NationStates Jolt Archive

if you have a reason to participate, through direct action or even commentary, feel free.

Alehessen, Oceanian Atrea

Sir Howard Kessel was a bit plump. There was no avoiding the fact. It was a recent development, not recent as in the past few days recent, but more as in the past twenty years recent. With his brown hair retreating across a bumpy scalp and his bones screaming at every exertion, he could not even hide his health from himself. He had tried, of course. But ultimately the striped and snug-fitting shirts he wore on the golf course were far from self-effacing. Meanwhile his sporting charities never seemed to get off the ground. And his banquets were famously well-catered.

Yet Howard Kessel sat beneath a red-and-white striped parasol shading not just his figure, but also the iron table, his plate, and his hearty cream-sauce chicken dish—half-eaten. His table was one of nearly a dozen running down the street, the opposite side lined with trees and benches overlooking a river that coursed through the heart of Alehessen. It was a pleasant street with street-level shops and upper-story flats. And later in the afternoon it would fill with teenagers and after hours with young professionals.

Now, however, it was crowded with police and soldiers. Howard Kessel had every intention of finishing his meal, however, in the midst of chewing on a piece of tender chicken with its rich sauce, a man entered Kessel's peripheral vision. Kessel hurriedly swallowed his morsel and replaced his knife and fork on his plate before turning up to investigate the intruder.

The man he found was no stranger. Familiar, in fact. So familiar he offered a smile and motioned for the man to sit down.

"Fancy meeting you here, Frederick, how are you?"

Frederick Von Rybak smiled. His jaw was sharp, square-set, and reflected the pale-muscular development that characterised the tall, gaunt man. "As well as I can expect," Von Rybak replied. He ran his bony hands across the white, short, stubs of hair dotting his scalp. His skin was pale, a feature accentuated by the neatly fitting black suit he wore.

Kessel's smile disappeared in an instant, "oh, right," he added quickly. "Well," he said, trying to redirect the conversation, "what brings you to this area of the city?"

Von Rybak swept his long arm towards the street and the men and women carrying rifles and machine guns. "What else, Your Excellency. The time is almost here."

The Royal Governor of Oceanian Atrea nodded quietly, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin. "And you just so happened to come to inspect the preparations?" Kessel asked, his voice now far colder. More distant.

Kessel's acquaintance offered a polite laugh. "Of course, Governor. This has been a long time coming and we need to make the party goes off without incident."

Leaning back into his seat, Kessel sighed. "There is still a month or so, Frederick, before you can officially begin to gloat."

Now, the quiet man leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, pointing his fingers at Kessel. "You have had your time, and all you have managed to do is dither. To grow fat off the land. Off our land."

Kessel's eyes narrowed, and not to be outdone, leaned in to face Von Rybak. "Off His Majesty's land. Keep that in mind or my men over there," the governor jabbed his thumb towards a small patrol of Oceanian soldiers walking past, "can throw you in jail for sedition."

"Against my countrymen?" Von Rybak countered, motioning with his own hands to the well-armed civilian police forces trailing the soldiers. "We outnumber you here. Always have, Your Excellency. You may do well to throw them," he motioned towards the soldiers, "around from sea to sea on your battleships, but this is no island. This is no ordinary colony. This is a willing participant in your Empire."

With a screech, Von Rybak pushed his seat back, away from the table, the metal legs disagreeing with the brick sidewalk. As the man stood, he leaned in once more. "And soon, Howard, we shall be equal partners. Good day."

Kessel scowled as Von Rybak began to walk by him. In fact, he only turned his head after Von Rybak called out to him by name. "What is it?" Kessel shouted.

Von Rybak smiled before shouting, loud enough for all on the street to hear, "God save the King."

Salisbury, Jacobia

Behind opaque shades, the man's blue eyes watched the woman's tall and slender frame. Her skin was tan, and with only the necessary attributes hidden behind a turquoise-coloured cloth, he could enjoy the view. His frame, however, was far worse. A once-smooth face, boyish even, was now beset by deep lines. A once-brown set of hair was now almost entirely grey. A once-fit body was beginning to bulge. A once-healthy cardiovascular system was almost in shambles. And so he smiled. He took another long glimpse of the hourglass figure before him, before it slipped into a pool shaded by palms. And once it did, he raised a steaming cup of tea from a saucer sitting beside him and sipped the Sarnian blend slowly.

After replacing the china cup upon the saucer, he picked up one of the three dailies sitting beside him. Flipping to the headlines, he saw little of any real interest. The local paper was obsessed with the announcement of the go-ahead on the first high-rise in Salisbury, a resort town slowly developing into a minor city backed by services. From the paper coming out of Cranfield, the news centred on the MP from Luxport being caught sleeping with a staffer. An underage staffer. Of the same sex. Perhaps not a problem in the more liberal areas of Celaria. But Cranfield metropolitan area was a bastion of the Tory's socially conservative values. The only truly interesting story came from the third, the Sentinel out of Georgetown.

He was quite fortunate to have a paper from so far away, actually. The Sentinel's nearest printing press to Salisbury was in Osborne, a few hundred kilometres to the east. One of his attendants had relations in Robartes that had connections to the paper. And from there the influence of name recognition was enough to get a few copies of the Sentinel in Salisbury. But that was old news.

