wanted to ravage her country. Whilst she realised Thor felt the same way, especially for his people, she felt somewhat alone in this. Only Ryath had been there from the beginning whilst others continued to fight or wouldn't believe unification could work.

A new appreciation of Shalamar had also settled amongst the minds of Ryath and Thor. Neither could imagine the difficulties of making such a decision and whilst they had considered the possibility if Xerxes' taint could not be removed, neither had seriously considered whether they would actually have to wipe out over half the human population of Khadrim.

Immiediately Numura's mind recoiled back to the first eighteen years of his life, the brutal years that they were. Since the day he could walk, his father began to teach him the meaning of violence. He forced a wooden sword into his small, fragile hand and began to strike at Numura with his own wooden sword. He recalled the broken bones, the bruises, the hours of the so called training until he passed out from exaguhstion. It then flashed forward to age sixteen, when he was suddenly thrust into a battle. A small region in southern Juran had declared independence and the Empress immiediately had dispatched the Imperial army to deal with the rebels. His flowing blonde hair had been only at his ears at the time, as he was to take his father's place in the brigade leaving from Shingolin. To be perfectly honest, it was no battle when the Imperials arrived, just a play of metal painting the ground scarlet with the blood of the innocent. For his part, Numura never even removed his sword from its' hilt, he was too outraged at the massacre before him. They were not soldiers, not advasieries that one could take in the honor of defeating, just mere peasant folk that wanted a more democratic government.

He had feared that this was to be his life, a life of merciless slaughter in the name of the Kingdoms, but it all changed at eighteen. Just a year into his general's training, there was a jousting contest outside the Empress' palace, as one of the Rosenatti lords promised whoever won the contest the hand of his eldest daughter in marriage. Vakaras had no interest in participating, but he rather wanted a break from the numberless hours of reading rhetoric and being lectured by various veterans of the wars of old. He was taking the road down to the palace, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a handful of gathered warriors centered around an old man and a sword. Both looked simply mundane, and did not understand the fuss, but decided to investigate regardless.

The old man was babbling something about the inner energy that flowed through everyone, some stronger than others, and whoever had the right energy would be able to unlock the power of the sword. Numura thouht him just an old geezer who had seen one too many gruesome battles, but something inside him nagged him to move forward and take up the sword. Upon grasping the hilt, the sword began to eminate a golden glow. Suddenly swirls of what Numura assumed was this "inner energy" began to encompass the sword, and though it looked as if Vakaras (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v637/chellote/Numura.jpg) was merely in awe, his brain was being probed.

Very interesting to see Truth take you as a master young one. I did not sense much in you, you have a gift but it's untapped that much is certain. Seeing as how the blade has never been wrong before, I can only assume that your future will see you use this gift, for the right reasons. Here what I have to tell you boy, as I am only going to tell you once.

The world we know is in constant flux, with powers rising and falling as commonly as the sun. There is nothing that is not altered, nothing that can not be made better. Always keep this in mind, as there will come a day when you will have to make a choice to fight for the betterment of you people or to keep things as they are, as they always have been. You have seen the horros that mankind can create, it has been shoved upon you from your birth. This only makes you stronger, it lets you know that what you are fighting to change. Your mental fortitude is strong, but you rely too much on this Sukri friend of yours. If you are to connect with your gift, you must first free your mind of its' dependance of foriegn confirmation. This blade makes no mistakes, so I am entrusting you to be the next guardian boy, you are this era's hero.

A handful of tears slipped away from his blue eyes as he was propelled back into conciousness. Words could not describe the depth and numerous emotions that had flooded in him, only that gruesome day in southern Juran seemed innocent compared to the death and destruction that a single person wrought upon the world. To think that behind those welcoming eyes and personality was a devestating and efficient killer was unimaginable. Though he respected Shalamar the most out of the delegates, he now had an uneasy and healthy fear of what she could do, what she had done when needed.

Curiosity was the doorman into Errant’s mind. Shalamar had been so calm in her offer to share what had caused the broiling emotions at the other table that he’d underestimated what was in store. Shalamar’s memory was so full, sight, sound, even scents alien and yet so familiar flooded into his mind’s eye.

He felt the desperation in Shalamar’s prologue. He felt, knew who far things had come to for her come to her decision. It reached inside and touched old memories of the Revolution before the Night of Angels, when he and his people hid in caves, expecting to be cornered and exterminated come the morn or the day or the day after next.

Shalamar’s memories struck and hammered about other memories that had been awaked today and that Errant might have wished banished or silenced. He felt the death. All the death. He felt as each victim from sentient to simple ceased to respire, life snuffed from mortal coil. One moment uninterrupted flow of life and the next nothing, a stark, silent absence, but he also felt deep in her memory Shalamar’s humanity dying, each death a grain of sand whirled into a storm but chipping, blasting away mighty, living stone.

That ability, wielding that ability, killed part of her. The experiences of those long ago deaths both physical and spiritual churned inside Errant, finding kin in his own past. He felt his killings over again, he took pride in none of them except that he protected others. He was revisited by the things he’d seen Togovian do, Man do. But relatively all the workings of man, the noxious, drowning chemicals Errant had seen, were mere plays, pitiful, half-hearted attempts at the horror, the completeness of this ability. The works of Man gave some small chance of survival against all odds. This, however, it was truly complete but truly impassionate…something no working of Man could claim.

Errant set his glass down, clattering on the table in his shaking hand.

STOP.

His mind whispered into the onrushing torrent of the memory. He gripped the table to steady himself, eyes shut. He could feel the vornskrari behind him. They were fully immersed, not even cognizant of the world around them, but he could feel their fear, primal. They, trained as assassins, capable of gruesome death, took some solace, odd comfort, in their close means of killing, that same perverse sportsmanship of the workings of Man, a slight chance for the victim. This ability was beyond them to do or contemplate, but deep down a quiet voice inside each other them considered a method such as this if the world, their future were truly as dark as Shalamar’s had been.

STOP.

To his horror, he heard that same ugly voice inside him. He didn’t want to see anymore. He didn’t want that voice, these memories. He had enough horror in his short life and no need to add more.

STOP.

This time the words in his minds solidified, filling in to become a barrier, a stone in the steam of the memory. He felt a slight relief as the memories broke on the barrier flowing around him. He had seen her first death walk through the city, felt it, he need feel no more of it. He could still feel the vornskrari in the midst of the nightmarish, dying city.

Errant grit his teeth, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. A reptilian musk drifted into the Miraade’s aura and into the mental sphere around the two tables, a musk with a twinge of the divine. The small barrier became a dam as if a large reptile, a dinosaur or dragon, laid herself down in the stream, curling herself to protect those she cared for. He felt the vornskrari stiffen, become alert, and turn their attention, sudden concern for him as they came out of their daze. He felt whatever connection between Shalamar and Mercy subside as if the reptile extended her long tail to block the stream from Errant’s love.

But that was as far as he could push any effort in proximity and fidelity. He was grateful when the memory subsided and sagged, holding himself up off the table. He could feel Mercy’s hand shaking, quivering as she held tightly to his under the table.

Love you, thank you, oh, that was awful

Her voice whispered in his mind, some sort of mental connection still between the two of them. Her tone was stunned, dazed mentally.

A digipaw gripped his shoulder, and he heard Gold ask in Taung'a if he wanted to go. He shook his head, giving himself a moment to try to pull himself back together.

OOC: One of Shal's themes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdKohGuaMQw)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shalamar withdrew, locking herself within her usual shields, and giving the presence that had manifested itself a sight nod of respectful recognition. She was alone again...and they dared wonder why she found frieindship with demons. There were few other that would offer it. She didn't blame them, she had made her choices knowing fully the likely outcomes. She just hadn't counted on living though it.

She took a sip of the ice tea before her and felt suddenly tired. Soon, soon, three or four centuries from now she'd go into the great matrix at Hali forever, not bothering to build a body to come out with.

But in all she could live with her life, for while lonely, it had much interesting to balance out the sad. And if love hadn't come her way, well she'd had the fun of watching others fumble through love.

Mentally she snorted at Numuras fear of her. It was so completely common.

Aeris watched stoically as the images played through her mind, and when it was over, she was a bit shocked, however, she had always suspected something greater about Shalamar than she let on. She knew the woman had been around for a long time for a reason other than elongated years, but what that reason was had remained unknown to her despite the many years she had shared with the older woman.

Her eyes flickered to Shalamar and she nodded understandingly. At the same time, she wondered if Shalamar would have employed such devastating fury in the Dark War if all other options had failed.

Shalamar...or should I call you Shiva? Aeris finally thought to her old friend, A paradox of a friend you are indeed. The Destroyer of Worlds, and yet, here you are, amongst others who live and breathe each day knowing you could snuff them out with merely a glance of your very eyes. That is, IF they even knew you as you are. She paused a moment to let her thoughts gather some more, I pray I never witness such destruction, for while you are Death incarnate...I am of the opposite spectrum, and it would grieve my heart greatly. Nevertheless, I am pleased to know you are my friend and confidant.

Mercy and Rob managed to keep stoic faces to the outer world through out the horror of that ancient memory. Rob merely dipped his head and his hold on Aeris's hand tightened as their love gave them a buffering between their souls and the inhuman horror of the situation. He had no trouble understanding Shalamar’s reasoning. He’d experienced the most intimate tortures at the hands of those of Hell during his captivity there. No Hell was not meant to intrude on the Realms of Man, nor man in Hell. The two dimensions were too alien from one another, and Hell was completely inimical to all Man called ‘Right’.

Mercy was comforted by the presence of Errant next to her, and closer - next to her heart, and when Mir'a settled herself about them she was able to let her heart weep for what had been. She could only thank the Fates that even at in the most horrific times of the Dark War, that it had never been that desperate. And that during those most desolate times that Shalamar had never offered. She wasn’t sure if she’d not have taken her up on the offer.

Romeo and Juliet had gone on full alert, their empathic gifts while minor were carefully trained. And the first surge of emotions from Lady Shalamar’s table had kicked them into active status. The second surge from the Archon’s table had them puzzled in top of their wariness. Carefully they linked hands under the table, to strengthen their donas, enhance their abilities.

Rhymer looked at Errant's drink with a look of odd curiosity. It looked more like watered down milk more than any alcohol he had ever seen in his life. He looked back at his own, amber colored drink. That is what good brew looked like to him, not watered down milk. However, each to their own customs and ways. He set his glass down and motioned a waiter over. He spoke quietly to him and the waiter departed.

Several minutes had passed before he returned with a tall glass filled with a dark liquid. He sipped the brew and smiled. He turned his head to the Assingtonians. "I must say Mr. President you country makes a damn fine beer. I'll have to start shelling out a few extra dollars now for the imported stuff."

Yellen looked up at Errant as the man set, or close to near dropped, his glass down on the table. The Simatarian President arched his eyebrow. "Is everything alright?"

Errant didn't answer Yellen for a several long seconds. He didn't know if he was alright. Trying to stop that memory, refusing to see it, he felt like a whipped puppy. He was almost satisfied to stay like this hunkered down. All that was divine, he was tired.

But he wasn't just anywhere. He was amongst his peers. He used a few more breaths to put his mind in order. What was he going to tell the Gee Esser? 'Sorry, bad dream?' 'I felt as though thousands of voices cried out...and then were silenced?' None of that made sense. He didn't know how much everyone else bought into the sort of spoonbending that he showed some ability for. Beyond that anxiety, he wanted to keep his abilities quiet. He didn't like telling others what he was, what he could do. He knew too much loose intel as a security nightmare.

But then there was Shalamar, she hadn't shared it with everyone it seemed. Why? Was it because they showed no spoonbending ability? Or were they 'unworthy' to be burdened with that sort of memory, the concept of that power.

In another part of him, she was still the motivation but for different means. He didn't know if he should reveal what she'd done. He really didn't think she cared what people thought about her. For her youthful appearance she cared as little for other's opinions as his aunt Lolimba Bevu did, and they both had that old, crabby woman vibe about them, Errant reflected.

So what did he say? He couldn't really say anything. Errant pushed himself up and leaned back heavily in his car. He pulled Mercy's hand over onto his thigh to rest his arm, like every ounce of energy had been drained. He glanced over at Yellen. "I'm sorry..." He took a deep breath, trying to banish a residual shudder in his shoulder. "It's just an old war wound that went too close to the heart."

While the Miraade gathered himself, Gold returned to her seat, Errant having shrugged off her help. She glanced at the two Tanaaran bodyguards. They'd stayed strong through, but of course, they hadn't been targeted. She watched their calm, alertness. Maybe they were right about that School.

Gold turned her gaze onto her brother, who was looking past her towards the Tenerist. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing more unusual than had been there before the memory. She turned back. She may have seen nothing, but Mird saw something she did not. A moment or two of staring brought his crimson eyes to hers. "The Echoy'la Dala, that's who she is."

Gold thought back to the memory and nodded. It fit. Echoy'la Dala literally meant "Weeping Woman." In Taung folklore, though sightings of her were numerous enough to give more credence than mere folklore, the Echoy'la Dala was a spirit, a harbinger of death akin to the Bean Sidhe or banshee. She was said to sing death songs outside the huts of families about to expierence a loss. To see the Echoy'la Dala was omen of personal doom. She mourned a loss that not yet come.

Gold glanced back at Lady Shalamar. It fit, it certainly fit.

Numura's glowing blue eyes focused on the woman directly ahead of him. Lady Shalamar, in all her majestic glory, and the dormant power that thankfully slept harmlessly inside of her. His fear, if it was that, told him to leave it alone and just let things be. However, his intuative side told him that this was the moment to strike and create a bond, as everyone tried to recover from the emotional onslaught of Shalamar's vivid memories. His mind focused where his eyes peered and opened for dialogue.

Normalcy is such a facade for the masses isn't it? A happy mask to cover our flaws, our quirks, our subtle little unique traits that we don't want the world to see. As much as I would love to pass as just another person, normal by all appearances, we both know that is quite false don't we?

I never asked for this curse, though others would attempt to convince me it is a gift. Hah! What is a gift that makes you channel the emotions of others, that allows you to nudge them to do your bidding? Where is the will, the choice that is our right as sentient beings? No, this is very much a curse, as is all the baggage that comes along with such unique abilties.

Soo milady, I ask you, if you were in my position, what would your next move be? If you find out one of the few people you believed to be trustworthy has this unnatural ability to wipe out the very essance of life with little effort, what would you do? I came here looking for friends, for assistance for my country, and I have not found either. Only I have found that none here do not act without some agenda bending their actions, though I find the hypocrisy of this conversation itself amusing. Yet the fact that you can control this awesome and devesating power gives pause to what awe and fear of you I might harbor, and tells me I should press forward regardless. I tire of my peoples backwards living, and I see the yearning in their eyes for progress. So I ask with all humilty that I can muster, will you aid us in this affair? Will you help end the restlessness that has threated the Fortuna's tentative peace in the Kingdoms, is my trust in you misplaced?"

Despite the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, Numura's face showed that of ultimate humilty and seriousness. A small faint sound of desperation clouded his minds' voice and he could only hope that he had not been too forthcoming or pressed the wrong buttons with the Lady of Cats Keep.

So the cat was out of the keep, it seemed. Someone had overheard him mumble about the neutron-like effects of Shal's unique gift. In a way, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, much in the way he found a custom-built pistol pleasing, an instrament of death given artistic quality, a counter-balance and diversion from its intended purpose.

He'd begun to see Shal in much the same way, a beautiful creature able to eradicate entire populations with little more than a thought. Even stranger though, he found something of an erotic quality in the whole package. They would have to talk later, about a lot of things. While a good man in most respects, Dekker had his darker tendencies. He was a man who lived by violent means, and there were times when it did get to him, the occasional dream where he'd gunned down a little boy in Somalia after a burst from the kid's AK-47 had struck his partner in the face. It had been a reflex, a simple turn and fire without even thinking, even as his own brain had been screaming for his nerves to stop to no avail...

"So you'd be the last ex-girlfriend I'd ever have, eh?"

He'd snapped out of his remorseful recollection and back into a mood-lightening mode. The somber scene around him didn't need to continue much longer. Sure, the ultimate weapon of divine destruction was sitting across from him, but he was still alive and doubted he'd even feel it if she decided that it was his time to go. He delivered his comment with as much wit and charm as he could muster, and hoping Whiptail would approve.

Throwing a glance to his left he noticed the former assassin was still lost in thought. He'd known Shal for a lot longer than Dekker had, and this new installment in the saga of their friendship had hit him a little harder than it had Dekker. Whiptail had always seen the woman as a life-giver, women in general for that matter, and now one of his closest friends had turned out to be the Dark Destroyer mortal beings had feared for countless centuries.

Eventually though he began to smile again. Fate was indeed a funny bastard...

...I am of the opposite spectrum, and it would grieve my heart greatly. Nevertheless, I am pleased to know you are my friend and confidant.

We haven't always seen eye to eye, I'm too cranky for that, but I'm happy to call you friend She gave Aeris a mental hug,

I tire of my peoples backwards living, and I see the yearning in their eyes for progress. So I ask with all humility that I can muster, will you aid us in this affair? Will you help end the restlessness that has threatened the Fortuna's tentative peace in the Kingdoms, is my trust in you misplaced?"

"What? Mistrust me simply because I have the ability to kill? Every one has the ability to kill, they just must use different means than I do.

Her mental voice was tart, and at this point definitely unkind "But while help is available, and without any of the strings you seem to think dangle off every ones tongues, I'd suggest you take a good long look at why it may not be given to you. Because frankly young man, your attitude sucks. Hypocrisy? You refuse to offer help willingly but want us to help you willingly. Trust me? You don't know me well enough to have made a reasoned determination on whether I am trustworthy or not.

Yes there is an agenda here - The agenda here is to help the dispossessed remnants as best possible. And if that is an unworthy agenda, then maybe you ought to go home.

'"And 'You tire'? Before you get too dreamy eyed over the thought of modernization, I suggest you have a Very Long and Most Serious Talk with Whiptail. He can tell you what a bungled modernization will do to your people." She was deadly serious, then cut off communication with him abruptly.

"So you'd be the last ex-girlfriend I'd ever have, eh?"

Shalamar chuckled whole heartedly at that, her eyes twinkling "Of course - there'd never be an ex to it. And between the two of us, we'd never have to worry about getting mugged while out on a date. Though I draw the line at dinner in a crossfire. And if it's MRE's it's got to be the Chicken a la King" She met his eyes, not looking away. Nothing challenging in her gaze, just honest enjoyment and appreciation of his charm.

Her own glance at Whiptail was filled with hidden compassion. And while she didn't say anything to him, he would eventually remember that she could heal. Not as spectacularly as the other Gift acted, but for every step, Shiva dancing destruction, there was the instant of foot fall and Brahma, creation.

Boris was considered by Assingtonian psychics to be almost entirely devoid of what they called the spark, an aptitude in fields such as telepathy, telekinesis and so forth. His ability was so small that he could do nothing with it but that didn't really bother him. Despite such he could usually tell when there was some form of psychic activity going on nearby. It was nothing more than a slight buzz in the back of his mind but it was enough to let him know something was happening.

Looking around the table didn't appear to offer any explanation until his gaze crossed Errant. The man appeared to be concentrating on something and even Yellen had noticed. Looking around the room, Boris eyed the other table of delegates, noting the stern looks plastered across most faces there. Knowing there were magic users and the type at that table, Boris figured the source was likely there. Looking to Jack, Boris leaned toward him.

"Any idea what's going on?"

Jack shrugged, looking between the other table and those sitting before him.

"Dunno. I can float a couch across the room but I've never had any ability in telepathy."

Boris simply nodded, accepting there were some things beyond him.

"I must say Mr. President you country makes a damn fine beer. I'll have to start shelling out a few extra dollars now for the imported stuff."

Boris grinned and raised his glass towards Rhymer.

"I'd be happy to have a few cases shipped over for you, free of charge."

Whilst Ryath had maintained her serenity, Thor had taken a few moments to compose himself again. Of course his face wasn't visible under the large hood of his cloak but the mage simply remained silent, staring down at the table before him. With the images of life being obliterated fading into the back of his mind, Thor sat up straight once again.

With a more definite course of action in mind, Thor turned his thoughts to what he had been dreading. With no success in finding any of the old gods of Khadrim, he would have to locate the Tear of the Gods once again and use it. Memories of the last time he had used the item roared through his mind, reminding him of the power that lay within his grasp, the power to accomplish feats similar to that of Shalamar and yet it was a power not meant for humans. Thor had lost a piece of himself the day he had used the Tear to bind Xerxes the first time and not just physically. The powers flowing through his mind had very nearly seared away his sanity and left him with a mind incapable of coherency and the power to commit unspeakable acts.

Ryath could sense the tension in her companion and lay a hand upon his arm, attempting to offer him some form of assurance. Of course she knew all too well that he may end up dead this time but it was a bridge they would cross when they came to it. Looking to Ryath, the mage spoke without opening his mouth.

"I will do what needs to be done."

"I know, do not assume it will end you though. We have already lost one councillor in this ordeal and I'm determined to prevent that number from climbing."

Thor didn't voice the thought that there may be very little Ryath could do and simply nodded, shifting his gaze to Shalamar.

"Our appreciation is beyond words, Lady Shalamar. Khadrim will survive because of your generosity."

Yellen was slicing off a piece of steak when an aide came to him. The man listened for several seconds before nodding. Yellen wiped his mouth and hands as he rose. "Pardon me for a few minutes."

Rhymer turned and started to rise as well. Yellen motioned him back down. "I'll call if I need you Isaac."

Rhymer nodded and slid back into his seat as the President quickly departed the room. Yellen headed outside and headed back into the conference room. When he entered he found a man dressed in a military digital-camouflage uniform, three black strips decorated his sleeve. On the table next to him was a compact radio set and a folder. The soldier gave the President a smart salute.

"Mr. President." The soldier lowered his arm. "They said in here could give us the best privacy."

"Alright, what is it Sargent?" Yellen said as he came to the table.

The Sargent opened the folder and handed Yellen a series of black and white photographs. "These were taken a few hours ago by one of our satellites of our South-West region. Area is largely uninhabited."

Yellen brought the first picture close to his face and shook his head. All he could see was trees, rolling hills and boulders. "What am I looking at?"