The interesting tidbit was hard to find, for it was not really a headline. Rather, a small story out of Atrea, a long-forgotten corner of the Empire, about a reported rift between the premier and the royal governor. In truth, he found the story not entirely surprising. Oceanian Atrea was, broadly speaking, an area of progressive political thinking. That the governor was a recent appointment of Ingrahm's Tories meant that trouble was bound to come.

Unfortunately, the man knew that the trouble was ill-timed for Prime Minister Ingrahm. In the 1960s, a ball had started to roll, really it had been but a speck, but regardless, troubles in an imploding empire meant that the United Kingdom would, in later decades, absorb some troubled provinces. And those provinces were shaped into Oceanian Atrea, a crown colony administered from Georgetown. And later from Alehessen. The trouble for Prime Minister Ingrahm, however, stemmed from the terms of the annexation. Its colonial status was but a transitional phase. For, come November, it would become a full-fledged home country. An equal partner. And for the Prime Minister, that meant holding a new round of elections.

And with that thought, the man returned to the paper and the article about the Tory sex scandal. He let the paper fall into his lap, and he read the article. And he smiled. In part for the fact that the constituency was now likely wide open. But also in part for the brunette emerged from underneath the surface. With a wide smile, she flung her top at him and motioned with her finger for him to join him. "Come on in, Alistair," she purred.

"Very well, Emily," he replied with a smile.

Georgetown, United Kingdom

Nestled safely behind the colonial-era brick walls, the pale yellow and coral-pink Georgian-era structure housed the residence and working office of the Oceanian Prime Minister. Rodney Ingrahm had moved in amid the ongoing repairs to those brick walls, riddled with holes after the bloody accession of Andrew to the throne. As Ingrahm poured himself a cup of tea, imported rooibos actually, he wondered what Daniel Collins had thought of the residence at the time. Collins was the most recent Tory occupant of the Citadel. He had disappeared somewhere over the Pacific, and in so doing allowed for Lord Salisbury to return. Ingrahm brought the steaming liquid to his lips and smiled. It had been a brief return.

A quick rap on the door disturbed Ingrahm. "Come in," he called, expecting the man who entered. "Good evening, Reginald."

Sir Reginald Laird was Ingrahm's chief of staff, a loyal friend and political ally since his first campaign for his Islington seat. He entered the Prime Minister's study, his face drawn. "Good evening, Mr. Prime Minister. We have a situation in Sarnia."

Ingrahm replaced his cup of tea. "Serious?"

Laird nodded. "Preliminary reports from Avalon point to a car-bomb detonating on a bridge in Braddock." Noting Ingrahm's unchanged expression, Laird continued with some minor background. "Braddock, sir, sits on the northern bank of the river separating our colony from Pavanne." With the mention of Pavanne, Laird finally elicited a response from Ingrahm. A slight frown. Pavanne was a Sarzonian colony.

"I see. Has there been any reaction from Woodstock?"

"Nothing yet, sir."

"Casualties?"

"Again, the news is still breaking, but early tallies point to twenty-three dead, seventeen wounded, and forty-five missing." Laird shrugged. "It was one of only three transport connections we have with Pavanne—and it was fairly crowded at the time."

After a long pause, Ingrahm nodded thoughtfully. "I see, well, I want to talk with Gavin and Cahill—we are going to need a response and rather quickly. Also get the right people over at Defence on the phone, I need to know what we can expect the Sarzonians to do."

"Probably their typical over-reaction," Laird quipped. Despite the two countries having signed the Sarnian Border & Arms Realignment Treaty, SABAR, border tensions in Sarnia remained tense. Cross-border links, both civilian and military, were increasing. But suspicions between Georgetown and Woodstock ran deeper than profit.

Laird, however, caught Ingrahm's leer. "I shall call General Keating and have him begin to consider redeploying our forces to the border." His quick addition drew out a half-smile from Ingrahm. If the Sarzonians were to mobilise and put troops on the border, the zealous nationalists in Sarnia would be less than fully pleased. The two hoped that the signal would be caught by the Sarzonians. That the United Kingdom was fully committed to securing the border. Official notification would follow the Prime Minister's meeting with the Foreign Secretary and the Colonial Secretary.

Alehessen, Oceanian Atrea

Frederick Von Rybak sipped his whiskey slowly. He sat, slouched almost, in his brown, leather recliner with his long fingers wrapped delicately around the short glass. The amber-coloured liquid burned his throat. And it was against his doctor's orders—but he did not really care. Across from him, a shorter and far healthier, and notably younger woman. Tabitha Connelly, of mixed Oceanian and Atrean descent, preferred red wine and sipped hers just as slowly.

"So we still have no word?" She asked quietly, after an agonising silence.

Von Rybak shook his head slowly. "No, neither Kessel nor his masters in Georgetown have let slip any indication of when we're to go to the polls." He took another sip and smiled. "Although it must be close, that Borovic fellow paid me another visit."

"He's aligned with Salisbury, right?"