The Sargent handed him a magnifying glass and pointed to the treeline. Yellen looked at the expanded view. Small shapes that looked like vehicles were tucked just inside the treeline. Yellen went onto the second picture and this time found a thermal image photograph. Several dozen human figures became visible through the thick trees. Structures were also visible.

"We shifted one of our satellites from it's normal orbit to cover this area after the first images were taken. What we found was well..." The Sargent said.

Yellen flipped through the next series of pictures, they were showing people and vehicles moving out in the open as well as in the trees. The expanded views he came upon gave Yellen pause, on several he could clearly make out what appeared to be rocket launchers or something similar and on one an armored car. "South West you said?"

"Yes sir. General Whittle believes its a supply depot or training base for one of the rising warlords from the south. They cross our border under cover of darkness and since the closest town is about fifty miles away, they have the area to themselves. They've also apparently charted our satellite paths, so they could avoid the usual routes, but once we shifted routes, we got them. Whittle wants to know what you want to do."

Yellen had to suppress a smile. It was ironic, they were discussing what to do with the threat of warlords and now he had one using his nation as a safe zone. Yellen put the photographs down, he had seen enough. Rubbing his chin for several seconds, he thought about what to do. A spark hit his head. "Radio secure?"

"Yes sir, secure line straight to Whittle."

"Radio please." Yellen took the receiver and the Sargent turned the set on. Yellen heard the breathing on the other line. "General?"

A feminine voice answered him. "Dawson show you the photographs sir?"

"Yes he did, rather surprising. General I'm not an expert in military weaponry, but are you sure this is a stockpile of weaponry?"

"Yes sir, I had intelligence look over them with a fine tooth comb. No doubt sir, looks to be a lot of old military hardware. From what we see, nothing heavier than anti-tank rockets or recoiless rifles. We're shifting other satellites around our borders to look for other similar camps."

"Alright." Yellen sat on the table and thought. "General, we can't allow these people to stay in our country. I know there have already been deliveries of Starlight equipment to the elite units. What about an actual combat test of some of it? Such as deploying several Tyrannosaurs supporting the troops?"

There was a slight pause on the other end. The voice that came back was slightly excited and surprised. "Sounds good sir."

"Alright, draw up your plans on attack. Call me once it's all over."

"Yes sir Mr. President."

Yellen hung up the receiver and Sargent Dawson shut off the set. "Return to the plane Sargent, thank you. Take the photographs up to my room first."

Dawson nodded and began to collect the items as Yellen departed the room. The Simatarian President returned to the dining hall several minutes later. He retook his seat next to Rhymer. He took a long drink of apple cider, finishing off the glass and having it refilled. He quieted Rhymer before the man could speak with a raise of his hand.

Turning back to the table, Yellen gave a warm smile. "What did I miss?"

"And 'You tire'? Before you get too dreamy eyed over the thought of modernization, I suggest you have a Very Long and Most Serious Talk with Whiptail. He can tell you what a bungled modernization will do to your people." She was deadly serious, then cut off communication with him abruptly.

A wince in his eye and a frown upon his face told to anyone noticing that Numura's mood quickly changed, for one reason or another. He sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest in an abbrasive manner, and pondered what had just transpired. Clearly he had pressed upon the wrong side of Shalamar, but how, he was unsure.

Perhaps I was to abrupt and forward. Easing into the discussion might of the smart way in, but with soo little time it was not possible was it? It's not as if there will be many oppurtunities left in the meeting to try and secure the aid. And yet she seems just as angry at my refusal to large-scale aid to the refugees as the archon. I might of put too much trust in her to begin with and not enough effort into building a relationship upon which trust is to be built. Another lesson learned the foolish way for me, and another step in the wrong direction. Alas, I might need Sukri the rest of my life afterall.

The sour look in his eyes remained although he let his arms become laxed, as he tried to regain his professional image. Their dinner had not yet even been ordered, and he was already ready to make a leave. How the confidence and arrogance of youth is soo easily deflated gave him a small mental chuckle. He decided he would best serve his own agenda if he were to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the meal, if only to keep himself from offending anyone else.

Rob shook his head to clear it and turned back to his order that had been slipped in front of him as he sat talking. Steak for him, rare with a demi glaze and a hearty serving of steamed fresh vegtables, and a large salad with blue cheese crumbled over it. He glanced over at Aeris's chosen meal, one of her elvin favorites, and smiled as he watched her too set the memories aside and begin eating. He knew he probably hovered too much but he also knew it was first time father syndrome.

Romeo and Juilet relaxed as the atmosphere became less charged, but their attention sharpened again as the Gee eSsser' president was called away. A quick exchange of glances with Rob's own discreet bodyguards - Smanatha and Darrin brought a flashing exchange of handsign and a raised eyebrow on Romeo's part.

Less than five minutes from President Yellin's return one of Rob's military aides entered and exchanged a soft voiced coded exhange that saw him rising and excusing himself.

Mercy gave it all an interested glance then leaned over and whispered something in Errants ear. Otherwise she seemed unconcerned, though the pace of her eating did pick up a bit.

"Our appreciation is beyond words, Lady Shalamar. Khadrim will survive because of your generosity."

"Pay it forward, is all I ask. And I do it out of 'enlightened self interest' - since that is far more bluntly honest than altruism." She flashed a grin "I believe as a certain Master of Science Fiction Literature did" And her voice took on 'quoting' tones "If tempted by something that feels "altruistic," examine your motives and root out that self-deception. Then, if you still want to do it, wallow in it! "

and this one also applies to Khadrim" Her eyes rested on Thor and Ryath though she raised her voice slightly so that it would carry to a particular pair of elvin ears at the Archons table "Your enemy is never a villain in his own eyes. Keep this in mind; it may offer a way to make him your friend. If not, you can kill him without hate — and quickly"

"Hate is one of the most destructive, pernicious but most common illnesses about."

Errant dug into a Tanaaran dish Mercy had recommended. It was called a three pepper steak en croute. Mercy had explained that it was a piece of steak then wrapped in grill seared peppersand finished by quick bakeing in a flakey pastry crust with onions, garlic and tomatoes. It was definitely spicey, but flavourful just like Mercy had promised.

A part of him hoped the spices would burn away the memories, replacing one pain with another. It worked in a way, by getting his mind off of it. He was well onto his second glass of palm wine, trying to kill the burn, when Mercy leaned over and whispered in his ear.

He paused for a moment, stock still. He hadn't sensed a thing, not a thing about the change in the room. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes and saw the vornskrari alert to the changing subtleties in the room. He glanced back to Mercy who had sped up her eating.

He decided that he must be burnt out from warding off that memory, his mind sure felt like it. However, he also decided something was up. He tucked into his meal, ignoring the burn. He signaled a waiter to bring him some water. He had a gut feeling he wasn't going to need any more alcohol in his system.

Rhymer looked over at Yellen curiously as the President left his seat. He wondered what was so important that even he, the President's bloody aide, couldn't listen in. Rhymer was absorbed in his thoughts as he picked a shrimp up from his plate and bit into it. What could it be? A scandal that had come to light while they were here? No, that wasn't that important. Economy have a sudden drop? Possibly, but if that was the case Yellen should return quickly and they would leave for home.

When Yellen returned, the man was very composed and somewhat cheery. Okay, so its nothing overly bad or devastating. Rhymer took a spoonful of rice into his mouth as Yellen spoke. Rhymer went back to his dinner, he was sure Yellen would explain when they were alone.


Yellen ate calmly, things seem to have calmed down during the time he was away. The serious looks seemed to disappear from most faces. It made him wonder what was with everyone, several had been so focused on something they didn't notice their plates that had been put in front of them. Must be some sort of pre-meal meditation I guess.

Yellen looked up as Rob departed the table. He looked around the table. "Me first, then the Archon...whose next to leave the table?"

"What did I miss?"

Boris took the opportunity to have another little jest with the Simatarian president.

"Oh, nothing much. We were just discussing the best way for a military invasion of your country and whether Rhymer here would enjoy sitting behind the presidential desk. Nothing too interesting."

Boris' tone and sly green made it quite obvious he was joking but Jack still shook his head as if he were embarrassed to be associated with the man. Neither of the pair was really sure how the Simatarians would react but Boris always seemed to expect people would simply understand his sense of humour whilst Jack was always prepared to clean up afterwards.

Neither had spoken when Yellen had left the table and simply gave their dinners attention, exchanging a brief glance between each other. Evidently something was going on but it was Yellen's business and if it turned out being particularly important as far as the region or Assington was concerned, there would be a report about it somewhere.

With Rob also getting up, the Assingtonian pair began to wonder what was going on, although they didn't voice such concerns. Chances were one of the various warlords around the region had done something to annoy someone and would probably be in for a stomping soon. They could work it out later.

"Pay it forward, is all I ask. And I do it out of 'enlightened self interest' - since that is far more bluntly honest than altruism. I believe as a certain Master of Science Fiction Literature did, 'If tempted by something that feels "altruistic," examine your motives and root out that self-deception. Then, if you still want to do it, wallow in it!' and this one also applies to Khadrim"

Whilst Thor wasn't familiar with the author Shalamar was quoting, there was a similar saying amongst his own people and he nodded in understanding. He would have been suspicious if she had stated her motivation was pure altruism and whilst she hadn't had them clear, Thor believed they were not sinister.

"Whatever your motivations, we will be sure to honour our debt."

"Your enemy is never a villain in his own eyes. Keep this in mind; it may offer a way to make him your friend. If not, you can kill him without hate — and quickly. Hate is one of the most destructive, pernicious but most common illnesses about."

Ryath knew this all too well and had spent a considerable amount of effort schooling her emotions and general discipline. The last time she acted out of hate had resulted in a lot of death and that was something she would rather avoid.

"There will be no turning Xerxes into a friend. He cannot be reasoned with in the slightest and so we aim to slay him not out of hate but for survival and freedom. Those that oppose him he attempts to kill and those that submit become mindless slaves."

A long list of tasks ran through Ryath's head as she contemplated what would have to be done once Xerxes was dealt with. Izual's replacement would have to be arranged by the elves and damage suffered by the humans would need to be addressed. And the dwarves. Ryath and Thor hadn't heard any word from Bifrost since they had split up after confirming Xerxes' presence. They would have to locate him.

Yellen looked over at the Assingtonians and then over at Rhymer, and then back at the Assingtonians. His face was of complete shock. His eyes turned back to Rhymer. "A coup? You've been plotting a coup?"

Rhymer shot a nasty glance towards the Assingtonian President before returning to his own. "Mr..."

Yellen raised his hand. "No. I know you don't care for my ideas but a coup? How is this going to make me look in the history books?"

Rhymer looked around the table oddly before looking back at Yellen. "Sir?"

"I mean, how is this going to look? I mean not only am I ousted by coup, but it's not even a proper coup. Its not some peeved General...its my bloody aide. I mean you couldn't wait till I promoted you or something. Make it a little more dignified defeat for me. But my aide overthrows me? I might just have to give you some title like 'Chief Presidential Liaison to the Joint Chiefs of Staff' or something like that. Do you know how this will make me look? Like I was cast out by the bloody French...the French Rhymer."

Yellen made a dramatic slump in his seat and poked the food on his plate. The President looked up at Boris. The Simatarian's sarcasm was in full swing as he pointed his fork at him. "This is going to make you look bad as well. Not showing any class...tsk tsk. I mean there are plenty of Generals and Admirals who hate me, pick one of them...boot me out with some sense of that you actually took this seriously. Picking a President's aide...you''ll look like one big joke. What kind of President are you when you can't properly overthrow another government?"

Rhymer's eyes shifted from Yellen over to Jack. Rhymer seemed to sense that the Assingtonian was a little annoyed by his President's actions...the Simatarian however was just embarrassed by his own President. Instead of brushing it off, Yellen was going through a whole series of amateur theatrics. Rhymer rolled his eyes and returned to his plate.

Dekker could only chuckle at Shal's response to his little quip, returning her look with a little gaze of his own. He was about to respond when one of the server's slipped the steak he'd ordered, in his favorite 'Pittsburgh Rare' style, in front of him. The prime rib was surrounded by a lagoon of au juis, and bordered by a healthy heap of mashed potatoes and an equally large vegetable selection of broccoli and carrots. He muttered a thank-you before the servant was off again to serve his scaly companion. A guy his size required quite a few calories to support him, but he'd toned it down a little bit for diplomacy's sake. Nobody liked a glutton...

"I'd settle for dinner and a movie personally. Less chance of either unless you have a perchant for Sudani cuisine..."

There was a bit of concern on his part if Whiptail would approve, but the scaly bastard hadn't said anything yet. He seemed to be enjoying the teriyaki chicken and pineapple he'd ordered, served over a bed of rice and bac choy. He really didn't seem to pay much attention to their exchanged comments, Whiptail had turned his attentions to the delegate from the Three Golden Kingdoms...

"Shalamar speaks truthfully, Mr. Numura. Argonia has just begun to rebuild after a long and costly civil war brought on by too much progress too quickly. If you're thinking of a modernization of your own, I'm sure I can get you some help. No-one here wants to see your homeland burn. You have but to ask..."

While Whiptail was a little more diplomatic in his approach than Shal had been, he was also actually willing to help. The Argonian Modernization had cost a lot of his people a lot of things, in Whiptail's case it had been a wife, four children, and nearly his own life. He'd spent nearly a decade labeled an enemy of the state for operations he'd undertaken for the old government, and just about over-night he'd become public enemy number one.

Government death squads had raided the halls of his assassins' guild and killed dozens before the remainder escaped into the marshes. They'd caught up with Whiptail and the three other Grandmasters at Whiptail's home in Raven's Rest. The now-Colonel Kerrich had personally exectued Whiptail's wife and children, killing them in their sleep before he could save them. He'd tried to exact revenge but one of Kerrich's troops shot him in the back before he could strangle the murderer to death. Kerrich had then shot him again and burned Whiptail's home to the ground with a few incindiary grenades.

Times had changed, however. Kerrich was now the commanding officer for Argonian Spec-War forces from all branches and Whiptail was a diplomatic envoy of sorts. The former assassin threw a look over his shoulder at the two Colonels sitting with Rob on the other table before returning to his plate...

Outside the Conference Building...

The one Mytha'lik and two trucks making up the celebratory convoy of Catawaban pilots and Guards, rolled to a stop before the broad stairs up to the grand, modern building which would house the Conference and did house the only bar on this Stepford island. General Quigley shook his head as he opened the beskar armored door and slid out of the vehicle.

The off duty Miraade'dric Guard fireteam piled out behind him. They scanned the area around them, MORs at the ready. They were on edge not from any threat of danger but because they'd been shanghaied along on this international incident waiting to happen. One of the Guards, the squad's medic PFC Dustine de'Molay, sidled up beside the general. "Sir, are you sure that we should be here? Major Delaney said that Stick One was to remain at the airport and..."

Quigley looked down at the small platinum blonde. "Private, the red broken heart insignia on my collar say I am a General. My hearts beat Maggie's splayed palm fronds any day of the week, even if she's the Alpha Commander of the Guard, 'kay?"

Dustine nodded doubtful. Quigley sighed and continued. "Anyways, don't worry. As I said, my Bassitude," Which is the measurement for a person or thing whose extreme attitudes and behavior are admirable, "is great enough to even out most of the negative reprecussions that are likely to happen."

The medic looked back at her fellow Guards. They looked uncomfortable but remained silent. Only the fireteam commander, Corporal Salva, spoke up. "Sir, with all due with respect, I don't think it's a good idea for you to be here. The Miraade, the Secretary for War, and Major Delaney all put this plan together which has you and your pilots on the tarmac in case of emergency. It's not like I can countermand you, sir, but I suggest you make your field trip here quick and quiet." Salva knew that everything she said was useless, but she felt she was atleast hedging her bets in front of witnesses for her eventual courts martial.

Quigley, as expected, ignored most of what Salva recommended. "In case of emergency? What's the odds of that happening?" He stopped for a moment to listen for any ominious rumblings of thunder, but hearing none yet he continued. "If anything happens, the Miraade has a strong enough Badassitude to hold out, or he'd never have gotten to be Miraade."

The Guards and now the pilots, as they got out of the trucks and gathered around, all stopped at the announcement of Quigley's new line of insanity. Salva was the only to bite, however. She felt rediculous for doing so, but somethings went to far. "Excuse me?"

Quigley nodded and started walking up the stairs, the other Catawaban following behind him like the Pied Piper's rats. "Not many people recognize it, but many governmental systems, including ours, are founded on proportional levels of Badassitude. The Miraade was an elite Togovian Marine, joined the Revolution and then acted as and lead its entire special operations branch, and finally he takes the reins of the entire Revolution leading it to victory. His gross Badassitude is probably somewhere around 0.88 of a Quigley."

His audience simply stared. One of the pilots finally spoke up. "You measure Badassitude in fractional units of you?"

Quigley shook his head. "No, I measure it in fractional measurements of a member of my family, which I just happen to be a member of. Anyways, moving on." He came to the door and held it open for the rest of the Catawabans as they filed past in bewilderment.

Inside, little Dustine shook her head. "You're making this up. Yeah, the Miraade's definitely a badass," Quigley noticed her cheeks reddened a little. He could only surmise what thoughts the young private had about her Miraade, but he could assume that de'Molay was one of many Catawaban girls who'd developed crushes, however impractical or unlikely, on their ruler. She cleared her throat before continuing. "but it's not like the rest of government..."

Quigley silenced her with an amused smirk. "Oh really? Let's go through them, shall we? The Secretary for War was my squadron leader during the Revolution and personally initiated the defection of the Air Force from the Togovian Viceroyal Military. General Fyatt of the Marines, well, she lead a mutiny that killed off the senior Togovian officers above her, and then lead the Marines to Catawaba's banner." He ticked those two names off on his fingers. "Secretary for Foriegn Affairs, Lolimba Bevu, even blind the woman can give you a stare that will freeze your soul. And then there's the Beta Miraade..."

Dustine's jaw dropped. "Rea Vipe? The ambassadress to Tanaara, 'Darling of Catawaba,' sister of the Miraade, Rea Vipe? No way, she's a classy lady, bright, intelligent, calm, cheery..."

This time it was her fellow Guards that stared Dustine into silence. Salva raised a dark eyebrow. "De'Molay, haven't you heard what the Beta Miraade's preferred weapon is?"

Another Guard leaned in with a grin. "The one she qualifies with because to be a member of the government you must be at least be a reservist, and she chose to be a Marine Reservist?"

Dustine looked between her comrades. "The MORB?" The MOR Basic was the base platform for the MOR series. It was simply the 6.5mm bullpup rifle without attachments. It was light, effective, and what many non-combat personnel, such as medics like Dustine, carried.

Salva snorted. "Girl, the Beta Miraade qualifies with the SSW."

"And she can rate Marksman with it." The other, unnamed, Guard threw in.

"Markswoman." Lieutenant Williams interjected in her continued defense of female persuasion.

Dustine blinked as she processed of it. That meant that that little five foot three inch Beta Miraade Rea Vipe could wield and fire the SSW, a FN Minimi light machine gun chambered for 6.5mm rounds, and put at least half of her rounds through various targets along a qualification course. The implications were impressive, and Dustine estimated that might give Miss Vipe a Badassitude of 0.21 of a Quigley, if she grasped the Quigley scale correctly.

Matthew Quigley simply smiled and entered after all of his Catawabans had. He circled around them and lead him on to the Building's so-far underutilized Nightclub. He wondered if he could find the necessary red and black paints to create a Catawaban flag that he could raise over the bar and therefore claim the entire Nightclub as Catawaban territory by default.

"I'd settle for dinner and a movie personally. Less chance of either unless you have a perchant for Sudani cuisine..."

Shalamar's eyes sparkled and answering smile brought out her dimples "Nope, not a iota of a penchant for it. They can't do a thing with steak and they wouldn't know a lobster if it came up and introduced itself." Her thick ribeye was blood rare, with green beans adorned with flecks of sauteed onion and bits of bacon, and steamed rice with roasted garlic. She swore that garlic was it's own food group, and an essential one at that, and also that she was president of Carnivores R Us.

"Which do you want to chose the movie, or the restraunt?" She looked at Dekker with an arched eye brow.

She knew that Whiptail would tell the young Mr. Numura the absolute thruth. To many the Argonian 'modernization' was an utter nightmare, used as the textbook example of 'What Not To Do'. And she at times had seriously wondered if there shouldn't have been some very serious intervention a long time ago. But she had managed to keep her fingers firmly out of that pie, though if Whiptail had said one single word...

"This is going to make you look bad as well. Not showing any class...tsk tsk. I mean there are plenty of Generals and Admirals who hate me, pick one of them...boot me out with some sense of that you actually took this seriously. Picking a President's aide...you'll look like one big joke. What kind of President are you when you can't properly overthrow another government?"

Boris remained silent as he watched Yellen's performance, a slightly amused grin plastered across his face. Anyone could tell the Simatarian President was simply being sarcastic, perhaps carrying on a little too much but it was all in good humour and Boris could appreciate that. Once Yellen had finished, Boris leaned forward and spoke with a straight face.

"We have a little saying in Assington. 'Get the job done and bugger what everyone else thinks'. It worked out quite well the last time I had to topple a government. Democracies are such pesky things though, people always demanding a right to whine when they're about as useful as a gun minus the bullets."

Boris wasn't sure whether Yellen knew about how he'd come into power but he assumed he would know at least the basics, it certainly hadn't been covered up. After losing a rigged election, Boris had to flee the planet in order to stay alive. It had taken a few years to gather the necessary support in the military and other agencies but eventually he'd been able to return and plant a bullet in Mark Kulstov's brain and claim the Presidency that was rightfully his.

Yellen knew somewhat of Boris' taking of the Presidency of Assington. The Golden Simatar had slammed Assington for allowing the results of a rigged election to go through and in a bit of hypocrisy, had slammed Boris' execution of Kulstov. There had been some troubled elections and only a few all out rigged elections in the Golden Simatar. However, rather thankfully, violent corrections of these elections hadn't occurred for hundreds of years.

Yellen shrugged. "Well I think democracy, while not being perfect is probably the best system we have at the moment. Balance of power and the voice of the people must be maintained."

Rhymer kept his mouth shut as he heard Yellen speak. Your practicing a bit of hypocrisy right now he thought, his mind drifting to Yellen's involved approach to government. But even more he was wondering why the President had left the room and what was the call about?

Yellen spoke after eating some of his dinner. "I do hope this little conference does some good for the region. Plenty of problems within her and possibly even larger problems in the future. What are we to do if that Demon Lord decides to take over the region again?"

Errant had finished his dinner and moved it aside. Like a waist-coated flash, a member of the wait staff slid in and whisked the plate away. Errant leaned back and took another sip of water. He listened to the conversation trying to fill in time and distract himself from over thinking a situation that he barely knew anything about.

He leaned back into the conversation. "Y'all'll have to pardon me for my ignorance. During your demon war, I wasn't but a kid, and Togovia did a damned good job of ignoring everything outside of its own concerns. Yeah, we heard an ugly sort of stories that filtered over the ocean and in through strict news censorship...but we never really heard what all went on."

He'd been hardly a preteen when the war quieted down, when the ghost stories stopped about what was occuring on the main land, when the Togovians loosened a small part of their paranoid, frightened hold on Catawaba. He'd always thought that Togovia had known more than it let on about the demon war in Fatal Terrain but had stayed out, hid, for fear that it would move further east, first to Catawaba and then on to its other two major colonies in the area. "How did nijota..." He paused as he searched for an English word for his thought rather than a Taung'a concept. "...mundane, non-magical weapons work against them?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the nightclub next door, the Catawaban soldiers quickly laid claim to the bar, spreading out down its entire length. Quigley stepped back from the group and raised hands and his voice for attention. "All right, people, I know you came here thinking I was maverick who was going to get you boozed up, but you were only partially right. I'm the maverick who's going to let you drink all the non-alcoholic beverages you can stand."

A chorus of boos sounded from the bar. Quigley motioned for them to be quiet. "I'm only looking to get myself busted down a pay grade not the rest of you youngesters." The soldiers hissed at the 'old man' who was only a few years older than the rest of them. "So just make sure that if you have a longneck bottle with a beer wench on it, make sure that her hair is up instead of down, or I will. Other than that, have all the non-alcoholic, nonviolent fun you can handle. Is that clear?"

A chorus of yes sirs, and Quigley smiled and turned his attention away from his command. As he scanned the nightclub, he felt good about himself. He really didn't want to jeopardize their career. His career could go to hell for all he cared. He was edging on the divide where any more good work would have him flying a desk rather than a fighter. No, he had to do something about that. So it was time to reillustrate why he'd only been a captain in the Togovian Colonial Air Force.

"I do hope this little conference does some good for the region. Plenty of problems within her and possibly even larger problems in the future. What are we to do if that Demon Lord decides to take over the region again?"

Aeris paused as she honed all her attention on Yellen. She studied him carefully. Egads, he was so green, so wet behind the ears still. However, she gave no indication of such thoughts, instead preparing a carefully thought out response to his legitimate question. Just as she was about to speak, the Catawaban spoke his piece. He too was young.

"Y'all'll have to pardon me for my ignorance. During your demon war, I wasn't but a kid, and Togovia did a damned good job of ignoring everything outside of its own concerns. Yeah, we heard an ugly sort of stories that filtered over the ocean and in through strict news censorship...but we never really heard what all went on."

Bloody hell...has a generation already passed since the war? Aeris thought to herself as she brought to mind an image of her husband. Being elven, her memory was flawless and could recall everything about him. Yes, I suppose so. He's got a new wrinkle or two. she thought to herself.

"How did nijota......mundane, non-magical weapons work against them?"

"Not so well, unless you were to take into account those of the region who were able to use weapons that could be considered in the "mass destruction" scale of force. Even then, it wasn't the end of the demons. It took a combined force of millions of allies and mixed forms of warfare to defeat the demon lord Abaddon, his mistress Lillit and their ally Arithon. Many died, and I assure you that some of us still do not sleep well at night, though many years," she paused at this then corrected herself, "many years according to mortals, have passed since the end of the war. We know that Abaddon and Lillit have escaped into hiding, and all attempts at finding them thus far have failed. They are very skilled at disguise, skilled enough that they could be masquerading as another person even here, though the chances of that are virtually and theoretically impossible for our preventative measures set in place are designed to keep such unwanted business from occurring."

She turned her attention to Yellen, her gaze becoming like one of ice. "And should either of them, ever make an attempt to do such again, much less show their faces, the entire region; at least for those of us who understand the threat they are and can be; will do everything in its power to seize them and imprison them permanently." She glance now to the Catawaban, "If I catch them in my borders, I'll kill them outright and without any bloody hesitation."

It was clear she was still harboring a lot of animosity toward the two in question, and her words exerted enough force behind them, though they remained as calm as possible, to give them a sense that she was not one to trifle with. Even the light had its own darkness in certain situations. It was possible they might even derive a threat from her words if the two criminals were found in their own borders. She'd find a way to extract them and deal with them harshly.

Glancing between the two of them, she spoke once more, "Let me make something clear to you. Abaddon alone is responsible for the death of millions of my own people, and millions of others throughout the region. You cannot bargain with him. You cannot alliance with him. You cannot even write letters to him, for he will find a way to destroy you and everything you hold dear. He cares for no one, and even only tolerates Lord Arithon because Arithon had the additional demonic armies to back his campaigns. However, it's clear that Arithon had his own reasons for providing such forces, but even he knows better than to antagonize the greater will of the region. He, to his credit, is no fool."

Yellen sat quietly, his eyes locked onto Aeris as the elf spoke. He gulped down a piece of meat as her eyes focused on him. During the time that Tarlachia had been overrun to the end of the war he had been leading the Senate Department of Interiors Board and a menagerie of small Congressional Boards. Being somewhat of an idealist and to some more interested in the environment that 'real' politics, he never could get his hands the military reports and was informed by what he saw on the nightly news.

The Simatarian President gave a noticeable shiver as Aeris said the pair Abaddon and Lillith were masters of diguise. He could only possibly imagine the chance that they could be hiding within his very borders. Yellen washed down his food with some more cider and got a refill.

"Well lets hope they never reappear. The last thing this region needs is another war on its hands. From what I can remember from the news I saw the Golden Simatar never deployed nuclear weapons but we did make heavy use of...ummm..."

"Thermobaric Mr. President." Rhymer filled in. Man needs to spend more time in military briefings and less time micromanaging.

"Yes that's it. I do remember that heavier conventional weaponry did have some impact." Yellen looked up at Aeris, curiosity in his eyes. "I must confess I wasn't in any fore-front in Congress when the Demon War occurred...but this Arithon...he is like Abaddon's rival or puppet...?"

The bar had seemed to be most empty save for the invading Catawabans, how ever at the sound of Quigley's voice a head peaked out of one of the back booth and then ducked rapidly back in. "I've got the answer to half our problems. The Cats... flew in in their Dragonflies, right? Okay I've got my ride. Just get the back ups there as fast as possible. Yes I've got enough of a kit with me." She hung up her cell phone and stood up moving soundlessly to just behind the Catawaban

And seconds later Matthew Quigley found that his turning away from his men turned him into someone delightfully feminine. "Matt! I haven't seen you in ages" Hawke said warmly then leaned in to whisper in her ear "I need a favor...and no turning into a woman on me this time, okay!"

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

Robert returned to the restraunt his face stern. "Ladies, Gentlemen, you will need to excuse me. Things have just gotten very tense. Forces in the defunct nation of Central Worlds have just shot down two planes. An Air Tanaar flight carrying one hundred and ninety passengers bound for Catawaba and a Fatal Terrain Red Cross relief flight bound for Dragons Reach. There are no survivors on the Air Tanaar, the plane disintegrated in mid air, however the crew and small contingent of passengers aboard the Red Cross flight are shaken, and injured but uncaptured at this time."

Errant paled. He'd only heard for the FT Red Cross flight's loss. He hadn't heard about the Air Tanaar flight bound for his country. Hitting a Red Cross plane was taboo enough by any breach of military honor code but additionally splashing a passenger jet? His gut twisted as his imagination filled in horrific scenarios of what caused a mid air disentegration.

The Miraade pushed back from the table and stood up. The two vornskrari Guards stood up a split second and moved in behind him. "What do you need, Rob?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The sex change wasn't my fault!" Quigley blurted indignantly without thinking. He cleared his throat to cut off himself off and try and fail to cover his embarrassment.

He put an arm around Hawke to conduct her and himself away from the ackward stares of his fellow pilots. He got them away from the bar and stepped away from her. His cheeks still crimson, he crossed his arms and tried to look tough. "Cut the 'I need a favor' routine, you aren't going to ask me for a couple of waadas* to pay your tab. What crazy, asinine, lethal thing do you want me to do?"




[*Waadas, the Taung word for 'wealth' is now the Catawaban monetary unit, which had been the Gold Credit.]

"Well I think democracy, while not being perfect is probably the best system we have at the moment. Balance of power and the voice of the people must be maintained."

Boris laughed quite loudly at Yellen's comment, genuinely amused at such a notion. Assington had originally been a monarchy and whilst Boris didn't intend to return a crown to the nation he did intend to do away with the vote.

"The last election in Assington was a perfect example of how easily corruptible democracy is. Ignoring the fact that the vote was rigged at the last minute to change the result, Kulstov lied his way into contention and the public lapped it up. There's no need for a balance of power if those in charge can use it responsibly and for the right reasons. And as for the voice of the people, we have another saying in Assington that addresses that. 'As the people expand their intelligence declines'."

Whilst Jack was certainly a bureaucrat at heart he had to agree with Boris. Democracy was reasonably young in Assington but it had a very poor track record so far and there was a growing movement to abolish the vote of the people entirely.

The Assingtonians remained relatively quiet as the discussion moved onto the demon war. Boris was off-world at the time and Kulstov was in power whilst Jack was tucked away in some minor government department. Due to such Assington had not participated in the war and by the time Boris gained power it was over.

Boris' humour dried up as Rob returned with news of the down aircraft. The incident highlighted the very reason they were all there at the conference, to stabilise the region and prevent that sort of thing from happening.

Hawke chuckled at Matts inadvertent yelp, But sobered as he asked

"Cut the 'I need a favor' routine, you aren't going to ask me for a couple of waadas* to pay your tab. What crazy, asinine, lethal thing do you want me to do?"

"I need a fast ride about a thousand miles north and rather east of here. ASAP" Her face was stony now and her eyes unreadable.

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

Mercy too had blanched when Rob gave the additional information. She'd whispered to Errant the translation of what she'd over heard the aide tell Rob but the loss of the passenger flight hadn't been part of that.

She stood when Errant did, knowing she'd be needed.

"What do you need, Rob?

“Some of your men most likely.” Rob nodded to Gold and Mird “What we’ve got here in the way of personnel will be our quickest response”

Shalamar and Colonel Hardcastle had come to their feet.

“Kade and the Looie?” Colonel Hardcastle offered and Rob nodded.

“I don’t have any one in country and the only site we have marked was Central Port” Shalamar frowned

“Travis and Morgan have set up tactical center in the ball room up on seven – any one interested in brain storming is welcome” Rob said as he gave Aeris a look before heading back out of the restraunt

Yellen nearly gagged as Robert informed them of the shooting down of the two aircraft. At first he sat frozen in his seat, unsure of how to react. When Rob announced the brainstorming session, Yellen put his utensils down and rose from his chair. He drained his glass of cider after he stood before taking off after Robert.

Rhymer climbed out of his chair and followed in the President's footsteps. "What do..."

"I want you to contact the escort at the airport, get me Sargent Dawson, I think he's the ranking soldier there. I want him here ASAP with a direct line to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Then go up to my room and collect the folder sitting on the bed."

"Uhh...yes sir." Rhymer said as he broke away from Yellen to get his hands on a phone. Rhymer moved slightly slower, taken by surprise to Yellen's actions. Though he expected the man to simply call the Generals and have them do everything else.

Yellen quickly caught up with Rob and matched the man's step. "Where exactly did the plane go down? If its close enough to my border I could have men in there for a rescue and have them out shortly. The Simatarian Air Force can provide aerial protection from enemies until they're rescued."

Quigley closed his eyes as visualized his flight charts in his head and estimated the course. He frowned and, without opening his eyes, answered her. "Darlin'...why do ya askin' me to take one of my Gen Five Dragon Bs and fly it into a mutinious foriegn land that's probably got at least Gen Six but more than likely Gen Ten aircover?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Errant exchanged a concerned look with Mercy. He took her hand and followed after the Archon. The vornskrari and the SSS fell in behind their principals. As the pair passed the doors first the FDM inside and the two Guards outside took up leading positions.

The Guards were tense. Even the non-vornskrari, lacking any empathy, could feel the situation brewing in the air around them. Word was drifting down through their earpieces as Major Delaney got notice from the Archon's staff. She was moving from the security center on the main floor up to the tactical center being sent up on the seventh.

fly it into a mutinious foriegn land that's probably got at least Gen Six but more than likely Gen Ten aircover?"

"Because you can get me there faster than any one else, and you're Quigley. I'm not rated to fly a Butterfly, and all we have here are single seaters" Her logic was impecable.

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

Rob looked surprized at Yellins quick and willing offer. However he shook his head on the question of location. "Thank you Wesley. They're far closer to here. Our contact is only intermittent; their survival radios are as old as the plane itself was apparently. I don't know if air cover is going to be possible. You'll want to see the footage we have of the Air Tanaar flight" His voice was leaden.

A youngster up on the Tater setting up his cameras to catch migratory patterns had inadvertantly witnessed the even and caught it on film. Though the quality was poor it was enough to show the destruction. The chartered airliner, at cruising altitude, simply disintegrating, caught in the nearly invisible beam of the Phonon Maser.

Shalamar and Colonel Hardcastle were hard on the two men's heels, Abigail on her cellphone to her aide and the others of her small security team.

Shortly they were entering the seventh floor ball room where various computers and monitors were just finishing being networked together.

Indeed the picture quality was poor, but the event was viewable, as was the simultaneous recordings by Tanaaran satellites of the energy spike that accompanied the firing of the P- Maser from a hidden base deep in the Central World eastern mountains.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

map (http://www.atddm.com/rescue.jpg) - don't worry this is a small map and will load quickly- yellow and purple box is crash site.

Boris and Jack both abandoned their seats and joined the group moving towards the seventh level. They hadn't brought much of a force with them but they could certainly spare a man to contribute to the rescue operation if need be. The pair were quite aware that Assington's regional participation wasn't exactly great considering it was numerically the largest nation in the region.

Staying somewhat behind Rob and the others, Boris and Jack discussed their options. They had brought five men with them, all highly trained soldiers, amongst other things. Boris simply suggested they send the most senior man they had available.

"The captain is the most experienced soldier out of them all and used to do this sort of stuff all the time. The others are qualified but Alex is best for the job."

Jack simply shrugged. He'd never been in the military and didn't really know the various qualifications each man held.

"Alright, we can't afford to send all of them though. We came here light enough as it is."

"Brainstorming?" Aeris repeated with a scoff as she continued to speak to herself as she rose to her feet quickly, "I don't just brainstorm." Her eyes flicked to several others with the same notion to join the meeting upstairs.

With a sweet of graceful movement and a glance toward Shalamar, she moved with speed and silence as befitting of her race and took to the stairs rather than the elevator as the rest seemed to be heading for. In a mere minute, she had ascended to the seventh floor and walked into the room that was now an operation center. She was amongst the first to arrive, even before her husband, though she wouldn't hold it against him. He just simply wasn't as quick as she in some regards.

"Pull up a topographical map and overlay it with an arcanical scan." she instructed toward one person working on setting up a three dimensional mapping system. "Scan history; six hours ago to present and keep it rolling."

She was worried for the safety of survivors, and being that the arcane touch was a strong forte with her, it was only fitting for her to first scan such for problematic issues that might have contributed to the overall situation.

Dekker had looked down for a second to finish his meal, then looked up again and Shal was gone, and Whiptail was tapping him on the shoulder telling him to get up and move. The pair followed the others two the second floor, linking back up with Colonels Kerrich and Keltin en route. Within moments they had rejoined the others, the two Colonels sweeping around to the right to get a better view of the unfolding crisis, while Dekker and Whiptail rejoined their dinner hostess...

"Not to interrupt, but I'll pick dinner since you're already providing the movie, it looks like we'll both have starring roles before the credits roll..."

It was a little off-color, true, but most of his comments were...

The Catawabans hadn't chosen to use the elevator. Security flimflamary aside, the real reason the Miraade rarely used elevators was that Errant was slightly claustrophobic from a near death experience in a cramped lava tube. He could endure a close space, make himself endure it should he need to, but he'd rather not if at all possible.

No, the Miraade and his entourage made their way up one of the staircases to the seventh floor. Errant watched the Tarlachian Empress sprinting up the stairs. He turned a doubtful glance towards Mercy as if to ask if this is what Elven Monarchs regularly did with that time, concerning themselves with winning nonexistant races.

Mercy and Errant arrived near the middle of the pack. Their Guards moved themselves inobstrusively out of the way and against walls, but where they could watch their principals.

Errant moved forward towards screen, squinting trying to figure out the circumstances of the passenger jet's destruction. He'd seen planes shredded by streams of anti-aircraft cannon fire. He'd seem them blown apart by surface to air missiles. He'd even seen one simply glow hot and explode as his nation tested some new laser defence weapons with Tanaaran assistance. But this was something of another level, just as eerily complete and reminiscient of Shalamar's memory not too long ago.

He glanced to the phrase "Phonon Maser" and the readouts that seemed to prove it was the culprit. He had no idea what all this was. He'd thought himself lucky to really understand lasers and stealth technologies. This was something much beyond his league or anything his country was even contemplating. He turned to Rob. "What hell is that?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the Nightclub

Quigley opened his eyes and rolled them in one smooth movent.. "Flattery'll get you an aft-end Daedelus." Daedelus was the Catawaban slang for ejector seats. "However, it won't get you take-off clearance, sweetie."

"I generally like my cousin, doll-face. If I go gallivanting off in his things and do favors for spooks, even allied spooks, without his permission, I'm only going to get him in deep." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Colonel Hardcastle watched the replay in silence, her face pale but composed. 'Le Clerq got into the system, that's his proof of power" She said more than half to herself, but Robs sharp glance and brief nod agreed with her.

She spoke loudly to grab every ones attention. "I mentioned earlier that the Operational Council had been approached by those claiming they had access to WMD's. We have all but one under surveillance and have the ability to round them up whenever we chose. However one shadowy figure has eluded us."

Rob and Shalamar both nodded their faces matching studies in grimness. They'd been working with TMZ on cornering the rats, but this one had not only eluded them but hurt them in the process.
-
"We know him only as Le Clerq, he is -according to himself -the spokesperson for a group that has, until their first contacts with us, been completely off the map. We weren't sure if the group even existed, but played it safe and acted as if they did, while trying to find any evidence of their existance and abilities."

"Not to interrupt, but I'll pick dinner since you're already providing the movie, it looks like we'll both have starring roles before the credits roll..."

"I had a completely different film in mind" Shalamar whispered back as she watched the replay then hushed as Colonel Hardcastle began to speak. When the young woman finished Shalamar added her information

"The man, this Le Clerq, is an unscanable psi null" Shalamar admitted. "My chief of intelligence couldn't keep a lock on him, and if any one other than I could, Peter should have been able to. This raised the suspicion that off world psi tech was involved, but we didn't have concrete evidence. But he swore to get us proof that he, and his group, was able to access Central Worlds weapons systems."

"One of the problems is that that spine of mountains has many of the same rare earth deposits as the Lossefanyar Athan has - making it immensely hard to scan that region with psionic talents, and it even warps arcane energies to a strong degree." The Lossefanyar Athan, the Snows beyond the Skies, the great north south running massif that bested even the better known Himalayas in breath and height, bisecting the central Fatal Terrain continent.

“And unfortunately we have been concentrating on Central Worlds space forces, and their problems, rather than the ground based forces."

"What hell is that?"

“Literally the sound of destruction. That plane had it’s molecules shaken apart by sound”

Rob let the talk about the Phonon Maser and Le Clerq slide. They'd get to it in a minute..

"Now here’s the kicker. The relief plane was downed by old fashioned shoulder mounted extended range Stinger RMPs. We believe by a completely different group. We have evidence that a General Vandares of the Central Worlds Army has been trying to claim that he is the supreme commander of that region of the nation. The Red Cross plane was a van Maartin CJ90, a turbo prop, flying much lower and slower than the Air Tanaara. The last communications before they crashed spoke of receiving an order over the emergency channel to land at Nevris Base, a mothballed Central Worlds training base in the area. They were then fired upon and the missiles, apparently a pair of them, struck the plane while seemingly more missed."

It was an aging but very airworthy turbo prop much like that iconic US Air Force’s C130, it had been donated by Tanaara to the Fatal Terrain Red Cross just a year ago, and had been making the run to Dragon's Reach for the last six weeks, twice a week with clockwork regularity, since the vast majority of that nations government had up and vanished over night.

He let them listen to the taped radio traffic and then the bits taped from the brief, static ridden communications after the crash.

"There are fifteen crew and passengers, all alive, all injured to one degree or another. The crew are all ex military, but none of the passengers are. Here at the International Isle, we're the closest to their location."

"I'd like to send in a team to get them to the coast, or to some place defensible to hole up until we can get a larger force in there."

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

"I generally like my cousin, doll-face. If I go gallivanting off in his things and do favors for spooks, even allied spooks, without his permission, I'm only going to get him in deep."

Hawke ground her teeth and pulled out an oddly heavy clamshell type cell phone "Punch 007 and if you laugh I'll break that pretty white smile of yours...ask to speak to the Miraade. I think he'll give you the go ahead, but damn it hurry!"

She turned away “I’ll be back, ready to jet in ten minutes. You be ready damn it !”

Yellen was throwing himself full force into the situation. Partly because this was a situation that would effect the whole stability of the region south of his country, but also to show to his peers that he could handle tough situations. He wasn't going to stand by the side and let everyone else do the work.

Yellen looked at the grainy footage of the destruction of the airliner. Christ... The Golden Simatar had an active anti-missile shield composed of laser pods dotted around the nation and others in military aircraft however to his knowledge turning a laser against an aircraft wouldn't just turn it into nothingness. This was something new to the President.