With a tilt of his head and a grin, Von Rybak nodded. "Yeah, more or less. Borovic belongs to the Liberal Democrat Party," he took pains to unnecessarily emphasise the name of the party. "Actually, he used to belong—well, he probably still does. He's a former leader of the Liberal Democrats apparently." Von Rybak took another sip of his drink and continued. "He led them up through the last series of general elections—his party was split in two and they lost significant ground to the," he paused, his eyes turning towards the ceiling, searching for a moment before returning to Connelly's pale blue eyes. "To Súzvuk. Anyways, the Liberal Democrats are now headed by some fellow named Aidan Heartman."

"That's a rather Oceanian-sounding name for a Novikovian," Connelly opined, sneering almost.

"It is. He reached Novikov by way of England apparently, at least that's what Borovic tells me. Trusts the fellow with his life. Supposedly is on good terms with most of the folks in Georgetown."

Connelly shook her head. "With a name like Heartman, that's not a surprise."

"Says someone named Connelly," Von Rybak replied with a wry smile. Connelly bowed politely. The two then drank.

"Anyways," Von Rynak eventually continued, after finishing off his glass, "he was interested in knowing whether or not we'd have any interest in joining forces with the Liberal Democrats come the elections."

The two sat silent for a long moment. "Do we?" Connelly finally asked. "They're for all this free trade and deregulation, aren't they?"

"But we agree on social issues," Rybak countered. The two belonged to the Progressive Party, whose platform consisted of promoting socially liberal positions along with government intervention in economic affairs to redistribute Atrean wealth. Their primary opposition came from the ranks of the Liberal Party. The Liberals represented socially conservative values and economic liberalism. "We could align with the Yellow Socialists, Tabitha, but they have only some 50-odd seats or so. The Red Socialists are worse off, not even 40 seats there. And Súzvuk, well, they're not only economic liberals, but social conservatives."

"But they have over 100 seats, and are in coalition government with the Conservatives. They have the experience and the contacts, Frederick." The two sat in silence for another moment, while Connelly finished her wine Von Rybak examined the glass held between his bony fingers. "I guess it comes down to how much do we want to compromise," Connelly finally asked.

Poldi'sk, Novikov

Aidan Heartman folded the newspaper in half and then placed it on his kitchen table. The local Poldi'sk papers were rife with rumours that an election would soon be called. Articles declared Oceanian Atrea the new Novikov, and so Alehessen would need to send MPs to Parliament. Nikolai Ulyanov was in town 'on vacation' and 'visiting family.' That he was addressing a local gathering of Súzvuk activists in Zvolen later this week was mere coincidence.

Of course the Liberal Democrats had contributed to the storm. While the Ulyanov dynasty had defected to Súzvuk, the popular Milos Borovic had remained—and he was now in Atrea. Fortunately for the Liberal Democrats, his popularity had remained intact—owing mostly to his reputation from the war. As Nikolai's father had been the national father-figure before the war, Milos was the paternal embodiment of the state in the war's aftermath. It was because of Borovic that the Liberal Democrats had scrapped up 76 seats. That the party had failed to implode.

But, as Heartman drank his morning coffee, a Pacitalian blend he had grown to like after vacationing in Mandragora, he knew that Borovic was politically finished. While the two were friends, it was quite clear that Borovic wanted his reputation intact. And so while he remained a member of the party, there were no more elections. Perhaps some campaigning—he had already been to Alehessen on three occasions and to Juristan twice—but anything else was out of the question. Heartman would have to defeat Súzvuk on his own merits.

And that would mean taking the Liberal Democrats further to the right on economic issues. Most of Novikov trended towards the left, formerly two of the three major parties were openly socialist. And then there were the New Communists, the fourth party until the emergence of the nationalist hardliners and then Súzvuk. However, Novikov represented only one-fifth of the population of the United Kingdom. To be taken seriously meant that Novikovian political parties needed to move towards economic liberalism.

Súzvuk had done just that under Noskovic. He had siphoned off the economically liberal wings of all the parties, and then those desiring some sort of Novikovian nationalism within the new Oceanian identity. But for Borovic the Liberal Democrats would have almost entirely disappeared, being for years the party most linked to economic liberalism. The elder Ulyanov, however, had kept state-owned enterprises and state-owned universities and state-this and state-that. All through his sheer force of will. Perhaps that was what had killed him, Heartman mused, finishing off his coffee.

Regardless, Novikovians were finally witnessing economic growth under the liberalisation policies of Georgetown. Súzvuk was popular. And so Heartman hoped the Liberal Democrats would finally able to step out of the shadow of Ulyanov. Novikov was only slightly larger than Oceanian Atrea, however, and so only together could the two home countries successfully impact Oceanian politics in a positive fashion. But to accomplish that, Heartman would need allies in Alehessen.

Aalen, Oceanian Atrea

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Thomas." Milos Borovic spoke cleanly. Not a native speaker of English, he had learned the language quickly during the war and the post-war occupation. Heartman had helped tremendously, of course, but so had the time spent in Georgetown coordinating the integration of Novikov into the United Kingdom.