His eyes turned to Hardcastle, not noticing Rhymer entering the room leafing through the photographs, as the man explained this terrorist named Le Clerq. If it wasn't for the gravity of the situation, he woulda have chuckled at the French sounding name. Once mention of the fate of the relief plane came to light, Yellen thought.

"Mr President?" Rhymer spoke, drawing Yellen's attention to him. "Dawson will be here shortly."

The President took the photographs and placed them on the table for all to see. "I think that we can say at least the attack on the relief plane is not a revenge attack. These pictures were taken several hours ago by our military satellites within my country. I've already ordered the military to destroy the base and hunt down any other bases. They should hit sometime before morning...so this General is making first strike."

Yellen looked at the picture of the crash site and chewed on his lip before speaking again. "If it wasn't so damn far inland I would suggest sending boats up the river to get the survivors. Rob, you said radio contact is touch and go. Golden Simatar has satellites that are powerful enough to look at what book your reading in the park. We can divert a satellite to the area of the wreck and try to locate them and track them that way.

"But...if the man in this area is a former military officer, he would have access to more firepower than anyone else right? So won't we need more than just a team of people to go in there and evacuate the survivors? Fighters, bombers, tanks and such?"

"But...if the man in this area is a former military officer, he would have access to more firepower than anyone else right? So won't we need more than just a team of people to go in there and evacuate the survivors? Fighters, bombers, tanks and such?"

Rob again shook his head, but still giving Wesley some chops from not shying away from the situation "General Vandares stomping grounds are nearly two thousand miles south of your border, not to mention well west of those camps you are going after. The nasty little warlord wanna be that's on your border is Renauldi Mubosa, and we were wondering when you'd find out about him. He is not a citizen of Central Worlds at all, has no affiliation with them that we know of either" He looked up at Travis who nodded, and activated the hologram.

"President Yellin, we launched a string of NIRST's and they are now positioning themselves over southern Central Worlds. They will give us continuous real time coverage." Travis said as the holographic, startlingly clear and real image of the lands below sprang into three dimentional view.

"But...if the man in this area is a former military officer, he would have access to more firepower than anyone else right? So won't we need more than just a team of people to go in there and evacuate the survivors? Fighters, bombers, tanks and such?"

Lt. Kade Whitebear, Colonel Hardcastles aide had entered as President Yellin asked about sending in massive forces. Kade's original specialty was pararescue. "Excuse me sir, that sort of force is exactly the wrong sort of force to send in. Thats an invasion, and will only escalate and ascerbate the reactions of hostile forces in the area."

"We want to get them out of there as quickly and quitely as possible. We might be able to get small boats - such as a thrity foot shallow draft go fast boat up that river, but not far, it's got some heavy rapids at various places and I don't know that the water level would allow us to anyway this late in the year."

Our best bet is to parachuet a smal team in as quickly as possible to get them protected and any initial medical treatment possible.

Errant listened to the last bits of the relief flights radio traffic, trying to visualize their last moments. He could almost see the pilots exchanging worried looks as they were being ordered to land at a military installation. He heard their protests that they were a Red Cross relief flight.

Then the alert sounders as the threat warning systems keened about the launches of multiple infared seeking missile. The aircraft commander yelled for his crew to empty the whole damn bucket, meaning fire off every flare they had in hopes of countering the missiles. A few long tense seconds as the crew cursed and tried to evade before explosions and the feed ended.

Errant opened his eyes, unaware he'd shut them while concentrating. He frowned as something struck him as wrong. He looked back at the video of the maser riipping the passenger jet asunder. "Rob...if the CW can wield tech like that...." He pointed at the rain of aluminium confetti as the ruins of the plane tumbled out of the video's frame. "...why did this Vandares use weapons little better than I'm fielding?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Quigley looked at the backside of Hawke for a few moments. He tore himself away from the pleasant view to ugly, brick of a cell phone she handed him. He sighed. She wouldn't pull this sort of bluff, when he could track his cousin down in the building. Still, it was best to get premission. He flipped open the phone and dialed in 007.

He brought it to his hear and heard a very non-distinct, non-commitory, and utterly cloak and dagger, "Yes?"

Quigley sighed again. "I need to speak the Alpha Miraade of Catawaba. Tell him that his blacksheep cousin's on the phone and that if his day hasn't taken a turn for the worst, it soon will."

"...why did this Vandares use weapons little better than I'm fielding?"

"Either the maser isn't under his control, it wasn't General Vandares's forces that ordered them to land then fired on then less than two minutes later - too soon to have told if they were going to comply or not, or he doesn't have access to his own nation's weapondry. Central Worlds weapon tech is equal to if not better than what I can access, and they've had it longer than Tanaara has." Rob flicked off the various possibilities. He paused as his cell phone rang.

"Yes"

He handed it to Errant with a twitch of his lips "It's for you"

"The nasty little warlord wanna be that's on your border is Renauldi Mubosa, and we were wondering when you'd find out about him. He is not a citizen of Central Worlds at all, has no affiliation with them that we know of either"

Yellen was shocked at Rob's words. They knew?! They knew of insurgent camps within the remote reaches of the Golden Simatar and didn't bother contacting the government!? Some God-damn fucking allies these bastards are. Or... Yellen turned his head around and glared at Rhymer. His aide looked as shocked as he was, however Rhymer had tried to block things he was doing ever since he got into office. He would discuss this with Rhymer later, it wasn't a time to go off half cocked at his aide.

Yellen turned back to the image displayed before them, it was rather obvious the Simatarian was less than pleased with the Tanaaran's statement. He wondered when he discussed the situation with the Joint Chiefs upon his arrival home if he should mention what Rob had said.

Yellen kept his frustrations out of his voice as he spoke. "Alright, since there isn't going to be a large scale rescue...what sort of an operation is going to happen"

Quietly and quickly enjoying his bowl of egg drop soup, Numura tried to make the best of the situation. He finished the last spoonful of the warm liquid, downing it with a long sip from a glass of pink lemonade, and was preparing to excuse himself for the night, Mr. Whiptail addressed him.

"Shalamar speaks truthfully, Mr. Numura. Argonia has just begun to rebuild after a long and costly civil war brought on by too much progress too quickly. If you're thinking of a modernization of your own, I'm sure I can get you some help. No-one here wants to see your homeland burn. You have but to ask..."

Breaking his vow to remain silent, he addressed the Argonian in as calm and respecting of voice as he could muster,

"My sympathies to you and your country over such catostrophies in what should have been a prosperious time. It is true that we are considering modernization, or at least those of us in power. While there is a certain amount of desire to progress forward in the citizenry, it is with the elite that the true motion of moving upwards in the technological tree is coveted.

As for the country burning, I highly doubt it would ever come to that. While we of the Kingdoms might not agree with each other, it hardly ever rises to a measure of violence worthy of note. The Fortunas have brought stability and peace to our little corner of the region ever since the civil war. I will keep your words in mind though, and try to shake my country's nasty habit of expecting the worst in outsiders."

Content that he had done enough for the evening, he gave his farewell and had headed to his room before the announcement of the attacks had been made.

"Alright, since there isn't going to be a large scale rescue...what sort of an operation is going to happen"

The Miraaade turned to the GS President. "Not that there isn't going to be. There can't be a large scale rescue. Ya don't rescue with a flock of strategic bombers or armored column. That's an invasion, and the people we'd want to rescue would get caught in the crossfire."

He half turned towards the looped feed of the passenger jet shattering in mid-air and pointed. "They've got tech better than most of the region, Yellen. We go in heavy; they'll just shred us." He completed his turn and looked at the holomap of the region. "Anyways, any force the size yer chompin' at would take for gorram'd ever to get together. Even a defensemonger like me can't mobilize an expeditionary force on a dime....and those people don't have time for us corral our ducks and put'em into formation."

He crossed his arms. "No, we need something small, quick...in and out. Special Operations, really." He looked down at the ground as he considered what they had. Nothing on the island was well suited. Delaney would never stand to let him send in his Guards as he only had a squad. It'd take near half a day to get any body from Catawaba. Anyways, all he had for transport was his Kangaroos which were just as bad off as the relief flight's own C-130.


He handed it to Errant with a twitch of his lips "It's for you"

Errant looked up and frowned. Who in the gorram hell need to get a hold him by going through the Archon rather than his own people? Errant took the phone, thinking how this whole situation was already a Class Five Charlie Foxtrot. "Alpha Miraade Mira'ad speaking. Who may ask is calling?"

Silenced reigned on Errant's half of the conversation as he realized who was on the other end. "Matt, how in Mira's name did ya get the Archon's cell? Victoria gave it to you...who? The spook...the spook from the train job. You mean the one were you claim you were turned into a....okay, okay, so you really were turned into girl. Sorry."

Errant was silent again as he let his cousin Matthew explain his purpose for the call. "Hold one, Matt." Errant pulled the phone from his ear and laid it on his shoulder to muffle the reciever so he could talk without Matt hearing. "Rob, do you really want to send my VTOL Dragonflies into the CW to deliver an intel operative? A flight of Dragons don't look anything friendly-like and more than little like a surgical strike to take out that MASER."

"Rob, do you really want to send my VTOL Dragonflies into the CW to deliver an intel operative? A flight of Dragons don't look anything friendly-like and more than little like a surgical strike to take out that MASER."

"What?" Rob looked at Errant baffeled for a moment, then connected the dots. "Hawke" he said under his breath, then before he could say more Morgan stepped over to his side, passing him a note which he quickly scanned. He went a little stiff faced for a moment. "No, Call her off immediately. If I had any idea..." His voice trailed off for a second as he frowned.

"Errant, tell the good General his flight is cancelled. Now I know why Ria went quiet and suggested sending herself in as quick catch." He folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket. He winced internally though, his old friend was going to go ballistic when he stood her down.

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

It was assurely less than ten minutes later that Hawke with her legendary messenger bag over her shoulder was back, striding impatiently up to Quigley. "Lets go!"

Quigley closed the phone and turned around to face Hawke. He knew something was up by the tone in which Errant had denied his request and the very complete way he'd denied it, ensuring there were no reasonable means he could use to circumvent the orders and go gallivanting off in a multi-million waadas fighter.

He shook his head. "No dice, Vicky. The Miraade all but grounded me." He held the large, ugly phone out to her. "He also gave me the hint that you'll probably want this because yer boss is gonna call in a moment to shut it all down."

"No, we need something small, quick...in and out. Special Operations, really."

Aeris had been listening in on the conversation and options being tossed about quickly without any bureaucratic mangling hindering their progress. For this, she was pleased. She glanced between them all, "I actually have a suggestion about who we can use." she said as a wry smile crossed her face, "A well known warrior, with more years of secret ops missions under his belt than you can imagine, and entirely trustworthy to get the job done without making too much of a mess."

She glanced around again, "This agent is amongst us actually, so that would cut down immensely on travel time to the crisis area. Whiptail Shadowscales. Send him with his choice of team members as support."

She held up a finger, "Additionally, I know of another agent at my disposal. He's retired officially, but I do use him for special circumstances." She gave a slight face, "I'd rather not have to call him in if we can accomplish this some other way. He has a tendency of make a bit of a mess of everything. A real ball-buster."

Rob gave his wife a brief smile and nodded at her description of Whiptail. But ...

He had been professional military, and he just could not sanction risking a 'scratch team' when professionals were available. "I can't justify that Aeris. It's wonderful to be part of the active solution, to be the hero but some times it's just not going to go down."

He had to use all the resources available to them to the best of their advantage.

"Morgan, get which ever Para rescue unit is on call spun up. That should take no more than three hours, if I remember correctly. Also get the Adepts working on locating the group psionically."

He looked over at the Lady of Cats keep "Lady Shalamar if you would set your people to that as well. I know that trying to find that Maser's location in the mountains is going to be nigh impossible due to the dead zones, but that relief plane went down well west of the mountains. And since the crew is all ex-military, it is most likely that at some point in their career they received a scan and had their patterns recorded. That can be used to get a general if not very precise location."

He now looked over at Aeris "I know the Isle is blacked out but can your people in Tarlachia start searching the area arcanely?"

He then turned back to his aides. "I want the radio contact, as intermittent as it is triangulated though our orbitals and I want those NIRTS sats to get a visual on the plane's wreckage. I know that forest is heavy and the terrain hilly, but that plane is sizeable and probably left a noticeable dent in the forest when it went in." They could get visual coordinates that way. Luckily it was deciduous forest not jungle, the canopy less dense, the trees more likely to break rather than bend, then spring back into place hiding the intrusion.

"Also I want our most sensitive instruments listening for the black box's transponder- That should help us triangulate when added to the radio contact. However I don't want any over flights save for the NIRTS, and I don't want anything in direct overhead stationary or station keeping orbit. I don't want to give whomever is controlling the Maser reason to be activating that thing."

"Once they are located if possible we can pull them out at that time via teleport, or Step, or Gate - if need be can and there is some reason we can't take them out immediately, we can bring in the Para rescue unit to guard them until we can either pull them out or get them to a spot where physical retrieval is possible."

No as good as Whiptail, Dekker, Kade, and others might be - they had never trained together, and Kade was the only one he was certain of as having specific training for such missions. It wouldn't be fair or logical or professional when a myriad of other resources were available.

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

Catawaba, tg awaiting you

Errant nodded along with Rob's ideas. He turned away from the holomap and walked back towards Mercy and his Guards who were on the periphery of the briefing room's activity. He caught sight of Gold and Mird. Both his packmates had switched from CG PDWs to their full MORs again. Even with their bullpup rifles hanging loosely from their assualt slings, the vornskrari looked on edge, ready to pounce.

The vornskrari were his best, hands down. They'd been bred, altered, and trained for special operations. Errant knew however that while they were expierenced in field craft, tracking, and forest enviroments, they were not ideal for this mission. They were most expierenced at making sure things didn't survive to be rescued. Rescue operations were a new concept and facet of training for a majority of Catawaban forces, specifically the elite Miraaderic Guard.

Besides their lack rescue expierence, they also fell into the same pitfall that every other operator on the II was victim to. They'd never met before today. They barely knew each other's name, much less how they moved, how they cleared a room, how they covered their sectors. Errant shook his head. Before the Revolution, he'd trained and led a Marine Boarding Team. He remembered the early training months. They'd been down right awful, and he was sure if the Togovians had fielded that team then...they'd all have been killed if they stumbled onto a determined smuggler.

Errant stopped beside Mercy and sighed. As much as he wanted Catawaba to be strong, to stand on its own, he kept smashing head first with a brick wall. He had to fight his stubbornness that wanted him to go it his own way and have his people figure out how to do things themselves. That was needless and stupid, he had other venues that were easier and quicker. Sure, they weren't uniformally Catawaban, but he could work on that in due time. If he wanted to be strong now, he needed to bite the bullet and go outside his island.

Mercy looked up compassionately from the electronic clip board she had been perusing. Her impulse would have been the sames as Robs initial one, but while she had had to learn the hard way, experience, Rob had a far better education in such things.

She hated that the oft discussed plans to have a regional anti terror unit had never borne fruit. As much as she hadn't cared for the Imitoran government, she had respected their military as the best in the region and had been willing to bend over backwards to get such a training program in place. It just hadn't happened. Imitora had been too involved in it's interal workings to finalize the issue.

**************************
a joint post...

The barest movement had a smal compact Barretta out and trained discretely on Quigley's midsection, her hand down at her waist, blocked from mosts view.

"You ain't gonna do anything, Vicky. 'Cause it won't help a damn."

He took another step forward, hoping no one was closely observing the odd sort of waltz they were doing in the atrium. His voice was low, calm but insistant, authoritative. "Behind you is a bar full of sober, annoyed Catwabs, all armed. Four of 'em are Guards, one of'em can put five .420 rounds through the same hole at six hundred yards. They aren't going to care what the circumstances are. They hear a shot, see a gun pokin' in my belly, they will not take kindly to that." He took another step. "Put the damned thing away, calmly, slowly. We talk."

Another small movement and the compact Baretta disappared back into the oversided military surplus jacket she wore. A rueful grin lit her face "I guess this ruins my chance at asking you out to the theater. Give this back to Rob" She tossed him the encrypted phone, and turned away pulling out a tiny commo that she slid over one ear, talking softly as she walked briskly way. "Contact designation,..."

Quigley rushed after her. He placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Victoria, I don't think you should go."

Hawke shrugged his hand off "Got to go Matt" and continued out the doors, intent on reaching someone , any one of her myriad local contacts. One of then had to be of use in this situation. A high speed yatch, a private plane. The main rep for Omega Military Specialties was on island, maybe he had a toy or two...

Quigley was not dissuaded. He followed behind her, throwing open the door that tried to close in his face and bar his way. "Victoria, stop this damn minute." He yelled as he ran down the stairs after her.

Hawke was moving swiftly now, heahding through the underground parking garage toward the car that had been seconded for her use, fumbling in her pockets for the keys. Then stopping short as she realised with a bitter laugh that she didn't have them on her. A half sob caught in her throat. More time lost.

Quigley's boots rang in the cavernous garage. He stopped in front of the car she was trying to open. "Victoria, stop." His voice was hard. His breath was heavy from the run to catch up with her.

"Go away Matt, I...I'm busy" She didn't turn and look at him but leaned her forehead on the roof of the car, trying to stop tears of frustration, and fear. Part of her noted that he was the only one she knew who used her name, part of her hated herself for crying for the first time since the birth of the daughter she was now so desperately afraid for.

Sure, her posture, the wracking of her near-silent sobs might have given away her tears, but Quigley didn't need that. He knew she was crying. He always knew when women are crying, sad, or in distress. It was something he called his 'damselsense.' He knew she was crying, and he was drawn to her subconsciously. He couldn't bear a female crying, physically, mentally, or, he was pretty sure, metaphysically. He walked around the rear of the car to her side. He placed and arm around her and leaned against the car to be close. "What is it, Vick? What's this mission to ya?"

Her arms wrapped tight around her middle, hunched in upon herself, she let herself lean against Quigley, and the story came tumbling out.

"Mr. President?"

Yellen's attention as Dawson entered the room carrying the communication gear. Yellen took the receiver as the soldier placed the set on the table. "Whittle? I want to stop all flights of Simatarian aircraft going anywhere close to old Central Worlds. Why? We just got word that a Tanaaran civilian airliner was shot down by some laser system hidden in there. As well as a Red Cross plane was down by surface to air missiles. No, its too far to be reached quickly by our people. But have some planes and troops ready in case. No...no not the same group...don't ask...thank you."

Yellen hung up the receiver and wiped his brow. There wasn't much he could do, his military was too far away to make a quick response to the situation, all he could do was stand around and wait. Yellen looked over to find Dawson studying the map. "Something Sargent?"

"Nothing sir, if we could, I would suggest a JHT insert with JHAs for escort...hugging the earth, radar can't pick us up, moving too fast and cool for a missile lock. But..." The paratrooper shrugged. Dawson knew the President didn't really know what he spoke of, even so he could see the man was trying to grasp it. Dawson turned to Yellen. "If there is to be a rescue op sir, I'd like to volunteer for it. I fought in the Demon War with the 83rd Airborne if that helps."

Yellen smiled and nodded. He looked over at Rob. "Looks like the Simatarians aren't sitting this one out if we put people in."

Boris and Jack watched in silence as the group discussed the problems. Boris had been a general and could certainly provide relevant insight but it appeared those present knew what they were talking about and spoke of the issues that he would point out himself.

The revelation that Tanaara knew of the warlord in The Golden Simatar's borders was certainly interesting as far as Boris was concerned. Yellen's face made it clear he wasn't exactly impressed that this knowledge had been withheld from him and Boris could understand that completely, he would be fuming if he'd been told by a nation that was supposed to be at least somewhat friendly that they knew of a hostile force within his borders and hadn't felt the need to pass on the information.

Despite such, that was not the current problem and Boris simply filed that little piece of information away for a later analysis. Obviously it would be ideal if they could simply send in a team that was familiar with each other and knew how to operate on this kind of mission but Boris wasn't sure if any single delegate had brought such a team.

"Well it seems we're decided on what to send in for this mission. If you do have any need for an extra man I can provide one quite familiar with these situations."

[OOC: Um, y'all...Rob said he was sending a ParaRescue team.]

OOC: Erm, yeah, I did. I had to play this professional - not the way I wanted, but oh well...I am convincible otherwise with a good enough reason to send us in. ( please come up with one)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'So I didn't want her, afraid of what she was and the memories" Hawke shuddered, keeping her eyes firmly on her toes. The Tanaaran Wilderness Scouts, her troop had been so proud to have won the camping trip to Tarlachia. At the wrong place at the wrong time, and Boss Ranci's, Abaddon's, demons had appeared and rounded the group of terrified teens and their adult troop leaders with little trouble.

The ten months in their hands left permanent scars…

She had been terrified of the infant – unable even to look at the baby girl- she bore a just over a year later, a unwanted reminder of her time in the hands of the demons. Her parents had taken the child she did not want, was too young – too damaged and healing physically and mentally with agonizing slowness– to try and raise herself. Hawke had gone off to boarding school to try and finish her interrupted education. Then came the bulk of the Dark War and her renewed involvement in it. Dangerous work, delving deep into occupied enemy territory. Another excuse to stay out of the life of the daughter she barely knew, and didn’t want to know, didn’t want to remember.

A daughter she had gotten to know only the last few years, reluctantly and sporadically, but now felt her fear and pain as if it were her own, atop her own …

“I’ve been such a terrible mother and now, to fail Amanda even further”

Both Whiptail and Dekker agreed with the decision to keep them personally out of the fight, at least for now. Whiptail had only his assassins' blades, worn openly as a sign of his rank and office, and Dekker was lightly armed as far as he was concerned, with only a sidearm, knife, and five magazines of extra ammunition. It didn't mean the two of them couldn't make due, but without proper equipment the operation had much higher chances of failing and neither wanted the blood of innocents on their hands.

They did, however, have four fully armed and equipped Argonian special ops soldiers and sailors downstairs, waiting for an excuse to be put into play. Three branches of Argonian SpecWar were also represented in the lizard-folk's diplomatic party.

Dekker had made quite a bit of cash over the years pulling missionaries and reporters out of hot-zones like Africa, and had become an old hand at that sort of operation. His unique skillset and powerful build made him perfect for close-quarters combat and his lone-wolf nature allowed him to excel in stealth operations. Whiptail, on the other hand, was intended as a precision surgical instrament. While capable, especially running with Dekker, of working in a direct combat role, he was close to unstoppable in the role of silent killer, stalking important quarry. In short, while both men were more than comfortable working with each other, each was stronger in his well-known role...

"While I appreciate Aeris' generous offer, I believe I will have to decline for now. I am, as always, at your service in the event things become too unstable and you have a need of my unique talents..."

Dekker threw a shoulder lightly into his long-time comrade, and kept his voice low...

"Since when are you so eloquent? I'm glad Shal stepped in. We didn't come equipped for an op of any kind..."

The Argonian responded in a similar tone...

"I know. How are you supply-wise? Just in case..."

"1911 and my KA-BAR, one mag of eight rounds and four mags of ten..."

"Great. I've got my daggers, Kerrich and Keltin both have their gear. The four guards downstairs are much better prepared, though..."

"Yeah, no shit. They came looking for a fight. I'll talk to you more in a sec..."

Dekker split off from the convo with Whiptail to consult more with Shalamar...

"Looking to keep me all to yourself?"

The comment was as light-hearted as ever...

"I appreciate you doing the smart thing here. Godzilla and I aren't equipped to go hunting for some lost sheep. Our boys downstairs, however, are packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. We're both here, too, in case you find something useful for us to do..."

Whiptail could only shake his head at his friend's behavior, much like he had done in response to the comment of the Three Kingdom's delegate as he'd walked upstairs. The Elder Council had felt much the same way, and the Black Marsh had burned all the same. His kind, the Shadowscales, had been used to keep the peace in times of turmoil, killing a few so that many more could live peaceful lives. Perhaps the man would take his words to heart, or the transition would go much more smoothly. The upper-crust Argonians had felt it would be a smooth switch, but the common masses had a much different idea.

And speaking of different ideas, the were being exchanged between the two Colonels with the other advisors in a rapid fashion, probably where Dekker should have been, but Whiptail hadn't seen him this talkative in a very long time. Kerrich would have things well in hand with his typical cold-blooded calculating ways. Keltin would provide a sort of counter-balance and things would hopefully even out. It would give Whiptail a little time to mull over his own little plan, something Shal could possibly help them with. The newest sector of the Argonian special operations forces was in need of some expert advice, and Dekker happened to know just the guy, who'd gotten him formally inducted into a secret society of sorts, but that would have to wait till later...

Quigley rested his cheek on her head and closed his eyes. He was silent for a long time shoving things around and back in his mind. "Ya can't blame yerself fer this, Vicky. Ya really can't. Ya didn't squeeze the firin' stud to pop off those MANPADs."

"And to yer motherin'..." Quigley went silent again. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, just for her even though the cavernous garage level was empty. "Nobody'd blame ya...not anyone with any idea what it...it does to ya. Ya don't think straight...ya can't. If yer lucky, ya can keep on livin'...tryin' to put something from the shambles. And anything...anything close to what was done, it unhinges ya...brings it all back." He stopped and let his words linger, words that weren't read from a book or taught clinically but painful personal recollections.

"You put yerself back together, and ya tried to be a mother. That's more than...than most people'd expect...be able to do themselves." Matt finally died off. He existed behind a cynical mask. There were reasons why he lived so. Some were too absurd to deal with rationally. Others too painful to take optimistically. And then there was what he knew...which made everything he had experienced bitter and trite.

Her sobs faded, the comfort he brought was strong and selfless. He was one of the strongest people, most certain people she knew, and that was why she had wanted his help, been drawn to him. Eventually Victoria sighed "I hate being helpless" and her arms went around Matt and she turned slightly 'This is twice you've helped me get my head straight...Thank you" Her lips were soft against his. And it was more than a thank you kiss.

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

Mercy gasped softly at the fresh data on the notebook "Oh Errant, the Air Tanaara flight. It was a private flight, a chartered flight" And she held it up from him to take and read, while she closed her eyes for a moment.

The flight had been chartered by the Tanaaran Geologic Society to bring one hundred ninety geologists, professors of the same and chosen students to Catawaba for a three week indepth study of the island's main volcano and the meteor impact trench.

Hurt, panic, a slew of emotions so counter what he should have felt welled up as her lips met his. He couldn't have this, have her. A whole mess of things could come of this, things he didn't want to see, feel, or expierence again.

But she didn't know.

As much as her kiss frightened him, he knew what it meant to her. He slid his arms around her pulled her close, returning her kiss.

He knew what it meant to her. but didn't know it meant to him. However, he did know what it meant for him and that was what frightened him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Errant was startled by her gasp. He felt over his mending mind, the beginings of shock, of sarrow. He hesitated to read.

He should have hesitated more.

His heart sank further. Another complete turn in this day of emotions. Not a charted flight, THE charted flight....all those kids...a chance to show off Catawaba for her beauty, see the wonder in their eyes...to foster the sciences in Catawaba...to further strengthen the ties with Tanaara and her people.

The Miraade lowered his head, his chin on his chest. He hadn't pulled the trigger, but he felt that irrational guilt of a survivor.

"Looking to keep me all to yourself?"

Shalamar cocked her head slightly to one side as she regarded Dekker with all seriousness, but with a light tone of voice "I don't do jealously, or possessiveness, but when I'm in a relationship I'm very monogamous" A small smile stole over her lips, but no blush "But I'll also state that it's been a long time since I've been in a relationship and am not up on what is considered the current standards."

"I appreciate you doing the smart thing here. Godzilla and I aren't equipped to go hunting for some lost sheep. Our boys downstairs, however, are packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. We're both here, too, in case you find something useful for us to do..."

Then the tone of her voice went as serious as her look "You really have to thank Rob, for it would have been my impulse too to throw the best, but the wrong best people into this. It's hard to see a need and to sit back and not jump in. But we are going to have to go after that hidden base. Not today, not even next two days, but soon, very soon, and then we are going to need the best."

She looked over at where Mercy sat, Errant standing next to her, tasting the wash of emotions from them, and noting with a tiny nod how they turned to one another - both strong in their own right but each taking strength from the other in the way that the best couples did.

Mercy felt Errant’s emotions, and knew all to well the spike of guilt surging through him. He'd helped her through hers and now it was her turn. Taking his near hand she shook it softly, catching his eyes with her own, and letting the surety of her love show in them.

The loss was a terrible blow, not just to the families, but to both nations. But she believed, as did all Tanaarans, that the Compact would bring them back, bring them round again.

She stood, not releasing his hand as she did, not saying anything as she hugged him. Words weren't necessary. Then she stepped back

"Morgan has asked me to record the announcement, but that shouldn't take more than ten minutes, then we'll get out of here" There wasn't much more that either of them could do to help.

She was so very careful not to look at Shalamar, or the want to request, even demand ,something she should not, must not, would be too great. Mercy had never even thought of asking for herself, but oh the times when she had to not on her peoples behalf, oh that was hard, so very hard. Time was nothing to be exploited, no matter how much one wished.

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

Hawke stepped back from the kiss, the rueful grin back on her lips, shaking her head.. "No, I’m no Empath, but I do recognize a jolt of fear when it runs through someone. “ She might not have worlds of experience with kisses, but she had some, and far more with fear. Backing off another step “No… gun, tears, kiss, definitely not a good progression” She shrugged, doing her best to keep her voice light “I think it tends to leave one feeling used. And…for that I’m sorry Matt…but thank you.” The kiss had ...she wasn’t sure what the kiss had been – though nice was far too mild a compliment- but she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be repeated.

She reached down and picked up her always there bag, looked at it with the same wry expression and shrugged “I guess I get to see how the helpless half lives” Oh that twisted in her gut, but she’d survive.

He had to shut down. Anger. Horror. Loss. He had to keep it together.

Apathy. He had to shut down.

Errant leaned into Mercy's hug, speechless. He nodded at her words.

His Guards, especially the vornskrari, were concerned. Delaney was the first to act. It was her responsibility to act, to protect her Miraade however she could. "Sir."

Closed down he function. Not enthusiastically, not quickly, but he could function. He looked up from his chest. The major stopped. Behind his eyes, Errant looked ineffably older but not with wisdom just worn, frail. "Maggie, I'm going to need to you to stick around. If Catawaba can give any help or assistance, it'll be with the Guard. Put a word back to Geoffries. Have Company Alpha stand to. If anything does shape in the next few hours that ya need a higher pay grade..."

Margaret nodded. "Only if I need you, sir."

Errant looked Gold. "I need a secure line to call home."

Gold flagged down a Tanaaran staffer and was informed that there was a workstations set up on the periphery.

Errant went over to it and sat down. He figured it wouldn't be truly secure. If anything, the Tanaarans were listening in at least. It was good he didn't need to discuss anything secret, because he was beyond caring at the moment.

He picked up the phone and dialed the switchboard at the Miraade's Mansion. Huh, he was calling it that now rather than the People's House. He supposed that was a symptom of how he felt, just didn't give a damn.

As the phone rang, he knew he could have someone else get him connected to what he needed, or just had them punch the speeddial to who he needed, he knew they'd have his number. However, it gave him something to focus on, something to hold on to like a rope above a raging river.

He had a bare moment witht he switch board operator before he was transferred straight to the woman he needed to talk to. "Errant, we have already heard." Jessica Lepu, his Cancellaria, answered abruptly.

"Oh...news came with a rose?"

"A black rose." Jessica said quietly. A rose always lay atop the deliveries of information from the Catawaban Intelligence Service. The Miraade's chaplain had been the first to catch the allusion and pronounce the CIS's nickname for itself, SubRosa. While it was rumored that Lepu was the head of SubRosa, Errant knew better. He was the only one outside SubRosa who knew who the Senschal, the head of the CIS's own nickname for the position, really was, and Jessica wasn't the Senschal.

"Black rose...death..." Errant tried to remember through his foggy mind.

"I suppose it's a commiseration rather than an omen, Errant." Jessica was one of the few outside family that used his first name rather than a title. "We recieved it a little while after it happened. SubRosa reports that they recieved it courtesy of the TI." Tanaaran Intelligence, acknowledged as one of the better intelligence branches in the Region, withheld and gave information under tight control. Apparently, it'd been judged that this as something to loosen its grip on. "I've already disseminated the information to the offices that needed to know. Richard has issued aircraft warnings to avoid Core Worlds airspace. Tom is putting the military on alert, should need be. Lolimba is talking to Rea about arrangements and details with Tanaara."

She took a deep breath. "And I'll be in front of the cameras, giving the announcement come morning."

Errant glanced down at his watch. Strictly it was middle of the night back in Catawaba. He sighed. "Guess I didn't need to call."

"You would have anyways hence our conversation now. We can hold things together, Errant. Get some rest." She hung up.

Errant hung up the phone and pushed himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on the workstation with his eyes closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I reached out and grabbed Victoria's wrist. I was silent fer a long time. I figure she thought I was warrin' with something inside, my fear. Well, she was a third right. Yeah, the fear was there, but I was also warrin' with those which controlled my Fate. I was ragin' at them, being rather an egotistical bastard to'em.

Oh yeah, and I was also tryin' to get the hang of this gorramed internal monologue. Funny that you got around most of the time hearing someone speaking about in the third person like you can't hear'em, and then Bam! Suddenly you get to use personal pronouns again. Well you can ignore them, but yer name best be 'Mr. T.' Because if it's 'Mike Tyson,' nothin' good will come of it.

Anyways, sorry. I'm trying to stay away from the stream of consciousness here. James Joyce this....aww, rut it all, if I were narrating about this in the mindset of back when this happened, I'd feel more solemn about it all. But I ain't, an' this turned out okay. I'm going to have to go back to third person. This just ain't going to work, what with tangents and all. Call me when there's more flippant material to narrate.

Once again with feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~

Matt reached out and grabbed Victoria's wrist. He was silent. Internally, emotions warred with each other, and his mind warred with those that controlled his Fate. "Don't go."

He swallowed. "This ain't how I wanted it to go. From the train, from the stories, you can guess my life ain't normal to anybody but me. The guns, the tears, the kiss...sadly, that's almost normal for me." He took a deep breath. "Ya wanna go someplace and talk?"

Mercy tightened her hug for just a moment, then stepped back before turning and following the aide that Morgan had seconded to her.

She didn't even need to ask if all the families had been notified, or if the news had broken. They would have been, and it would not have been. Not a single Tanaaran media would have dared gone against an order from the Archon, and the families would already be gathered together.

The conference center had a compact sound stage, and they hurried there, where a make up artist and her dresser were waiting for her. The demi robe of state, the one presented to her upon her abdication, went over her shoulders and a broad sash of black silk diagonally from her left shoulder to her right hip. Then the make up artist started in, just a quick touch up, and a comb through of her gleaming golden hair.

In minutes she was standing on a blue chalked X and they were running the final checks.

"My fellow Tanaarans, and friends in Fatal Terrain, I come to you tonight, with heart rending news ..."

Across Tanaara, the broadcast preempted all else.

"As most are aware, the nation of Central Worlds fell into anarchy just a few short weeks ago. Just a few hours ago, one of its potent weapons was used to destroy Air Tanaara charter Flight ..."

And as her short speech finished, she did not bother to hide the tear that trickled down her cheek. "Our hearts, individually and as the collective of our nation, our people, goes out to their families and friends. The Divine light their way back to us."

Once the red light had gone out she wearily sat in the chair so that the extra make up required for the glaring lights of a holo- stage could be removed. She had never cared for it, and just let herself fall into a non thinking, grieving reverie.. But soon enough she was free to find the one who needed her the most.

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

"Ya wanna go someplace and talk?"

Hawke watched him head cocked slightly to one side, the eyes of a top ranked photojournalist on him, seeing more than most would, but she knew less than others. Her line had been bred generations ago, long before the Tanaarans had come to Terra- for their precognitive ability and keen eyesight, rather than the ability to see past the masks – though no photographer, nor journalist either, was completely without such.. And what she had seen, and experienced, of this man was something she had liked, felt comfortable around.

And his words confirmed her other feeling. That Matt hadn’t had a good strong dose of normal in a long time, and needed more than he realized.

“As long as you aren’t feeling obligated. I think you need a friend who knows, really knows, more than anything else.” But she’d leave the potential for anything more to the future

The former merc shrugged as he looked away for a moment...

"Monogamy ain't a bad trait... Now back to the issue at hand, we'll have to continue this little exchange later. Maybe when things aren't so complicated..."

Making eye contact with Colonel Kerrich he made the required motion to wave the cold-eyed Argonian over...

"Your views, Colonel?"

Kerrich fixed his one-eyed glare in the direction of the human, doing his best to conceal his obvious distaste for reporting to anyone outside of his own specie...

"I really don't have any, Commander. No Argonian forces are involved. I'm just waiting to see these Para-Rescue teams in action. If we're aware of the location of this beam-cannon thing then I'd suggest simply saturating the area with orbital fire, or at least a few cruise missiles to soften up the defenses and discourage further assaults on civilian aircraft..."

A slight, if unpleasant grin crossed the scarred jawline of the Argonian colonel...

"An eye for an eye, so to speak..."

"The answer isn't always a bigger hammer, Keyton..."

Whiptail and Kerrich had a long-standing distaste for each other, and the two were often at odds over matters of tactics...

"When your opinion is wanted someone will ask you for it, assassin. None of that Shadowscale bullshit is going to be of any use here. I still fail to see what you can do that a smart bomb cannot. Were it not for your silver tongue you would be totally useless..."

"And were it not for your second eye you'd be blind. We're all full of surprises, Keyton. Or did I not leave a potent enough reminder?"

Kerrich's one good eye narrowed, clearly not happy that his longtime nemisis had decided to verbally spar with him in the middle of a crisis. While the wounds had healed, Kerrich still bore some impressive claw-marks on his throat from a far less civil encounter with the master assassin...

"Indeed you did. I, however, apologise for missing your heart. I'll be sure to do better next time..."

With his part done, Errant quietly left. He didn't rightly care about etiquette or what people thought of him. He was done for the day, absolutely done. With his Protective Fireteam around him, he went slowly, almost meandering, towards the Catawaban suite.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Major Margaret Delaney stayed behind as ordered. She overheard the Argonian debate. She knew well enough to stay out of whatever internal strife they were having. She did however have something to say about the tactical situation.

The commander of the Miraaderic Guard stepped forward. She swept her MORP, the precision rifle variant of the Catawaban battle rifle, behind her on its assault sling, and cleared her throat to signal her entrance into the conversation. "Pardon me, sirs. I hadn't heard otherwise, but you can imagine if they're going to blow an airliner out of the sky that belongs to a power that is noted for its use of orbital bombardment, they aren't going to leave themselves hangin' in the breeze for a Rod from God."

She jerked her head over to the map. "If that were me takin' a shot on a civvie head of state and I couldn't exfiltrate fast, you can bet your buttons I'd be gillied up and layin' low." The Catawaban sniper shrugged. "If they got that thing camo'd well enough and it seems that Tanaara hasn't shown any sat feed of the 'liner's destruction, their position is probably still well hidden."

She left unsaid that Tanaara might just be keeping it quiet. She'd seen the GS President blow a vein in his forehead when the Archon dropped the bomb that he knew about the border dispute before Yellen did. Not that she was upset that Tanaara might not share all its intel. That's the way it worked in the big game of international intrigue. Protection of sources was one part. Too many know a secret and the poor sap that put his life on the line to get it out ends up with an orifice in his forehead. No, morbid as it was, you wanted to get as much out of a source before he got his brain ventilated and hopefully some of that 'much out' was the source himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matt smiled wanly. "I would be obliged if ya'd stay...ya wanna get away from here for a bit?" He was relieved but not sure why. Was he relieved because he'd kept her from wandering off and potentially doing something stupid, something very much like him but without his panache? Or was he relieved because she'd stay with him?

It was a bit of both, he knew that. He didn't know which ruled his relief though.

Keyton Kerrich hated it when people, especially humans, got involved in things that didn't concern them...

"And your opinion is noted as well, Major. The operative word was 'saturate', as in flood whatever suspected location of this device with enough ordnance to level a small country. An energy weapon that size, however, would have to give off quite a bit of heat and therefore make thermal imaging a real possibility. Commercial aircraft also follow fairly strict flight paths to their destinations. Mapping the route and plotting where the aircraft disappeared would have to give a decent approximation of where the assault came from. Now if you'll excuse me..."

Kerrich turned away, leaving the conversation abruptly. While technically a modern-tech nation and therefore new in the ways of technology, Keyton had done some research. The best defense against an orbital bombardment was an energy shield, and that again put out a lot of excess heat that was easy to trace and hard to conceal. A near miss from space would be enough cause to bring up the shield and therefore give away the position. As advanced as the Tanaaran tech was, he had little doubt that they already knew where the target was, or at least had a pretty good idea...

"That's a pretty asshole move, Keyton. You should be nicer to our allies. That's why they're called 'allies'..."

The Colonel shot Whiptail a look that could have melted steel...

"And humans need to learn to keep to themselves and not invade other people's conversations. You give their kind too much credit, assassin. They're too curious for their own good..."

Now it was Dekker's turn to shoot looks...

"And you're too god-damned arrogant to deal with people outside of your comfort zone..."

"Again, too much credit. And again, excuse me..."

The one-eyed Colonel brushed past the other two and made his way out of the crisis center, leaving Whiptail and Dekker to exchange words between themselves...

"We're sorry about him, Major. Like you've seen he's basically an asshole to everyone he meets..."

Delaney watched the Argonian colonel depart. Along with Weymouth from this morning, the commander of the Miraaderic Guard committed Kerrich to memory. They were most likely harmless to the Miraade, but she trusted her gut in judgement of people.

No, it was more she wanted to remember examples of what she absolutely must not be when she made colonel. At the moment, the Guard was little more than battalion sized. She'd need to identify and train more than a thousand more Guard candidates. The Guard would then be upgraded to a brigade, and she'd be promoted to colonel. She didn't really care about her rank, but she would like the extra manpower. She knew the ambitious goal of the Miraaderic Guard as the Miraade's protection detail and the special operations command would require at least a brigade, but more than likely the Guard would keep on growing. Division strength, army strength, Delaney had no clue at the moment. That was a debate for another time.

The major turned back to the Argonian delegation. "No hard feelings, sir. I sorta got the feeling about the colonel." She leaned forward and held out her hand. "Margaret Delaney."

"I should have killed him when we were in V- Mons" The Archon sotto voced to Morgan, - the pair were watching the Argonian colonel make his usual ass of himself. Rob’s face was hard and unforgiving "And yes if any of our colonels have his attitude and actions towards our allies, they loose their rank, and their card immediately. And the good colonel is persona non grata in Tanaara and in any joint actions. I'm deadly tired of his arrogance assholeshness"

And Morgan knew Robert Ryan Fortier ~Hexx meant every word of it.

And Kerrich was dead wrong, given high enough tech - which the Central Worlders had in abundance - a shield against orbital bombardment didn't give off any higher temperatures than the surrounding countryside. And another almost as good a defense was to burry the necessary parts deep in the guts of a mountain...And the Central Worlds had done both.

And the chartered plane hadn't been flying some fixed path. They had started out from Tanaara - and should have never been over that section of sky. But they had to fly an alternate route as they had flown first to TMZ's international airport to pick up half of the geologist and students. They had been studying the TMZ's own volcanic make up. This alternate routing had not been advertised beyond those scheduled for the seminar, which meant that either the weapons usage had been random chance, or some one had chosen the flight knowingly.

The Tanaaran Intelligence Directorate was already looking into both. And they would find the answer, quickly and efficiently. They didn't have much holding them back, not in a situation such as this.

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

Mercy caught up with Errant and slipped her hand into his as they headed down to the Catawaban suites. "I'm letting every one know, officially, no one enters our suite tonight. If we want something we'll call. Otherwise anyone bothering us, I won't miss tonight. Understood...Thank you" And she sincerrely meant the thanks, but tonight she wanted as much privacy as possible for Errant and herself.

She gently shut the door in their faces and turned to the Mirrade, pushing him lightly toward what looked to be the most comfortable chair in the living room of the suite. "Go, sit."

***************************
"ya wanna get away from here for a bit?"

"Beer, wine or whiskey?" She knew the best, no to be honest, the most ...interesting.. places for any of the three on the island. Not that they were necessarily the legal places to find any of the three, and the notions about entertainment at all three places were not the usual either.