Thomas Reinhardt smiled politely at the man standing before him. Reinhardt had remained seated in his office, his cane leaning conspicuously against the edge of the sofa where he had placed himself. "My pleasure, Mr. Borovic. Although, it's rather presumptive for us to meet, wouldn't you agree?" The seated man gestured for Borovic to sit opposite him, and to help himself to the pitcher of ice water waiting on the coffee table between them.

"Not at all, Thomas," Borovic replied with a smile, helping himself to a small glass of water. "This is more of an exploratory meeting. Unofficial, of course."

Reinhardt smiled politely once more. "I've read the reports out of Alehessen, Mr. Borovic. You're exploring political convenience."

"Indeed, I am. As I am sure you will agree, it is often inconvenient to be the Loyal Opposition, and in a few months time I think it should be politically convenient for both our parties to, perhaps, be working together to promote a common agenda."

"Such as the legalisation of gay marriage, Mr. Borovic?"

Borovic laughed. Just as politely as Reinhardt smiled. "I did not say that we do not have points of divergence, Thomas."

"Indeed," Reinhardt replied. "If this truly is unofficial, shall we be rather plainspoken?"

"Of course, of course."

"I know you've talked to Von Rybak. I know you've talked to the Crown Royalists and the Socialists as well. And the Greens. And the Communists."

"It is only fair to meet with all parties."

"Perhaps. But you really only have two choices. You can side with the Progressives, and get your precious depravities—but be faced with interventionist economic policies. Or you can side with my Liberals and suffer through our morality—but get your free trade, deregulation, et cetera." Reinhardt paused, holding his one hand up to indicate to Borovic he had not finished. His other hand poured a glass of water before he continued.

"The catch, however, is that you can get your so-called civil liberties from the Progressives, the Socialists, or even the Greens. As for the Communists, nobody takes them seriously here in Atrea. However, your economic policies will only find takers in two groups, Mr. Borovic. My Liberals or Lord Culbeck's Crown Royalists. And God help you if you try to ally yourself with the Atrean nobility. You have to ask yourself, Mr. Borovic, how much do you value your economic policies?"

Reinhardt smiled, leaning back into the sofa. He read the papers and the blogs and listened to the rumours. His smile was lacking the politeness of before. It had been replaced by a hint of smugness.

Arroyo, Juristan

Before the Foreign Office split, Howard Winchester had served in Juristan as the Deputy Royal Governor. He had stayed in the Foreign Office, not moving over to the Colonial Office when the split occured—and so after only a few months in Juristan he returned to the Home Islands. After considering his options, he ran as a Democratic Socialist in a by-election and won. His experiences abroad, even in the United Kingdom's colonial possessions, was sufficient to place him in the Foreign Office not as a civil servant but a junior minister.

Over the years of the Salisbury Ministry, he had worked hard and earned what many considered the most important junior ministry, that of Minister of State for International Relations. Essentially, the deputy foreign minister. And then the Salisbury government fell.

Now, he was a simple backbencher, occasionally a party spokesperson for foreign issues and sometimes for colonial issues. He had come to Juristan because he still had ties to the area—despite its evolution from a colony to a home country—and as the country was gearing up for an election, as of yet undeclared, he had flown into Arroyo to meet with those ties. The Democratic Socialists had no established party base in the territory; and their previous political allies, the Catholic Worker's Party, had announced their intention not to support the Democratic Socialists in any upcoming election.

Consequently, the messy-haired MP sat alone in a restaurant, staring out between the rivulets of rain running down the plate glass windows. As he checked his watch, however, he smiled knowing that he would not be alone for long. Satisfied, he picked up the maseto, a locally made, airy pastry flavoured by aiva, a sharp and locally grown spice. Shoving half of it into his mouth, he ripped the remainder off and placed it back in the basket from which he had picked it.

"Is this a bad time," came a soft voice from behind Winchester.

Winchester turned around, "hmm mmm mmh."

The grey-haired intruder stood quietly, and bowed politely. And smiled as Winchester hurriedly chewed and then swallowed his mouthful.

"Terribly sorry, Luis," Winchester finally managed. He wiped his hand upon a napkin, then offered it to Luis Lopez. The stark difference in hair colour highlighted the different tracks the two men, roughly the same age, had taken. While Winchester had enjoyed relatively easy appointments—with the exception of the brief stint as International Relations Minister—Lopez had fought hard to gain control of the small Juristanian Labour Party.

Lopez smile grew even broader. "No problem at all, Howard." Lopez pulled out the chair opposite Winchester and made himself comfortable, resting his umbrella against the edge of the table. "So you came all the way out here from Georgetown? What can I do for you?"

Winchester pushed the basket of masetos over to Lopez, who waved his hand. Winchester shrugged and pulled the snacks closer to himself. "How much of the local assembly did your party pull in last time around?"

"Four percent," Lopez replied, doing his best not to sound deflated by the admission.

"And the Catholic Worker's received one-third of the vote."

"But they're not willing to support you anymore," Lopez added. "This is what happens when your leader makes it clear that gay marriage will be approved and that he does not believe in God."

"Do you?"

"Believe in God?"

"Yeah, do you?"

Lopez smiled. "No. But we're not a party typically linked to traditional values. The Catholic Worker's Party is. And unfortunately, if you want to garner more support from Juristanians, you'll need to shut Salisbury up."