With the door shut in their faces, the Guards felt no ill will. Gold turned to the two fireteams in the suite, Soft One and Soft Two. "Val shab'rud'ni ra nayc aruetiise ven'oyacyi." The vornskrari sargeant growled ominious and pointedly swung her tail around and displayed her stinger as the skin of her tail bulb retracted back along it.

The Guards nodded and gave a quiet Haroo in agreement. "They are not to be bothered, or the traitor will not live" was tenet they'd easily live by, especially as Gold's venom dripped from the point of her stinger to the carpet.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Errant fell bonelessly into the large, deep cushioned chair. He leaned his head back, eyes squeezed shut. Any one of the incidents today he might have handled. But three in a row, no, he could not handle. He lifted a shaking hand to cover his face. He hid behind the hand as the dams in his heart broke. With the dam broken down, he broke down as well.

Tears ran over his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Rum."

Matt stepped back from the car and reached down to the door handle. He knew she'd stopped because she hadn't had the keys. Well, funny thing about that...he never really needed keys because things usually worked out for him. He pulled on the door handle and seemingly locked door popped open. "What do you know? It was unlocked all along." He covered. He hadn't even looked to see if the door open when he pulled as if supremely confident that it would open with no trouble. "Go around the other side. I'll drive"

Dekker reoriented himself towards Kerrich's newest foe for a more polite introduction...

"Dekker Bray, and this is Whiptail, and I believe you've already met Rob... We need to talk, by the way..."

Whiptail shook the pro-offered hand as Dekker moved off to the side with their gracious host, attempting to make amends. If not for his silver tongue indeed...

"He accomplishes the mission, and that's all that the higher-ups want out of him. He gets sent along on these sort of assignments because he has a bunch of shiny crap on his class-A's. After I give my report though, he'll be lucky to remain in command of the Special Warfare Center. Colonel Keltin, the much more agreeable if somewhat boring guy studying the map, will likely take his place..."

The former assassin broke eye contact for a moment, raising his voice slightly...

"Colonel Keltin! Would you mind joining us for a moment?"

Keltin removed himself from the map and make the short walk to where Whiptail was standing. For a common assassin he seemed to have a lot of authority with the military brass in attendance...

"We're talked to your counterpart, I'd like to hear your views on the situation..."

Keltin looked between the Argonian and the Catawaban before responding...

"It's a pleasure Major. I'm Colonel Ket Keltin, Argonian National Navy's Special Operations Division. Like Colonel Kerrich, I know little about high technology, but I did catch a little of what the Major here mentioned earlier. An emplaced weapon would need to be well-hidden, and they've had ample time to devise a system that allows it fire without exposing itself more than it needs to. Anything that generates heat will likely be hidden under tons of rock and concrete and for all practical purposes be invisible..."

The Argonians seemed to enjoy the dramatic pause more than most...

"The good news is that they ought to have some sort of emplaced defenses around the external portion of the weapon if it doesn't recede back into the rock. If it does, that should be easy enough to spot visually if you get a team to poke around in the right area. If they come under attack then we'd know where to focus our efforts. It's not going to be easy in either case. Given the dimensions of a weapon, I've located a few promising rock formations on the satellite map of the area, based on the ability to house the needed components, personnel, and the defensibility of that particular location in relation to a dedicated defensive network. If it was part of a national defense system I believe there would have to be some record of it in the national archives. Has anyone been sent to find such things? A collapsed government shouldn't offer too much resistance..."

While the others continued their tactical debate, Dekker had moved Rob ever-so-slightly away from everyone else. His conversation was a little more sensetive...

"Man, I'd love to talk about Shalamar, but I have a more important matter to discuss, at least to the people that employ me. The Argonians have been forming a paranormal defense force and they've asked me to assist. I've killed a few vamps in my time but I'm no expert. I do, however, know of one. The unfortunate part is that he's currently in an American prison. His knowledge base would give my people an extreme advantage over just about anything paranormal. He's also being transferred by armored bus to a more secure facility. They're worried about the hurricane blowing through Florida..."

He risked a quick glance around to make sure no-one else was listening in...

"Currently it's just me and Godzilla running the show. The Argonian Government wants this done off the books in case it goes wrong, but also as the first operation of another of their special groups. We could use some support, however. I know you or your wife have some ex-special ops guys sitting around you use for special shit like this. I have some contacts from my private sector days that can provide us with weapons and equipment, but I'd need stuff like documents and prison guard uniforms, as well as any cool gadgets you'd like to throw in..."

"I know you or your wife have some ex-special ops guys sitting around you use for special shit like this. I have some contacts from my private sector days that can provide us with weapons and equipment, but I'd need stuff like documents and prison guard uniforms, as well as any cool gadgets you'd like to throw in..."

Rob managed to keep his response down to a minimal lip twitch. Yes, he was well acquainted with more than a few 'special' operatives. And he had 'cool' gadgets aplenty...

"Dekker, I'll be glad to help, if you'd be willing to return the favor. We're going to have to go after that weapon and the group that holds it. Shalamar has already able to tell us that it's in one of the psionic and arcane dead zones, and so we can't get a group teleported straight in to the control room, and since I do happen to also already know that its buried deep we can’t transport a group in. So that means a small team is going to have to hump their lethal selves in the old fashioned way - on foot. "

"And I already know I'd like it to be a group comprised of the best from the region, not just any one nation. I was hoping to get a thumbs up from you and Whiptail. The training together permission would be short, only five to seven days, but every one in the team would already be a competent operator."

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

If it was part of a national defense system I believe there would have to be some record of it in the national archives. Has anyone been sent to find such things? A collapsed government shouldn't offer too much resistance..."

"Unfortunately sir, we've already tried." Karavel Sendai, one of Travis's aides introduced herself to the others "Major Delaney, Colonel Keltin, Master Whiptail." and continued

"We managed to stop the mutiny in their local space assets, but not before they had wiped the national databases. You see Central World's holding here in Fatal Terrain are not their home port, or major holdings. They mostly hold other planets, and Central Worlds Fatal Terrain was more of a retirement community, backwater for them. The Phonon Maser is indeed part of their national defense array, and we've known of the system - but it was installed almost nine decades ago, and very deeply within a mountain " She gave Colonel Keltin a warm smile "Sir, I'd appreciate your thoughts on the location of the emplacement" She gestured towards the finely detailed, fully three dimensional map.

The NIRTS sat's were also showing a gods eyes view of the rescue of the relief planes crew and passengers. The Tower psionics had been able to locate them with little through though it had turned out that three of the fourteen were unable to physcially handle the stress of a quick psionic teleportation. The Tanaaran pararescue team was teleported in and did first responder triage and would protect them until they could get to an area further away from the wildings converging on the area.

They were able to move quickly despite the various injuries suffered by the rescuees and it looked as if within the next hour they would have gained enough breathing room to open a arcane gate and leave through that.

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

After toeing off her shoes, Mercy limberly folded herself to sit cross legged on the floor at Errant's feet. Then with a tug on his leg she pulled him down into her lap. She held him there, sharing in his sorrow and pain.

*************
"Go around the other side. I'll drive"

Suffice it to say that Quigley and Hawke found the rum, and drank it- all of it.

Delaney shook Dekker's and Whiptail's hands with curt professionism, not cold but proper.

"He accomplishes the mission, and that's all that the higher-ups want out of him. He gets sent along on these sort of assignments because he has a bunch of shiny crap on his class-A's. After I give my report though, he'll be lucky to remain in command of the Special Warfare Center. Colonel Keltin, the much more agreeable if somewhat boring guy studying the map, will likely take his place..."

"I understand your government's decisions, sir, and I can't fault them. We have an acronym B.o.L. It means 'Best of Left.' It's been how the Miraade has had to flesh out the military. You'd love to have the very best of the best, but they have a way of takin' rounds when you need them. So you have to settle for second best that's still standing."

Delaney shrugged. "I'm not the best operator on the island. I'm just the best, highest one still availible to serve."

The Phonon Maser is indeed part of their national defense array, and we've known of the system - but it was installed almost nine decades ago, and very deeply within a mountain " She gave Colonel Keltin a warm smile "Sir, I'd appreciate your thoughts on the location of the emplacement" She gestured towards the finely detailed, fully three dimensional map.

The Major nodded to Miss Sendai. Ninety years?

Maggie couldn't fathom that. Ninety years ago her military forebearers were running around with Lee Enfields worrying about the Taung bushman rising up against the Togovian Colonial Authority and rounding up half-caste children so that this mud-blood race would not breed out the pure Togovian lineages. And soldiers of her sex and attitude were a laughable idea that the men made jokes about and secretly feared.

She shook her head slightly, careful not to disturb the tight bun her hair was drawn up to. Even half hidden underneath her beret, the blonde highlights streaking through her light brown hair were still visible. She turned to the particular map Sendai was indicating.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tug at his leg was no great force, no grasp that held him to the bone, but still it moved him from the seat to the floor. He claimed no conscious control to his body as he curled on the floor before her, his head in her lap.

What was it that made his control so tenuous? Was it that all the emotion put him at his resonance point and the opposed shoves from one end of the emotional spectrum to another to another had just torn him apart like a bridge swinging in a hurricane? Or was it the stress of his responsbility, of the miraadery? Or was it the helpless feeling of failure, to know he claimed cultural responsibility for those students, those professors, those victims as his guests...and then he'd left them down. He could not claim the bloodprice required of him to ensure the protection of those under his wards. He could not because to do so would throw more lives away, throw them into a thresher in the Central Worlds.

Deep down he latched onto that. He felt helpless. He was the Miraade, an all father by tradition, and he felt like a father who saw those he was supposed to protect, his children die, and he had not the ability to protect them to ensure that no one would visit that upon his children ever again.