As Lopez finished his statement, Winchester burst out laughing. "You cannot just tell Lord Salisbury to, quote, shut up. He is soft-spoken, that is certainly true, but short of thoughts or opinions he wants to express? Never, Luis. But, enough of Salisbury and Georgetown, what do you need to win more votes, Luis? What do you need?"

Lopez leaned in, careful not to rest his elbows upon the edge of the table. "What do we need to win? A shift in Juristanian values. We are not necessarily the most progressive population. Most Juristanians favour traditional, conservative values mixed with free-market policies and deregulation. The Labour Party represents the minority, Howard. We represent the small, but growing Progressive element of Juristan."

"Indeed you do, Luis, and that is why we are here. The Labour Party has much in common with the Democratic Socialist Party."

"Such as your recent efforts to lower business taxes, to scale back the size of the social welfare net, to wage aggressive and imperial wars?" Lopez replied, an edge in his voice.

"It is where the electorate is headed, Luis. Towards the centre."

"But Labour's survival depends upon staying to the left of centre. The Catholic Worker's and the Liberals contest the centre; leaving the Centre Democrats to contest the right and ourselves to contest for the left. Why don't you take this conversation to the Liberals?"

Winchester smiled coyly. "Perhaps I shall take you up on that," he answered coolly. In truth, he had already met with leaders of the Liberal Party, a secret meeting at the home of the party's leader, Iker Zavaleta. Zavaleta and his deputies had all made the same points outlined by Lopez. While the Liberals were in favour of personal liberties, they made clear that controversial choices were personally opposed by party leaders. They had to say that publicly. And so, they had said, they could not endorse an open atheist for prime minister.

"It may, though," Lopez added after some silence had passed, "be possible to explore the possibility of coordinating an electoral strategy should an election be declared in the near future."

Salisbury, Jacobia

Sitting besides his pool, a margarita in hand, the Marquess of Salisbury reviewed the latest note from Howard Winchester. Salisbury had hoped that with the departure of the Catholic Worker's, he could pick up the Liberals to replace them in any future coalition. As he tasted the salt along the rim of the glass, he compared its taste to that of the feeling he had experienced when the first note had arrived. That note had informed him of the intention of the Catholic Worker's.

Washing the latest news from Juristan down with some of his alcohol, he could at least enjoy the drink a small bit. Labour was in. All four percent. He had wanted Winchester to broach the subject of merging the two parties—but the report indicated that any such political manoeuvres would be premature at best. Labour would support the Democratic Socialist Party as an independent party.

And so, as Salisbury finished his drink, he knew that the Democratic Socialists would have to work especially hard to regain the House of Commons. One thousand seats were up for election and the most recent result had been disastrous—only 26% of the seats in the House of Commons. To actually compete for a minority government, they would need at least 350 seats, but more likely a figure more along the lines of that enjoyed by the Tories, 400 seats.

Soon, Salisbury would need to send some people to Novikov. The media was starting to publish reports that Borovic was shopping around for political allies in Atrea. While certainly smaller, almost half the size of Novikov, Oceanian Atrea would enjoy a lot of attention in the coming weeks and months. And that attention along with the proportional reduction of Celarian, Novikovian, and Juristanian seats could make the Atreans king makers.

With Juristan apparently a lost cause, the four percent of support enjoyed by Labour not being particularly helpful, Novikov and Atrea would be critical to regaining control of Parliament. And that the Novikovians were already on the ground, preempting the Celaria-based parties…the situation needed rectification. And soon.

Porto Viseu, Beira, United Kingdom

Since before the announcement of the general election, João da Beleza had followed the unfolding political situation rather attentively. Of course, as the 19-year old political science student at the University of Porto Viseu knew it was more or less his responsibility. His professors expected nothing less. Consequently, when Prime Minister Ingrahm had announced his intention to visit Porto Viseu, a marginal constituency held by the Tories, the assignment had come down to go see the Prime Minister's speech.

Pushing his way through the mob, da Beleza managed to work his way to a small cypress tree near the edge of the city park where Ingrahm was due to address the crowd. Fortunately, the university student was rather tall and so by standing on an exposed cluster of knotted roots, he could peer over the head of the thousands of interested people and see the hastily-prepared stage. Adjusting his position slightly, da Beleza propped himself up against the tree trunk and pulled a digital video recorder from his messenger bag. If he got lucky, the Prime Minister would commit some sort of YouTube gaffe and any recording of it would be worth some extra credit.

After listening to the local MP speak at length about the economic growth witnessed under Tory leadership, the woman finally looked down at the tall man sitting beside her. His grey hair and angular face were clearly distinguishable through the zoom feature of his camera. As the crowd erupted in applause, Rodney Ingrahm smiled and rose to his feet.

"Thank you, Cristina," the Prime Minister began, bowing politely to the Tory who was facing a fierce challenge from a popular Democratic Socialist councillor. "And thank you, Porto Viseu," he eventually continued, pausing for more rapturous applause.

"We face a difficult decision in the coming days and weeks, ladies and gentlemen," Ingrahm began, uncharacteristically loud and clear. "The people of not just Porto Viseu, but of the whole of the United Kingdom, are confronted by enormous challenges. You saw it here two years ago when Blakely shut down its operations and closed its manufacturing plant, moving the fifteen hundred jobs to countries where work can be had for cheaper." Ingrahm was forced to pause as the crowd booed and hissed.

"That came about as part of economic plan of Lord Salisbury, who eliminated the import tariffs on all sorts of goods we use everyday. Now, Lord Salisbury was partially correct," here, Ingrahm continued despite some small outbreaks of jeers and shouts, "in that free trade is truly good for all Oceanians. Blakely manufactured consumer electronic goods, and since the closure of the plant, local retailers have been selling those same consumer goods at lower prices. Prices so low that I can guarantee you more than half of you have them in your pockets or backpacks as I speak. And that is a good thing."

"However, Lord Salisbury failed, and miserably so, to prepare Porto Viseu and the United Kingdom for the fact that indeed, some jobs would be lost. You needed to know, and he kept you willfully in the dark as he used his own personal increased profits to buy up more land for his colonial tea plantations. He and his Democratic Socialists used you for his, and their, own gain. But, perhaps, more importantly, they failed to prepare Porto Viseu and the United Kingdom to grow new economy jobs."

"The Democratic Socialists, including John Carpenter," Ingrahm's mention of the DSP candidate for the constituency drawing the wrath of the Tory crowd, "failed the United Kingdom. Most importantly, ladies and gentlemen, Lord Salisbury and John Carpenter failed you."

Through the bright and crisp viewscreen of his digital recorder da Beleza watched at that point as a non-descript man in a black suit walked up the steps and approached the Prime Minister. Ingrahm quietly used his hand to cover the microphone and listen to the man, who leaned into Ingrahm's ear. In an instant, Ingrahm's face, once beaming with a smile, stiffened into a cold stone. He nodded once, looked at his wrist watch, and then whispered something back to the intruder. And then Ingrahm's smile returned.

"And while I need now leave you, I know, quite a bit earlier than I expected, let me assure you that Cristina, here, is the right person to create the business environment we need to create new economy jobs. And she has already started to do so. For, before I take my leave, I should like to point out to you the news that Atalia, a leading biotech firm, is set to establish a new research facility here in Porto Viseu that will create some two thousand jobs. We need to cut the taxes on research and development to promote a stimulus for high-tech jobs. And Cristina is the person you need. And, incidentally, someone I need by my side in Georgetown."

And with that, Ingrahm departed from the stage, stopping beside the local MP to probably offer his apologies that the speech was cut horrifically short. Da Beleza then felt his pocket buzzing, he pulled out his mobile phone and found a new text message. He flipped the thing open and read the message. He could only watch the Prime Minister rush down the stage as the crowd began to hear hundreds of phones chirping, singing, ringing, and making general aural chaos.

Weeks Earlier
The Citadel, Georgetown, United Kingdom

"So Radovan is securely with us?" Ingram asked Laird, the latter pouring himself a glass of water.

"On the condition that we do not force a few issues down the throats of the Novikovian people."

"Such as?"

Laird shook his head. "Mostly the moral things. I think he realises that, broadly speaking, most of the remainder of the Celarian parties will not back him on that. And that, broadly speaking, we can and we will because his moderate and centrist economic views are broadly acceptable to us."

Ingrahm laughed. "Like their graduated income tax that has higher tax rates on higher incomes?"

"I said broadly, Mr. Prime Minister," Laird replied sardonically. "Regardless, they do support us on several key constitutional issues that are likely to come up before the next Parliament. As you know, sir, we are going to need to begin seriously looking at how to reform the House of Lords and devolved government. And it would be far better to have allies that stand with us in a strong central government."

Sighing, Ingrahm nodded. "And once all those issues are resolved we shall likely be forced to call another election."

"More than likely, sir."

"So much for political stability."

"Speaking of that, sir, a few small items that Viscount Cahill would like you to review." Laird walked over to his briefcase, entered the lock combinations, and withdrew several folders. "These are the most recent reports from Sarnia, New London, New Albion, and Recedentia. The latter two, as you can read, sir, are quieting down substantially. It appears that the land-for-peace deal negotiated with the Khailfah for New Albion is holding. Cross border attacks are down 62% and the governor's office reports the most recent economic outlook states a revised growth rate of 4.8%, up from the earlier 3.2. And in Recedentia, the similar provisions we have had with the Khailfah to secure the mountainous region to the north is succeeding. Increases in commodity prices on the markets are set to help their economy—"

"While cripple ours," Ingrahm interrupted.

"Perhaps, sir, but they shall help push their revised growth rate near 7%. And like in New Albion, insurgent attacks are down."

"By how much?"

"38%."

Closing his eyes, Ingrahm now shook his head. "A third, Reg, is hardly progress. That could probably be attributed to the oncoming winter that closes off the mountain passes and seals the valleys."

"Respectfully, sir, in the past, the onset of winter has only decreased militant attacks by 25%. It still is increasing stability that we can probably use to build the case that political stability shall soon follow."

"Alright, but what about the other two?"

Laird quietly handed over the two folders, one for Sarnia and one for New Albion. "It is a mixed report, Mr. Prime Minister."