With that loss, that despair, in Mercy's lap he keened softly in the words of his people.

~~~~~~~~~~

At some point in the night, International Island authorities would recieve reports of and respond to a massive barfight down on the waterfront of the island's main port. The sailors who had been too injured, too slow, or too guilty looking to evade arrest reported that much of the chaos was caused by one average looking mad man in a military uniform that seemed to be spouting off like he was the same man with different accents and languages and from different time periods. His date, a mere woman the sailors whimpered, had thrashed them just as badly. The pair of ruffians had evaded capture or even notice.

Dawn...

The pararescue team had to get their rescuees further then they had originally thought - it had taken hours for a safe zone - seperation between them and the hostile forces seeking them - where they could stop long enough to have the team's arcane specialist open a Gate. Once that was done however, they were able to exfiltrate through the portal. The crew and most of the passengers were currently at Balthazar Medical Center at Fort Bly, the Tanaaran premier military medical facility, and the nations leading trauma research and treatment center. It was reported that none of the injuries were life threatening.

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

Mercy's tears had mingled with his, until grief gave way to exhaustion. "Rob will send people after those ossik, I promise you that. Blood is answered with blood..." and quietly she suggested a way for him to be part of that.

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

On one of the many boulders strwn about the II's shores a figure with one arm in a sling perched, looking down at the two sleepers in the sand, watching to make sure that they didn't get too soaked by the rising tide.

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

Given the events of the night before it was quietly delivered to all the participants of the Conference that the days meetings would not start until ten a.m.

Colonel Keltin did his best attempt at a smile as he responded...

"Certainly. There was one in particular along the center of the range that seemed ideal for a defensive emplacement of this sort, at least that's where I would put it if it was up to me..."

Whiptail smiled at the remark of the Catawaban Major. Kerrich was indeed a survivor, but there hadn't been anyone above him during his rise to power within the Argonian Special Operations community. He'd basically built it himself. He was one of the first Longhunters to be trained and formed into search and destroy teams to clear the marshlands of insurgent forces. He'd lost an eye during an ambush near the re-named in his honor Keyton's Crossing, a small village of pro-modernists he'd freed from control of the anti-modernist insurgents. He was a hero in most senses of the word, the sole survivor from his company. He'd helped to found the Special Forces, and somewhere along the way lost his soul in the process.

In short, an old saying applied to the Colonel's life story better than any biography could have done: One should be careful when fighting monsters, lest he become one...

"Unfortunately, it's worked in reverse for us until now. Everyone who was a likely replacement was killed in combat, and we almost lost Colonel Keltin about a year ago to a 40mm round from an insurgent-hired mercenary..."

Whiptail neglected to mention that most insurgent mercenaries were in fact Dark Argonians like himself. The other three Shadowscale Grandmasters hadn't shared his liberal views after the new modernist government had attempted to wipe them out, and had gone to work against their new enemy while Whiptail went into exile...

"He wasn't always this way. The young idealist gave way to the heartless murderer, like it always does. The issue of a successor has gotten so bad we had to hire Dekker over there, and believe me he's nowhere near cheap. By the way, how long have females been allowed to fight in your nation's military?"

Dekker and Rob, however, seemed to have come to something of an understanding...

"You had our support from the get-go, you knew that. We'd appreciate any help you'd give us on our end though. The Argonians have a special force that could help you locate this emplacement, too. A lot of the old insurgents enlisted as local militias after the civil war ended. They'd survivors, tough sons of bitches who live off the land anyway and have spent the past decade killing off better armed and better equipped forces. If you want a few of their groups deployed to the mountains under the guise of displaced freedom fighters then I can arrange for that to happen. We'll call that repayment for your help in our little prison break operation..."

Dekker flashed a quick smile and landed a hearty slap on the back before turning to leave, then seemed to think better of it...

"You need a dossier on our target for this little operation of ours? I can have one sent over most ricky-fucking-tick..."

WA - check your tg"s!!!!!

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

We'll call that repayment for your help in our little prison break operation..."

"They'll stand out in the mountains prettly disctinctly - wildlings -feral elves and humans ...and the General's damned cyborgs but I was hoping to get you and Whiptail to be part of the group going into get that weapon out of Le Clerq's hands. We're only going to have a limited time for the group to train together, and the more previous expereince each operator has the better. I've worked with Whiptail, I owe him my life, and I know just how good he is, even working with a scratch team. And if you're running with him, then I know your quality as well." He returned Dekkers smile

"And yes get me the dossier and we'll play havoc with the transfer."

Boris and Jack both sat in the common area of their designated suite, Jack devouring several pieces of toast whilst Boris simply stood over a table covered in reports and relevant information. The end of the first day had been somewhat dramatic and with a late start intended for the day the pair had decided to review all the information they had at hand. Sighing in disgust, Boris turned to face his vice-president.

"There seem to be bloody warlords and the sort everywhere."

Jack simply nodded, his mouth full of food. He didn't possess the military insight that Boris was known for but he had a reasonably good grasp of the situation in the region. After a few more crunches he managed to speak.

"Besides the unrest in Khadrim it's relatively stable around our area. So far no major activity that would suggest a hostile presence. I'm sure Tarlachia and The Golden Simatar would appreciate some assistance though. We've got a lot of guns and not much to shoot at around here, besides vampires."

Boris chuckled slightly at Jack's simplified version of the nation's military activity. He was right though, the military was quite inactive these days and had been ever since it cleared out the land south of Khadrim of any hostile forces.

"Indeed. I imagine Yellen is still pissed about that information being withheld."

"I'd imagine so. I still can't work out why they didn't tell him."

"Yeh, that is a puzzle. Not our problem though. I'd say the priority for now will be dealing with whoever has control of that maser."

"Most likely. I'm kind of concerned about the demons too, they've been quiet ever since the war and from what I've read, that can't be a good sign."

"Hmm, I've got a report here about the DDA unit prototype. It should be operational by the time we get back home. That should put a few people at ease."

And so the morning continued with idle discussion about the issues relevant to Assington and the region. The conference wouldn't resume for another two hours, giving the pair plenty of time to prepare for the upcoming discussions.

[OOC: Ignoring the space-time continuum for a moment, to address somethign should have been said before the coming dawn...]

"He wasn't always this way. The young idealist gave way to the heartless murderer, like it always does. The issue of a successor has gotten so bad we had to hire Dekker over there, and believe me he's nowhere near cheap. By the way, how long have females been allowed to fight in your nation's military?"

"The Miraade's got a favorite thought that he heard from one of Catawaba's many sociologists once. It's not that the young idealist always becomes the heartless murderer. It's many times that the young idealist is so sensitive that he must divorce himself from his emotions and become as cold as he possibly can to achieve his ideals...he ruins his youthful purity to the good of others."

Delaney looked towards the door Keyton had exited through, as if looking after him. "The sociologist was theorizing about Machiavelli and others who wrote or acted such as him."

She turned her attention back to Whiptail. "Allowed?" She stopped for a moment and gave him a doubtful look, which was best because she'd reigned in a scornful look. "Females have been privleged to serve in Catawaba's military since its inception, three years ago, and in the Revolution before that."

She took a deep breath and pushed the offended feelings aside. "I apologize, before Catawaba gained independence I would not have been allowed to serve. Not as a woman, but as a white, European woman. The Togovian Colonial Authority opined that Togovian women did not have the stamina, ferocity, capability, or fighting spirit to serve in 'this man's military.' Taung women of the native population had been allowed. They had culturally fought along their husbands before the Togovians arrived. Once in power, the Togovians were none too happy to increase the ranks of their conscripted cannon fodder....Taung weren't seen as people."

[OOC: I decided that I'll treat Delaney's conversation with Whiptail as a flashback, running concurrent with the events of the dawn, just so not as to hold anythign back.]

There was a brightness blinding Matt when he cracked open his eyes. He could hear gull calling in the distance and the harsh, indomitable crash waves on rocks. It really accentuated the pounding headache that was pointman for his hangover. Whatever had gone on last night, it had been a hell of a night he was willing to bet, mostly because he could not recall most of it.

He took a deep breath and noticed a weight on his chest. He squinted his eyes open a bit more and lifted his head slightly. There Victoria lay, snuggled in beside him, head on his chest, arm lying across his stomach. It was sweet. It was tender. Matt looked past that rattletrap to ensure they were clothed.

To his relief, they had all the clothes on they had set out with, well except for his uniform tunic. He lay his back down onto something soft. He turned his head to the side and saw the sky blue of his uniform tunic. He smiled. They hadn't had any liquid indigression-fueled intimate contact. He wouldn't need to go to the BX and get himself a whole new formal kit. There were no regrets.

In that light, he looked back down at Vicky. She really did look cute like that, snuggled up against him. Oi Lady, she'd had it tough yesterday. He hoped whatever had happened after they went drinking helped take some of the stress off.

He was just beginning to close his eyes and go back to sleep, considering how perfect it all was. However, he got a subtle jab in the back of his mind. He sighed. Just when you thought it was all going right...you get the feeling you're being watched. Some voice the opinion to others and get told they're paranoid. No, you're usually right when you get that feeling. No two ways about it, it was best to confront your voyuer. It tended to make you better off if you could make it seem like you're nigh-psychic.

Now, he could throw Vicky off him and spin up into a crouch, drawing his weapon. That would be the most badass. However, he wasn't getting any ominious string or percussion instruments in his head, signalling something sneaking up. So that penultimate move would only anger Vicky and make him look like an idiot. No, best go for the Kelvin-cool method.

With his eyes closed and no indication he cared or knew or even wanted to move a muscle to deal with his observer. He put an arm comfortingly around Vicky's shoulders, hugging her to him. He then spoke calmly, "Didn't your mama ever teach you that bein' a peepin' tom ain't near polite or a smart hobby?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late morning before an exhausted, drained, and worn Errant stirred. He didn't remember much past collapsing into Mercy's lap. He remembered grieving, keening for the dead. Right before he totally went out, he remembered Mercy whispering to him a plan, a way out for his debt to the victims. Then he only recalled warmth, love, a steady beat and breath he heard and felt, and soft words lulling him to sleep

He groggily became aware that some how he and Mercy had ended up in bed and naked. They were laying on their sides, facing each other. Mercy's strong, confident arms were around him, enwrapping him in with her love and care. She held him tightly to her breast. It was her heart heard and the rise and fall of her breathing that he'd felt.

Errant closed his eyes again. He didn't need to get up yet. If anyone needed him, they'd come get him. He didn't care to move, not for right now. He felt fully secure, fully loved... something he hadn't felt....in a long damn time...perhaps not in the last twenty-three years. He didn't know what he'd have done without her here.

He'd said it to her. He would now have to say it to himself. He was not meant to be alone. He couldn't be alone.

He lay his head down against her breast and tried to go to sleep. He couldn't though. Yesterday ran through his head, then her words from last night. He would have to do something about the blood debt, something about Le Clerq and his butchers. He couldn't sleep, but he could rest in her calming, rocksteady embrace and ponder his problems with her support to ease him back.

OOC: Life's a bitch, especially when you're a single parent preparing for a deployment to a foreign country. After next week my postings will get a little scarce. I usually just jump to the forums and do a search for whatever active threads I'm in, respond as best I can since it's usually two in the morning when I get around to it, then go to bed.

I'll read those TG's when I get around to it. :)

IC:

Dekker had spent most of the evening after the abrupt conference getting the dossier in question mailed over to Rob's suite. He'd find it in the form of a TELEGRAM under his door. Whiptail had wanted to continue his good-natured interrogation of the Catawaban Major, but unfortunately had had to cut it short due to an emergency beeper page from the 'home office' as he called it. Something told him that he'd be needed in the field again very soon, likely on the mission involving this beam-cannon thing.

His night had been spent making sure there was an edge on his knives and there was peace in whatever he still had that passed for a soul. Meditation had become a rather significant part of his life, it helped him deal with the chaos around him, and the fact that he'd been the cause of a significant portion of it. After the unfortunate events of the night that he lost his family he'd struggled with a variety of religions and finally settled on none at all. An open mind to whatever crossed his often-wayward path seemed like the best option and not some dead-set choice in whatever diety he'd devote his prayers to. It had all seemed like a waste of time.

He found his old partner in the lobby's breakfast area the next morning around nine-thirty, dressed much the same as the previous day but in what looked like a new and pressed maroon polo with the letters 'AIM' embroidered on the left side under a global logo. Dekker had dug out his old formal merc wear from his corporate days in an effort to look his best, or whatever best passed for in his warped sense of fashion. Shalamar had really caught his eye, or there had been something in the beef the night before and Whiptail was glad he hadn't eaten it.

The old assassin approached from behind, his friend clearly focused on what looked like a biscuit layered with ham, eggs, cheese, gravy, and hashbrowns. A cup of black coffee and a silver flask with a faded pewter SEAL logo sat on the table in front of him, partially hidden behind the napkin rack. Dekker had been born and spent most of his youth in Hazard, Kentucky, and it seemed to have affected his tastes in food...

"You know that shit will kill you..."

"People have said the same about you, Godzilla. How do I look?"

"Like an idiot, but you pull it off so I can't say much to you, other than that you do look like an idiot..."

"Screw you, man. You scaly bastards are always meaner than Hell before breakfast. Go eat something or we'll never finish this conversation..."

"Trust me, I will. And it'll be fruit of some sort instead of half a swine stuffed between cheese and liquid fat, thank you..."

Like brothers, the two often went back and forth with mild insults to the other's character, food choices, clothing, and general mentality...

"Oh by the way, I think Rob wants us off the bench and in the ballgame on this one. Specifically requested you, too. But you ain't talking to him until you eat something. He also turned down the offer of the scouting team from your native boys, guess I didn't convey the concept well enough but whatever, it's his op. He does, however, want us to actually get some trigger time if I didn't mention that earlier..."

"Stay off that crap, Dek. It's not even ten hundred yet..."

Whiptail had directed his comment with a clawed finger towards the poorly-hidden flask on the table. While not an addict, Dekker did love Kentucky bourbon, and oddly in his coffee too...

”Didn't your mama ever teach you that bein' a peepin' tom ain't near polite or a smart hobby?"

"Mom wasn't around much, always trotting off being what she does best. So, no, that kinda got neglected by her. Besides" The voice was husky, even seductive - much like Bonnie Tylers - with a strong undercurrent of sardonic amusement "Seeing as that's my mother you are cuddling up to, I have every tight to keep an eye on the two of you"

Amanda D'orrè Hawke smirked "And given that I can smell lime jello liberally coating you even from this distance, may be I ought to be the one asking questions.” She didn’t mention that the smell of alcohol was even stronger and that worried her. Vicky, her mother seldom drank to excess. And the smell was terribly excessive “And while you look a hella lot like Aunt Mercy’s new sweetheart … but I know he would have too much sense to be down here in the sand…that makes you the Catawaban Mister Murphy….the Colonel Quigley who nearly got her killed on her last escapade!” The voice was a lot more of a growl now.

“Ummm, no ‘Manda, he saved my life” Victoria’s voice was drowsily faint but definite “And I think he kept a giant crocodile from eating me last night so that’s twice” The Victoria came fully awake and jerked up – or attempted to. She was rather more tangled with Matt for that to happen, and her splitting headache intensified. Groaning she looked bleary eyed at Matt and blushed. Then she leaned over and gave him a kiss, a light, comfortable good morning kiss and slowly disentangled herself …until she really remembered yesterday and scrambled to her feet, staggering over to her daughter, looking her over with haunted, worried eyes.

“I’m okay mom.” Amanda sighed – she was a lot more shaken than her teenaged self wanted to admit. Though she was only eighteen; her half demonic heritage saw her physically more mature, appearing to be in her mid twenties. “Torn wings and green stick fractures of my right ulna and radius. And lots of really impressive bruises.” Slowly, she slid off the bolder and flexed her vast wings out – when open they spanned nearly twenty feet, and were semi translucent – as if made of ruby hued stained glass with metallic highlights and edging. Both wings had gaping holes in them. Then just as tenderly she refolded her wings, the substance of them now as soft and pliant as the supplest of suede, which draped about her like a living cloak.

Her right forearm was encased in an gray and white aircast tightened with wide dark bands of Velcro and weighted down with a barely audibly humming bone regrowth accelerator. The Qwik-Heal would regenerate the fractured bones in just a few days instead of a few weeks.

Victoria embraced her gingerly, tears glistening in her eyes.

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

Mercy stirred when Errant awoke but when he didn’t move neither did she; and in seconds she was back asleep knowing she was safe in Errant’s arms.

However by nine they were both up and sharing the oversize shower before dressing for the day.

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

Rob’s aides went to work on the dossier, they’d have it all laid out for him when he awoke – neither the Archon or his wife had gotten to bed before three a.m., and would be sleeping in till the last possible minute.

Quigley rolled over and lifted himself up. He groaned as muscles protested, bruises ached, and bones creaked and popped. It was mornings like this, Quigley reflected, that he was greatful he'd forgotten how old he was. Sure, the War Office had a number that wasn't correct. Funny how his birth records always got lost in floods.

He glanced down at his swollen and scabbed knuckles. It seemed that last night had been very interesting. And a crocagator? His fuzzy account of the night had put his scaley opponent anything from a dragon to a deinosuchus. Whether it was Saint George's old nemesis or a crocodylian precursor, Matt was confident he won the fight. He was still here after all. He got up to his knees.

Huh, he thought. Amanda Hawke was pretty good looking for a half-caste demon. That wasn't an exceedingly common thing where Quigley came from. In fact, it was damned rare. Demons, on a whole, were Quigley's shorter list of things he did not trust, even half ones. Generally, they'd caused him nothing but bad experiences, and he still scared the scars physically, mentally, and spiritually.

He had known individuals, though, who had transcended that, so it usually made him consider it an effect of nuture versus nature. Their evil was not inherent in genetics or spirit. In these few cases, a nutured environment free of evil had yielded a decent senient being. Of course, one of those decent senient beings had stolen away his first love.

Amanda Hawke. Victoria vouched for her daughter, not unexpected really, and the girl had volunteered with the regional Red Cross. Though generally weren't the hallmarks of the 'spawn of evil,' saddly enough for Quigley, things in his life did take unexpected twists. There were plans so deluded and screwed up that "a plan so vile and evil that she chose to wait years and portray herself as a wholesome, selfless goodie-two-wings just so she could make her betrayal more horrific' was the only way it made sense...when you could say just walk up, say hello, and do the deed.

He'd give Amanda the benefit of the doubt, but it was a hell of a way to meet people and have to try to take things normally when you already were looking down the road to see how this blow up in your face. Quigley occupied a lot of his dead time working on looking sincerely surprised when things did go according to trope.

His sigh was hidden behind a hiss of pain as his legs protested and he wobbled to his feet. He looked down at his boots and frowned. All that pain fighting a reptillian cryptid, and he didn't have a pair of crocagator boots?

What a gip, Quigley's hungover mind mused as it continued its wandering internal monologue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last night, the pilots had been 'encouraged' to return when Major Delaney came down stairs and had the Guard fireteam rotating back to the airport to act as Stike One and rest 'escort' the pilots back to the airport. The pilots didn't see their general return any time last night, and when morning came they all exchanged knowing looks. The General had apparently got lucky with that lady he'd left the club with.

It was good that none of the pilots or Guards had been drinking a diet of alcohol last night because the arrival of two more Kangaroo transports, four KC-10 air refuelers, and fourteen other aircraft would have killed them. The pilots had stood in the shelterof their parked Kangaroos and Dragonflies as the other Roos taxied in first.

The big cargo aircraft parked in line with brethern already arrived. The three engine KC-10 extenders landed with surprising grace and taxied in after the Roos. For ultitarian craft like the Extender, it was hard to deny that it looked good. Perhaps it wasn't the super model of aircraft, but it was hardy, healthy, and still had attractive lines. It was a respectful admiration and attraction, a sight for sore eyes to the fighter jock staring at a low fuel light, an angel.*

Behind the air refuelers, twelve famliar attack craft landed. They were done right ugly, but the Guards in the pack of watchers smiled. Ugly as they were, they were a rifleman's prayer, a divine valkyrie, a Farichild-Republic Thunderbolt II. Those knobby, ungainly close air support aircraft taxied to positions close to the Dragonflies.

The gathered crews and Guards that had escorted the Miraade exchanged looks. These weren't your daddy's A-10s. The infamous GAU-8/A Avenger 30mm gatling gun had been removed. That made no damn sense, they murmured amongst themselves. That gatling gun was the entire purpose and essence of the A-10, which only a vehicle meant to ferry the Avenger around from place to place and point the gun at things that needed shredding.

In its place was a structure that looked an oversived infrared camera system. That made even less sense than removing the Avenger since the modernized A-10 carried a infrared system in its wing mounnted targeting pod. What the hell could they be doing to the new A-10s the Air Force had bought, they wondered.

That was until Captain Poindexter, stereotypically dull, stereotypically mundance, but in turn, stereotypically smart, whispered the word 'LASER.' They would have crowded close to see the structures had steely-eyed Air Force Asset Protection personnel not stormed out from the recently arrived Roos to set up a perimeter. These AFAP teams would not even let their AFAP brethern accompanying the Miraade's flight take a closer look. This was 'need to know' at the moment.

As were the last two craft which swivled their turbofan engines up vertically and descended to a spot just behind the 'LaserHogs' as they were beginning to be called. The two VTOL aircraft were long and boxy, clearly some sort of transport. They were quickly labled 'Jetspreys' because they looked like turbofan tiltwing version of the American Osprey. Poindexter wanted to point out that he would have called it the 'Dynajet' which alluded to the Canadian Dynavert tiltwing aircraft, but everyone had started to ignore Poindexter again.

While the gathered pilots and Guards were gawking at their tax dollars' in evidence, the KC-10s began deplaning. One Air Force officer came at the top of the stairs that had been wheeled up to the door. He looked around as if searching for someone. He rushed down the stairs and looked around the flightline. He cursed and jogged over to the Miraade's escort, recognizing the Guards in the crowd. "Hey, y'all seen the Miraade's butler about?"

The Guards looked at each other. The fireteam's commander, Corporal Sanduval, glanced to his guys. "Adams, sir? John Adams, the Chamberlain?"

The Air Force officer nodded. "Yeah, him."

Sanduval shook his head. "Sorry, sir, if he didn't sneak off behind us while we were looking at the new craft y'all brought, he didn't come by."

The officer shook his head. "Damn, he was just aboard...the last I saw him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Errant and Mercy came out of the bathroom, they would find a tray of covered platters and a steaming pot with empty cups on their suite's table. Laid out on the bed were their clothing, neat, ironed and steamed if needed. Errant threw a look back at Mercy. He hadn't heard or sensed, now that his mental shock from Shalamar was wearing off, anyone enter.

He crossed to the platter and saw note left leaning against one of the cups.

Sir,

I do apologize for my tardiness. The blighted Kangaroos caused delays on our trip south. Rest assured that all arrived safely. When you do get a moment, sir, I would like to speak to you glowingly about an airplane maintence crew that enabled us to even arrive here.

I have taken the liberty to have a simple breakfast prepared. I have also laid an appropriate tunic and kama for the day. With Madame Bevu's advice I chose a grey set, as that is the color of rememberence and mourning. I have also set aside a bowl of palm ashes and palm oil and your mythasaur emblem. Madame Bevu says you would know what to do with it, sir.

Please be brief, sir. You have an hour until proceedings begin today.

Your servant,

J. Adams.

Errant looked at the bowl on the far table, beside it was a necklace with a beskar mythasaur skull, one of his symbols.

Yellen marched into his room, Rhymer following close behind. The aide quietly shut the door and turned to the President. “I must say sir you really preformed well today. I think this is the sort of thing to boost your image in terms of national security and regional stance.”

“Really Isaac?” Yellen spoke off handedly as he hung his jacket up in the closet and removed his necktie.

“Yes sir. I’m very sure that…”

“Are you more surprised that I actually have my own brain? That I know more about politics and more about regional affairs than I let on?”

“I never said…”

“The first day I was in office and demanded to see all of the military’s secret and somewhat dirty projects you delayed in getting those for me for nearly a week. When I cut tax perks for big companies, you questioned me. I do love second opinion Isaac…however I feel that you are working against me along with half of Congress and possibly other countries.” Yellen rambled as he went to his bedroom.

“Sir I’d…”

“Go to your room. I need a shower and I’m hitting the sack. Good night.” Yellen shut his door and several minutes later Rhymer heard the sound of the shower.

The man turned and departed the room, moving to his own. As he laid in bed, he felt anger surge through him. How dare…how DARE Yellen accuse him of conspiring against him! How DARE he. Rhymer didn’t have to like the man, however the President was acting somewhat paranoid.

Hopefully by morning Yellen would have time to cool down.

Dawn: The Golden Simatar

The previous night’s rain kept the morning fog around longer than it normally would. The sun was climbing and burning the annoying thing away, Rolf Manzer always felt better when it was gone. Even as a boy seeing a morning fog or mist always depressed him.

Rolf stretched his stocky 5’11 frame as he walked along the edge of the woods. In his right hand he held a cup of bad coffee and he clutched a machine-pistol in his left. Stopping near the camp’s single armor personal carrier he dumped the rest of the coffee on the ground. The helicopter that was supposed to arrive the previous night was delayed until this morning because of mechanical problems. It would be here shortly, hopefully with better supplies.

Things were progressing rather well. Tucked in a fairly empty area of the Golden Simatar, wedged inside a thick wood and protected by large formation of boulders to his left and part of his front; he felt secure. Personally had nearly one hundred men under his direct command, four modified vans and trucks, a single armored vehicle and hidden in the woods enough boxes of weapons and ammunition to take on a small army. Even though he was apart of a much larger organization, he felt better than some of his rivals as he had far heavier weaponry than they did.

Rolf turned and walked away from the carrier. He’d go over to the radio shack to check on updates concerning the situation in the south. A loud whirling noise caught his attention. Rolf looked into the gray sky to see the black shape of the supply helicopter slowly materializing in the air.

As the chopper lowered itself to the earth, the aircraft twisted violently backwards. A brief screech was heard before a glowing red orb slammed into the helicopter. The helicopter was absorbed in a white light explosion, the hull peeled apart before erupting.

Rolf was hurled back from the force, his weapon and cup flying from his grasp. He watched as the burning hulk crashed into the trees and making one final explosion. Rolf struggled to his feet as the deep; rumblings of mechanized vehicles drew his attention into the fog. He could barely make them out, four leviathan shapes crawled towards him through the high grass.

The man scrambled to his feet and took one last look over his shoulder, he caught the sight of a missile launch from one of the vehicles. He was safe in the trees as the missile slammed into the armored carrier, taking it in the same white explosion as the helicopter.

“We got tanks! Get the rockets out!” Rolf shouted as he pushed his way through the mire of rushing bodies. He scooped up an assault rifle from a pile stacked nearby. He heard the tanks fire, four explosions ripped through the woods, bodies and tree parts fell like rain. Rolf swung back towards the tree line.

Looking through the haze, he could make out the shapes. His own rockets fired, the warheads impacted the tanks. There was a quiet pause. Rolf looked over the trunk he was hiding behind. Machine-gun flashes sparked from the dense smoke. The bullets landed with complete accuracy, within seconds at least a dozen men disappeared in a crimson cloud.
Rolf ducked back behind cover and watched his camp. The machine-gun fire was coming in shorter bursts, but with each burst he watched someone ripped apart. They weren’t being shot and falling over dead, chunks of flesh exploded off of their bodies. They tried to return fire with rockets and recoilless rifles, but the second they picked the weapons up, they were torn to shreds. The gunfire was horrifically accurate; he’d have to play it careful.

Rolf scurried up the slope; he’d escape south and report what was happening…only course of action. The gunfire stopped from the tanks; spare for the thick sound of their engines everything was quiet briefly. Deeper in the woods, Rolf could see human shapes moving towards them. His men saw them as well and opened fire on the Simatarian infantry.

The Simatarians dove for cover, many jumping into ditches or hiding behind rocks and trunks. Even so, the forest lit up with gunfire. As Rolf crested the slope, he dove deeper into the forest, leaving his command behind. As he sprinted down the slope, a figure to his right caught his eye. Pivoting and kneeling at once, Rolf fired two quick shots from his rifle.

The heavy slugs slammed into the Simatarian’s chest and stomach. The soldier stumbled backwards, Rolf fired a third shot, the round landing square in the chest. The soldier fell to one knee. Rolf’s stomach sank as he watched the soldier lift up his assault weapon, almost unphased by the attack. Rolf saw the dim muzzle flash, he felt the first impact, his body was sent reeling back as a nano-second later he felt the second strike before the almost simultaneous explosions inside his ribcage.

His world went to black.


Captain Rosie Gaylie poked her body armor as she rested against one of the Tyrannosaurs. Three neat holes were on her uniform, but as she felt the material underneath the Kevlar vest, she could only find the warped synthetic underneath. She knew she had some heavy bruising underneath, but it was better than being dead.

The man she shot though, barely much left of him after she hit him with her A-23 rifle. Cosmetically, the weapon resembled a G36 with heavy upgrades. Learning from the Demon Wars, the weapon fired a heavier, .53caliber slug from a 30round magazine, the barrel was free floating and like the AN-94 used a blow-back system where the barrel would shift backwards with every shot, offering better accuracy. The weapon was made deadlier now that the standard round was now Glaser rounds and for special purposes (like as she chose) explosive. Most the weapon was constructed of composite and synthetic materials, keeping it fairly light, though it was certainly heavier than the old G36. But like everything, the military evolves.

She looked over her shoulder at the leviathan RT-42 ‘Tyrannosaur’. The newest tank in the Simatarian military, packing a 125mm main battle gun, twin short barrel 20mm machine guns in a top turret above the primary turret, a .50 permanently fixed to the turret alongside the main gun, internal launchers for anti-tank and surface-to-air missiles, a new thick synthetic composite armor she could take a heavy beating and still be fully functional. Crew…zero.

Rosie looked up to see her Sergeant-Major Simon Gibbon, roughly shoving another pair of captured insurgents to the ground. So far the count was twenty-six, a third of them were injured to varying degrees. Her force of forty Special Forces suffered only nine casualties with light injuries.

A dull whine brought her gaze into the sky as a trio of sleek JHT-11 began to make touchdowns. Like its attack cousin the JHA-34, in lieu of traditional blades, the aircraft used a directional jet propulsion system. Based off of the Chinook, the JHT-11 was a sleek, stealthy aircraft, the jets twisted downwards as the helicopter lowered its landing gear and set down. Reinforcements and transport for the prisoners.

Rosie pushed herself off of the tank and started marching towards the staging area as more troops poured from the helicopters. “Alright I want these woods swept and these fuckers loaded up! Radio get in contact with Kriegspeil and tell them threat eliminated.”

Rosie looked around herself; she was satisfied with the field test of the hardware. After this, the rest of those rats will be scurrying away unless they wanted to get trampled on. If not…practice with the new gear made perfect.

At the first peal of the alarm clock that was more like the soft chimes of small bells, Aeris was awake, sighing as she rubbed her eyes and rolled over to gaze at her husband. He was peaceful, but in a moment, his eyes opened to her. A smile crossed her face. "Good morning sweetheart. Time to dive into the snake pit again..."

Giving him a morning kiss that lingered longer than usual, she rose and left the bed to indulge herself in a warm shower, her clothes for the day following with a waggling of her finger as it lay on a hangar off the closet door. It followed as if carried by an invisible person before it settled itself on a hook within the bathroom.

Seconds later, the sound of water running could be heard.

"Good morning sweetheart. Time to dive into the snake pit again..."

"Actually dear it's not that bad a snake pit. I want to strangle the Imitorans from time to time, but I am being pleasantly surprised by Yellin. He's got more depth than we thought" Rob sat up and returned his wife's kiss with great interest. "He got righteously pissed that we hadn't warned him about that set up on his southern border. Not overly sputtering and all puffed up, though he could have with some legitimacy behind it. We hadn't bothered to inform his government that we knew he had a war camp on his border." But Rob shrugged at that - while Tanaara and TGS might be region mates, they weren't really allies, not like Tanaara and Tarlachia had been for years now - even before he and Aeris had wed. Or like the odd friendship, an often uneasy relationship, between Tanaara and Imitora

TMI'd gotten a signal through to their contact to bug out, so he wouldn't get fried along with of the Warlords followers when the TGS troops hit. That little operation would be interesting to debrief after it went down, seee what new goodies the TGS were fielding these days - he knew it wouldn't be up to either Tanaaran or Imitoran, or most likely even TMZ gear, but he could hope it would be a vast improvement over what they had last used.


Putting his musings asided he quickly tumbled from the bed and began a brisk series of exercises as Aeris vanished into the shower. He wanted to be able to join his wife in there. His five months pregnant wife was incredibly sexy, though she might not believe it.

Almost an hour later he was escorting her out of the elevator and the handsome couple headed to the conference room.

He had big plans for the day.
******************************

Mercy looked at the laid out breakfast and chuckled. "Mister. Adams is here...And all will come right with the world" Her tone tried for teasing and made it with only undertones of grief. Knowing that Mr. Adams had come gave her a great sense of relief.

She slipped into the deep aubergine dress then the matching lace jacket. Once she’d rolled the silk hose up her legs to the waiting garters of the perfectly fitted merry widow, she carried the shoes that went with the outfit over to where the breakfast had been laid out. Lifting the covers off the trays she motioned Errant over. “You need to eat, Dear Heart.”

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

Amanda winced in sympathetic pain as Quigley staggered to his feet, then shook her head, a mock disapproving look back on her face “I still don’t know Mom, he smells entirely too much of jello. What did you do last night? It’s not fair that you get to have all the ‘True Lies’ sorts of fun, while I live like the monk half.” 'Manda gave Victoria an exasperated took – The day before had been the wildest in her life – she had never had any taste for the wild drinking or 'take a dare' escapades that teens in many societies did. The few friends she had were all of the more sedate sort – and nights of wild partying were not really to Manda’s taste anyway. Though she had a well disciplined craving for all sorts of extreme sports – her favorite being BASE jumping – with no parachute. She approached them in a manner of a professional stunt expert - well thought out and with back up plans.

“I got permission to Gate to the Dragon Rising” That was the Tanaaran carrier currently holding post just off the International Island “And they couriered me here so you could see live that I was alright.”

Hawke had not expected her daughter to just Gate away from the site of the crash – Amanda could only Gate herself currently and would not have even thought of leaving her co-workers.

Amanda stepped past her mother and warily nodded “Hi, I’m Amanda and thank you for saving my mothers life” She didn’t offer to shake hands, even most Tanaarans were uneasy about touching her – she’d long ago learned and accepted that lesson.

Dressed in his bathrobe, Yellen had a peaceful breakfast in his room. Cream chipped beef over biscuits, sausage, scrambled eggs and orange juice to wash it down. His anger from last night had died down somewhat. He knew he'd never be able to fully forgive anyone for not informing him or his predecessor about the insurgent camps in his country. However, a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast had relaxed him somewhat.

There was a knock at the door. Yellen called out. "Come in."

The President heard the door open and shut. Several seconds later Rhymer appeared holding a thick folder. His aide was already dressed, he smiled. "Good morning Mr. President."

"Morning. What do you have?"

Rhymer walked forward and offered the envelope. On the back there was a seal of the TGS military, unbroken. "Report concerning the attack on the insurgent base. It arrived about fifteen minutes ago."

Yellen broke the seal of the folder and moving his plates, he emptied some of contents onto the table. There was a trio of gold tinted discs, each with an unbroken seal, as well as a thick leaf of papers and photographs. Taking the cover sheet, Yellen skimmed it. "Immediate after action report...more detailed report to follow...video footage of attack...maps of at least six other camps...Starlight success...zero Simatarian dead..."

Yellen stopped his rambling and put the contents back in the folder, he'd review them during the day. Without a word, he finished up his meal, rose and went into the bedroom to change. Rhymer stood, feeling somewhat awkward. The previous evening hadn't ended well and right now he was wondering if he still had a job.

Yellen emerged several minutes later wearing a simple navy blue suit. He collected the folder. "Lets go."

The pair, Rhymer tailing behind Yellen, left the President's room and went to the elevator. Once they had reached the ground floor, they headed for the conference room.

The Previous Night

The door of the Audi shut with a solid, vault like whump, and the driver checked his watch. There was no way he'd even be on the way out to the former Central Worlds land for at least a week while the equipment was being assembled. He could take care of the research starting the next day and have plenty of time to get it all done.

"And I'm already here," he mused. He started the large A8 sedan, wheeled it around, and found a decent hotel within driving distance of the conference center. He purchased a room, carefully folded and hung his suit, and managed a few hours of sleep following a set of phone calls. It always helped to have people on the inside.

Day two of ze conference

He showed up, wearing a whit shirt instead of the crimson the previous night. However, he still wore the black suit jacket, pants, and shoes, and still wore the over the shoulder holster, and still carried his "Sunday BBQ Gun." The custom made 1911 was quite elegant, yet no less functional or deadly than the "war" gun he carried in combat. Having two just made it easier to arm for the occasion.

Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't also carrying much, much more firepower on his person, yet he hid it well. He walked with a supreme confidence, not the confidence that came from carrying five firearms, three knives, and several years of hand to hand combat training. No, this confidence came from over twenty years combat in all its beautiful forms.

The previous Imitoran delegation had been gently called back. Not that they had done a poor job, far from it. However, it had been realized that the majority of the region had not the ability to speak with Imitorans like the Allied Powers Treaty Organization had, and approaching this conference with such direction was improper.

Instead, through a series of phone calls, Weymuth and his team was called back, and the assistance of the new attendee called in. Maybe he would have an easier time talking sense into the rest of the group.

Robert entered on the ground floor, early enough to beat the rest of the groups to conference room. He had grabbed a random chair, not caring to check which delegate it actually belonged to. A waiter came over, and he ordered a proper cuppa, honey, lemon, sugar, milk, and all.

He watched the Simatarian enter first, and gave him a polite nod.

Boris and Jack stood in the elevator as it descended towards the ground floor. Jack wore a simple white long sleeved shirt with matching coat and pants whilst Boris had casually thrown on a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his muscular frame not too tight but not particularly loose either. Shaking his head, Jack looked over his boss once more.

"You know... you could have worn something a little more appropriate."

Boris simply grinned.

"The great thing about being president is that I can wear what I want. Anyway, the important thing about this conference is what we say, not what we wear."

Jack didn't say anything further save for a few mumbles under his breath that just made Boris' grin widen. As the elevator doors opened, the pair made their way across the foyer and into the conference hall. Upon entering the pair noted the Simatarians were already present, as was an unfamiliar face.

Taking their allocated seats, Boris leaned towards Jack as he shuffled through some papers.

"Any idea who that guy is?"

Jack had already made his assessment as they had crossed the conference hall to their seats and didn't require another glance.

"None at all. I imagine we'll find out though."

As the Simatarians entered the room, the first thing noticed was a man sitting at the table. Yellen returned the man's nod with a smile and the Simatarians took their seats. Shortly after they sat down, the Assingtonians entered. As if a sign for the oddities to ensue during the day, Yellen was surprised to see his counterpart wearing basically street clothes.

Placing the folder on the table, Yellen looked over to the new arrival. The Simatarian gave a smile. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Wesley Yellen, President of the Republic of the Golden Simatar. You are...?"

Ryath and Thor had opted to take the stairs down from their suite, Ryath not being particularly comfortable with all the technology. Despite her age and wisdom, Ryath was a simple creature, as were all dragons. They didn't require electricity, computers or anything the so called modern age had produced.

As usual, Thor was dressed in a dark blue robe that stretched a hood over his head whilst also carrying a think blue stave. Ryath wore a sparkling golden dress that appeared to almost be a fluid substance, flowing with her every movement. The pair were certainly an odd sight but they were entirely comfortable with each other as they entered the conference room, sweeping glances covering the table and those within.

The pair gave their nods to those already present but did not speak. Despite their neighbors being present, there was little they had to say and both were stern believers in holding their tongues if they didn't have anything worth saying. Taking their seats, Ryath's voice soon echoed within Thor's head.

"Do you recognise the man sitting alone?"

"No. Perhaps he is a late arrival."

The pair were content to wait in vocal silence until the rest of delegates arrived.

Colonel Abagail Hardcastle nearly missed a step as she made her way into the conference room and saw who had taken it upon himself to take over her chair. While she'd never met him personally, she recognized his face. It wasn't as if he were some unknown.Oh great, the great Imitoran himself. Damn it I am not going to be thrown out of my place...aw hell...She shrugged mentally Well I'll just take his place. Weymuth will not be missed. I'm glad the asshole got pulled. Her thoughts resolved themselves as she strode over to where the Imitorans had sat the day before, and slipping the compact padd out of it's belt pouch she opened it up and looked over the days planned discussions.

Nothing had changed from her last update and she nodded. Then she sat back and looked at the others whom had already arrived…and realized something. She might be the only one there who knew whom the new arrival was. A small cats smile lit her face and she stood and moved around the table to where the Imitoran sat.

“Lady Ryath, Lord Thor, I’d be remiss if I didn’t introduce you to the new Imitoran delegate. Mister Robert Fortier…” She looked over to the pair from Khadrin.

“Mister Fortier, Lady Ryath and Lord Thor are the delegates from Khadrim.. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been introduced to President Yellin, of TGS, and his top aide, Isaac Rhymer.” She nodded to the Simatarans, then looked in the direction of the Assingtonians

“And this is President Boris Lepedius and Vice President Jack Murphy from Assington.”

Abagail concluded the round of introductions with her own “I’m Abigail Hardcastle

Robert stood, accepting any proffered hands, and then sat again, making a very quick, yet very detailed mental image of each delegate, as well as taking further mental notes as to how they moved, the way they carried themselves, and any small mannerisms. It had been a long running trait that had served him well often in the past, and the ability to make a full mental picture of someone in less than a second often served a great benefit. If nothing else, in a situation where human deification hit an osculating room cooling device, he could put a good guess as to how they would react.

That aside, he finally turned to Abagail. His accent wasn't the traditional Imitoran, a strange yet often pleasing mix of South African and Souther regional American, with a mix of colloquialisms and terms of each. Instead, his was more English in nature, with a a mellow voice that wasn't to deep, but not high either. It was topped with a educated tone, but not an I'm better than you as I am educated tone that often found its way into someone's speech.

"The pleasure is all mine Miss Hardcastle. I hope that my presence isn't poorly timed, but it was felt that someone a bit more, delicate, than my counterpart was needed for such a situation. Should it be pertinent, you can rest assure that I am up to date on the unfortunate affairs of last night."

Yellen shook hands and smiled politely to the new Imitorian delegate. The smile inside the Simatarian however was one of complete happiness. Though he didn't know anything about this man, already he seemed better than Weymuth. Hell, anyone seemed better than him. For the moment at least, this Robert Fortier seemed a perfect gentleman.

"It's alright Mr. Fortier. Hopefully today will be a better day and we can start anew." Yellen said.

Quigley shook his head to clear it and disagree with her. "No, thanks be needed, lass." There he was slipping into other accents, other lives, again. Ach, he hadn't let himself go that far gone in a long, long time. "It was really enlightened self interested. My shebs were in the fire just as much as hers. And if you ever get the fullest story, you'll know we needed everyone to get out of that. Your mother saved me as much I her."

He frowned for a moment. She was bit distant towards him. Perhaps it was the smell of saccarhine geltin, it was strong in even his nostrils. Then there was the gaps between them. He was older, even if he didn't barely look it. He was a stranger, some suspected beau of his mothers though it had no basis yet. He had the grizzled look of too much life, too much work, and too much wear put into one vessel, a soldier with too many tours behind him and still more in front.

Aw to hell with it. He did need to seem normal or at least try every once and a while just to see if it might stick for once. "I figure my name's got more than enough play in certain circles even to Tanaaraa and back, but me ma was a strict one for rules and etiquette." He leaned in and held out his hand with a smile. "Matthew Quigley, general, fighter jock, rogue, and ne'er-do-well excelsior."