Flipping open the cover, Ingrahm scanned the top sheet, the summary points of the charts, figures, and other hard data along with Colonial Office analysis. "This bombing in Sarnia seems to have had little effect, Reg." The Prime Minister then flipped to the Ministry of Defence papers and scanned through those. "Even General Keating acknowledges a decrease in large-scale attacks against government and military forces. A small rise in attacks against soft targets, individuals and alike, but mostly in the Marerian strongholds near Kenton and Huntington."

"The RIS report, sir," Laird said, referring Ingrahm to the report from the Royal Intelligence Service, at the end of the folder. "According to the RIS, their interviews with suspects and alleged perpetrators indicate a plan designed around a coordinated strike against Atherton and Port Royal. According to these individuals, the insurrection wants to move beyond symbols and start doing some actual damage. Braddock, sir, was a transitional step. The bridge was symbolic. A symbol of our warming ties to Woodstock, but simultaneously damaging the small amount of trade between our colony and the Sarzonian's. Taking out the bridges and port facilities in Atherton or Port Royal would do far more to the export-driven economy of our colony, sir."

"And the time frame for all this?"

"Nothing immediate, sir, but, close enough that we need to worry about an electoral surprise. If they were to hit the King Willem Bridge as they claim is their intent to do, well, that could be a problem."

Trnava, Novikov

With a broad smile captured by numerous flashes from digital cameras and lights from video camera crews, Heartman took the unnecessarily large swing necessary to drive the golden spike into the ground. And with that, the first high-speed rail link between the east and west coasts of Novikov was complete. His staff had specifically borrowed the imagery from other such linkup stunts throughout history; but, most importantly, they had managed to gain the willingness of the major participants to let Heartman have the honour.

Despite losing heavily to Súzvuk in the Oceanian general elections, the Liberal Democrats had managed to secure a minority government within Novikov. Agreements on supply and confidence with the Yellow Socialists gave the Liberal Democrats 34 total votes against the 32 of Súzvuk. Just enough to maintain a working government. Barely. Indeed, not much had been accomplished as of late as every party knew that elections were approaching for the Oceanian Parliament and that meant distancing themselves from everybody else.

But, his staff had managed to get the rail line operators and major investors to agree to Heartman's presence at the opening. It had been a mixed public-private partnership that had seen the 12 billion raised by the government met with 6 billion from private investors. He waited around for the appropriate photographs and brief commentary for the local press before heading off for a reserved carriage car at the nearby station that would take him back to Poldi'sk.

Heartman removed his jacket, a slate grey three-button piece, and placed it over his shoulder as he made his way down the long aisle to his seat. He pulled out the pocket watch from his vest pocket and checked the time. "I apologise for the tardiness, Alan, the press never ceases." He addressed a grey-haired man whose seat faced away from Heartman as he approached.

"Not to worry, Aidan, it is no problem at all." Alan Spencer replied. "Congratulations, before I forget, on your achievement here. The Poldi'sk-to-Zvolen," the grey-haired Oceanian continued, looking down at a press packet, "shall cut the travel time between the two cities, some 600 kilometres apart, down to less than two hours." Spencer returned his gaze to meet Heartman's. "It shall be very competitive with air routes."

"Indeed, and we are already investigating the possibility of laying new track to expand the service north through Loviz and Nitra to Duma and another line running south to Grozny and perhaps even as far south as Košice. But somehow I do not think you are here to discuss transport policy."

Spencer smiled. "I was Minister of State for Transport at one point in time, but, you are correct. I am here semi-officially at the behest of Lord Salisbury."

"It is about time he sent someone," Heartman replied, finally taking his seat. "It is good to know that he is not taking us for granted this time around. We do have other options now."

"Indeed you do, but none are too realistic. Your support for civil liberties will win you few amongst the Conservatives. Neither will your graduated income tax nor push for greater devolved government for Novikov." Spencer leaned in across the small space separating the two politicians as the carriage began to move, en route for Poldi'sk. "You have only two real choices, Aidan," Spencer continued, his voice quieter and tone graver. "Side with the Tories, or side with Salisbury. Do what you will with the Atreans, but when the tallies are complete the divisiveness of politics both here and in Atrea will ensure that the largely two-party system in Celaria will prevail. We will simply pick and choose our supporters from your carcasses. We come to you because, more than any party, we trust you and we agree with you."

"Do you now, Alan? You oppose a federal and multicultural state. And believe you me, as a stranger in a foreign land that is an issue that resonates with the local electorate. For Christ's sake, Salisbury runs around the countryside proclaiming how we are all Oceanians. Does anyone in Celaria really believe that? In that spirit, your support of devolution has been tepid at best as you attempted by the end to do all in your power to create a powerful and imperial state. The Novikovians are a proud people, Alan. Do not be mistaken, I am here only because we speak the same language. In a generation or two I shall be forgotten and you will be facing a native population that not only speaks English, but is an economic competitor within the UK. And they will seek retribution."

"Retribution? Aidan, they lost!"