~~~~~~~~~

Errant turned away from the bleak funeral ashes and mythosuar totem. There were enough sullen things about him this morning. That would be something he'd deal with later tonight. He had other priorities for this morning.

He turned to the somber grey outfit Adams had laid out for him. Grey was the color Taung attributed to mourning. It was the traditional color for mourning any loss but only the first in a progression of colors that signaled the Taung's own three step program to dealing with wrongful death. Next came black, which symbolized for commitment, thirst for justice, and finally gold, vengeance.

Errant first went to the closet. When Chamberlain John Adams blew through a room, it got organized. So that meant....Errant opened the closet and found his ballistic vest trying to blend in between his kamas and Mercy dresses and having all the success of hiding an APC amongst a bunch of luxury coupes.

He pulled it off the hanger. He could almost feel its relief and certainly his when he put it on. It had been no bit of hyperbole that there had been over a dozen attempts on his life. Only three had gotten to execution. The rest had been uncovered by SubRosa and crushed by the Guard. He'd been shot in the first attempt with only a vest between him and two .38 rounds. The second two attempts had been more elaborate, but the Guard had shown through and stopped the assassins. Relatively, he'd been in more danger during that first attempt than the two larger, more violent attempts.

Errant then walked back to the bed and put on the somber tunic and kama. He glanced up at the bed side table and saw his besbe'kama. Errant hated to call it a utility belt...yet it was. The down side of a kama was that it had no pockets, and he was entirely used to wearing uniforms with an overabundance of pockets. He slung it around his hips. He cinch it down and then patted the Taung kad (http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/1/18/Bolo_ni_Maximino.jpg) on his left hip. He leaned over and reached under his pillow and drew out his pistol. He holstered that over his right.

He stood there taking refuge in the routine, the unchangeable rocks of his life. Last night...all the emotion, thoughts, everything he hadn't had time for in the past, that he'd compartmentalized because he had to higher priorities...it all had bubbled up last night, yesterday. He'd let it all go at once. Mercy had been one of the few he'd opened some of those compartments to, and to her credit, she'd been trying to open some more, help him before the pressure reached the breaking point.

“You need to eat, Dear Heart.” Mercy said.

He had to remind himself he wasn't alone.

Errant forced a smile. "Elek, Ni Kar'ta."* On his way to his chair, came along side her and leaned it to give her a kiss on cheek. "Thank you." They were small words standing in for a lot of feelings he didn't know how or have time enough to express. He left it at that and ate. No words were exchanged during the quick meal, just looks and glances filled with more words that Errant felt he could summon.

With the meal quickly over, Errant and Mercy got up to finish reading themselves. Errant pulled on his socks and boots. He gathered the few things he would need and turned to find Mercy waiting patiently, smiling, and holding out the last item he was looking for.

Together the left their room, Corporal Maria Salva and her fireteam were already geared up and waiting. Gold, who Errant hoped had gotten some sort of sleep last night, was standing by to lead the escort. John Adams was inspecting the room in detail, shaking his head and making tut-tut noises as some bit of the housekeeping didn't meet his specifications. From the disinterest of everyone else in the room, Adams hadn't been satisfied with much and had been at this for a while.

Errant's new aide, William Churchill, had arrived on the same flight as Adams and was directing the setup and organization of the suite's office to Catawaban specifications. Churchill had been aide to the Hayden Seigfried, Catawaba's WA ambassador, but after the WA began passing resolutions that Catawaba could not stand, the Miraade withdrew the country from that bloated bureacracy. Although Siegfried was hiding out in his hometown Goldsboro and rejecting all of Errant's invitations to serve in other diplomatic capacity, Hayden had recommended Churchill highly especially for his handling of Gregory Placeholder, Siegfried temporary replacement when he had been injured during a plane crash.

With the others of his retinue and household in place, things felt more familiar and secure. Errant nodded to Gold, and the vornskrari led the way out of the suite and towards the conference room downstairs and the beginning of another day. May it be better than the last, Errant hoped.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Your Mando'a...I mean Taung'a phrase for the day means "Yes, My Heart."

"The pleasure is all mine Miss Hardcastle. I hope that my presence isn't poorly timed, but it was felt that someone a bit more, delicate, than my counterpart was needed for such a situation. Should it be pertinent, you can rest assure that I am up to date on the unfortunate affairs of last night."

"They rescued the crew of the Red Cross flight, but we are still in the intiial stages of planing the recovery of the Maser installation. I think your pressence will be greatly appreciated." Abagail's eyes flicked to President Yellin for just a second. She wasn't going to mention Weymuth's seemingly deliberately antagonistic attitude, and his more than slightly insulting treating of the Simataran.

OOC: Quick Time Line...( set for International Isle time )
Day One -
Confrence begins - 1 p.m.
Confrence breaks - 6:30 p.m.
Phonom Maser is used to destroy chartered airliner - 7:20 p.m.
F.T. Red Cross plane downed - 7:30 p.m.
Archon breaks the new at - 8:10 p.m.

Day Two
Rescue of survivors of F.T. Red Cross plane - 1 a.m. - 6 a.m.
Resumption of Conference - 10 a.m.

"Matthew Quigley, general, fighter jock, rogue, and ne'er-do-well excelsior."

Amanda blinked and hesitated for a second, dark eyes serching him over intently, with a faint, and very well hidden, light growing in them. Her subtle tenseness relaxed and she took the prooffered hand and shook it with a firm yet light grip - she was stronger than humans and was well aware of it, modulating her handshake carefully.

"Pleased to meet you General Quigley... and well, Gra'mom is always one to worry excessively over mom. And mom is closed mouthed about her escapades on account of that. If mom says you're not to blame I believe you"" She grinned, but once again wrinkling her nose at the scents roiling off of the pair. "Lets get you all up to the hotel suite they've put me up in and get you all clean clothes. If you fought something dangerous here on the I, that means the LEO's probably got called and you all might be BOLOed. The rental is in that lot over there" She tipped her head toward the small beach front lot that served this strech of shoreline.

********************************
Romeo and Juliet were waiting with the Catawaban escort and Juliet held out a hand, briefly asking in hand sign for Mercy to hold back a moment. After Mercy had paused to let the others proceeded, Juliet leaned in and whispered a short message to her principle.

A smile flitted across Mercy's face and in a few strides she was back next to Errant. She didn't say anthing to him, but inwardly she was mulling over the information she had just been given, and sighing...

The relationship between her and Robert Fortier had been long over. He'd turned down her down when she'd asked him to marry her - and she'd carried that hurt and notion that she wasn't 'good enough' for a long time. She'd not told him of his son until long after he'd come out of the coma he'd been in for three years - and the world outside the innermost reaches of the Imitoran intelligence community - including even the very thorough TMI and herself -thought him dead and buried.

But she had grown past that past and her present was wonderful. She and Errant had had to work hard to forge the ties that bound them together - both had legitimate concerns to over come, but they had worked on them together and their relationship was stronger now than ever, or so she though.

They exited the stair well and Mercy slipped her hand in to Errant's and she spoke softly for his ears alone "Errant, Kar'ta mine, I don't want you caught off guard. Imitora switched out delegates last night. Robert Fortier is here in Weymuths place."

Vakaras awoke to the wonderful aroma of roasted beans mixed with a spoonful of sugar. He had slept quite comfortably that night, and arose feeling refreshed and rejuvinated following what he had deemed a dreadful prior day. It seemed that Sukri had been awake for awhile now and had managed to procure himself a cup of coffee while he waited for his friend and charge to awake. Taking a moment to saviour the aroma that the drink was giving off, the young diplomate noticed a note that had been left on the table, appeared to be written in Sukri's handwriting. It informed him of the terrorist attack on the two planes in the previous night and of the rescue that followed. His golden locks flew around as he shook his head in disbelief and in slight agitation that he had allowed his feelings once again force him out of a situation in which his assistance could have been had.

After taking a brief shower to freshen up and put on a new outfit, he checked the time on his watch. According to the dossier, the conference was to resume at ten o'clock this morning, and it was nearly nine thirty by the time Vakaras had awoken and showered.

"I suppose it's best we head on down there my friend. I have a feeling that little progress will be had for our part, but then my actions yesterday deserve little in the way of fortune. Who knows though, there might still be a favorable ear to our cause, perhaps our neighbors to the south might be able to come to some arrangement with us. As Hero once said, "The shadows of yesterday only cast the blackness on yesterday, the sun of today is the path to be made." Let us go then, to whatever fate we might be able to conjure up."

Sukri laughed as he finished his last sip of the caffeine infused beverage and patted the lad on the back. Though he could never tell the boy that he was happy that he was maturing and growing because of his vow, he would always show it in whatever actions he could. He was as much as a father and mentor to the boy as he was a bodyguard, and more so than his own father ever would be. Though he once served the man, he swore that no one would ever come to harm Vakaras and not suffer the consequences, and he was fully aware of the pain his father once made him endure. If it ever came to it, Sukri would reinforce that he was not a man who ever went agaisnt his vows. With that in mind, he lead the way as the two headed to what Vakaras expected to be another long and frustrating meeting.

This is the Official Time Line For both the Conference and The Hard Way...

Day One
Confrence begins - 1 p.m.
Confrence breaks - 6:30 p.m.
Phonom Maser is used to destroy chartered airliner - survivors arcanely gated off of plane immediately prior to destruction* - 7:20 p.m.
F.T. Red Cross plane downed - 7:30 p.m.
Archon breaks the news at - 8:10 p.m.
Imitorans remove Weymuth as their deligate

Accomplished: Agreed by majority that no Regional Peace Keeping Force is wanted ( many prove to be needed later )
Agreed by majority that the needs of the citizens of the collapsed nations should be responded to by the Fatal Terrain Red Cross. Most nations agreed to admit refugees.

Day Two
Rescue of survivors of F.T. Red Cross plane - 1 a.m. - 6 a.m.
Imitoran Deligate Robert Fortier arrives.
Resumption of Conference - 10 a.m.
Day's discussions: Rise of Pirate activity;acknowledgement of land aquisitions and requests for various nations to take over certain areas/ nations as Protectorates.


Day Three
Conference continues ( if needed )
THW team assembled - their Day One **
Survivors of Airliner - their Day Two of captivity

*however the survival of some of the crew and passengers is NOT known until Aeris makes it known.

Day Eight
Final day of training for THW - their Day Five
Suvrivors of Airliner - their Day Seven in capitivity.

** this training may take up to five days, however there is always the chance that the over all ability of the team is such that the time can be shortened

Shalamar was feeling much rested after several hours of meditation. She'd need to sleep tonight - if a new problem didn't crop up, but for the moment she has bright eyed and bushy tailed. She strolled into the Conference room and her eyebrows went up briefly. So the Imitoran's have done the smart thing for once. Wyemuth had made the usual Imitoran mistake of being too big an ass. Fortier can be arrogant as hell but he's generally earned the right if the scuttlebut is honest, and Mercy usually is...Now where is Whiptail and Dekker. I wonder if he really is interested in me. 'Cause I am in him." Shalamar hid a chuckle as she slid into her seat at the donut shaped table.

"You really don't have to call me General. Quigley, Matthew, or Matt, call me what you like, but General ain't felt right since I've got it." He turned and started towards the rental car.

"And, darlin', I would worry about the lawdogs. If my recollections match what happened, yer ma and I went up with hordes of the ugliest palookas besides that huge crocagator and left'em all uglier than they started that night. Ya think they're gonna want to whimper to anyone that a scarred up every man and a nickle-even whip of a spitfire gave them whatfor?" He stopped and returned for his jacket which he almost forgot and then went towards the car.

He shook his head. "Nope, they'll claim that we were giants, yea tall." He raised a hand to rediculous heights above his head. "And we had shoulders this wide." His hands spread to the width of the most ambitious fish tale. "And we shot lightning from our eyes." His hands came up to his face and his fingers wavered away from his eyes like fans of lightning. "And we, the two of us, had HUGE Ga-Nashing teeth." His fingers changed from lightning to a hideous maw of teeth that would shame and frighten the most fiercesome of crocagators, reef sharks, and boogieman.

"Nope, we're in the clear. They certainly wouldn't describe little ol'us. They described a more terrible version of themselves...at least that's what I'd say." Quigley declared as he stumbled towards the seawall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Errant snorted at Mercy's news. "Recalled Weymouth have they? Decent and damned slow of them. Here's to hope Fortier can..." He grew silent and looked straight forward as the descended down the stairs.

Robert Fortier had been on Errant's list of people to hopefully never see, and he'd thought he'd never really have to worry about the consequences of that, seeing as the man had been thought dead. Frankly, he didn't like the man. He'd turned down the affections and love of the woman Errant had given his heart to. It was difficult for Errant to have any compassion or good will to a man who with his callousness had helped bring one of the strongest woman to the brink of despair.

There was also an irrational bloom of possessive paranoia that Fortier returned to take what was his. Errant had had enough of being blown about by his emotions for one day and stamped them back down into their holes. He took a deep breath and finally looked over at Mercy. "How ya feel about this?"