"Indeed they did. And Salisbury ran about the rest of the world trying to plant ever more flags after the war. Look out the window," Heartman implored, "just look. Perhaps at these speeds you cannot see it. Perhaps because to us it is all a blur. A distant memory. But you ravaged this land. You turned our capital into a smoldering pile of rubble."

"And what about Adarton?"

Heartman fell silent while his eyes and head sank to his chest.

"And the cities along the Dutch coast. Claesburg, Tagoroa, De Vries, New Hoorn. What about them?" As Heartman's eyes had dimmed, Spencer's had ignited behind his black, designer glasses. For several minutes, the only sound in the carriage were those from the exterior of the train as it raced towards Poldi'sk.

"Millions of good and innocent people died, Alan," Heartman finally said, raising his head. He spoke slowly and quietly when his voice was not cracking. "Monika was terrible; she deserves to rot in hell. But we killed perhaps two hundred thousand between the nuclear bomb, and the chemical and biological weapons? You leveled a city of tens of millions, killing somewhere between three and four million, not to mention the barbarity in the countryside." Heartman paused before adding, "although, there were barbarous acts committed by our side as well."

Spencer leaned back in his seat and sighed to himself. "I know. It just happens that when you talk of retribution, it strikes me personally." It was well known that the nuclear bombing of Adarton had killed several MPs, including Democratic Socialists that Spencer had known well. "As I am certain that Poldi'sk hurts you," he added.

"We need a new dialogue," Heartman finally replied after the train had crossed several dozen more kilometres in silence. "But I fail to see how that happens. Salisbury is not a particularly popular person in Novikov—despite all the generous reconstruction aid lavished upon us. Ingrahm is new to us, though the more astute know full well he served as the shadow to your Defence Secretary. It is his survival after the coup that redeems him to us. There has been no such replacement of top leaders of your party since the war."

"What we want, Alan," Heartman continued, "is peace and prosperity. I should not go so far as to say peace, land, and bread—but in some parts of the countryside still devastated that is true. We want equality and we want peace. Those of my party will, by and large, support economic liberalisation as recent years have proven its effectiveness as an engine of economic growth. But more than anything, Alan, they want that sense of equality. To be treated fairly. Súzvuk offers the people a nationalistic pride. Its strength is that of an eggshell. And Celarians are pushing in the wrong direction."

Nodding, the bespectacled man rubbed his hands together. "You know full well the relationship I enjoy with Salisbury; I doubt I could ever convince him of any of that. Except perhaps the bit about liberalisation of the economy, that was his idea after all. But, with the economy slowing, much of the party supports government support."

"And you?"

"I am a late convert, but I can also see how Salisbury needs the support of the socialist wing of the Democratic Socialist Party to maintain his support not to mention separate the party from the Conservatives. Ingrahm was smart, Aidan, he moved the Tories to the centre. He took Salisbury's position on a strong, central government; he took Salisbury's position on economic reform; he took Salisbury's position on fostering an Oceanian identity; he took Salisbury's position on keeping the Empire strong. Salisbury is going to need to move left of centre on the economy to get voters to return to the Democratic Socialists. All the other issues, right now, they play for Ingrahm."

"So no federal and multi-cultural state?"

"More than likely not."

"Because, conceivably, the electorate here could possibly be convinced to accept this label of Oceanian. That would depend, of course, on how it is redefined. And as for keeping the Empire together and in one piece, if the Novikovians are given a bigger stake, they could conceivably be convinced to go along with that."

"I appreciate your dedication on the issue, Aidan, I do. But Salisbury is keen on this one country, one people mantra. And, on some level, opting for a federation undermines the principle and most critical element of the Treaty of Poldi'sk, the forfeiture of Novikovian sovereignty. Every other territory has done just that, from Juristan to Kingsland to now Atrea. Only in Novikov is it an issue."

For some time more the two sat in silence as the train neared Poldi'sk. Outside the windows, the landscape transitioned from one of untouched forest and plains to that of a war zone. After several years, much of the countryside and the suburbs that had been devastated by the war had not yet been repaired. Much of the reconstruction effort had been directed at the cities and their cores. But the two men saw little of it as their train sped past too fast.

"So would you support the Marquess?" Spencer finally asked, broaching the subject long skirted by the two.

"If he can refrain from moving to far to the left economically. And if he can restrain from rhetoric overly emphatic of the Empire and Oceanianism. If he can do those two things, he can count on our limited support."

"Limited? Are we talking outright coalition, supply and confidence, what?"

For the first time in the entire conversation since the discussion of the war, Heartman offered a smile. A wry smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Nothing so formal, Alan. The Liberal Democrats can only survive in Novikov if they promote those issues upon which Salisbury will not give any ground. But I and my party fully recognise that on several critical social issues, our best hope of legislation that matches our position comes from a Democratic Socialist government. But all of this is contingent upon those ifs."

Spencer nodded slowly. "I understand and I shall relay your message to Lord Salisbury."

"Then if you shall excuse me, before we arrive in the capital I should like to go have a drink." Heartman stood up and gathered his coat and belongings. "Cheers," he offered as he walked towards the dining car.

Choiseul, Elysia, United Kingdom

Alan Spencer had flown from Poldi'sk straight to Choiseul; the site change had been quite a temperature shift and the goosebumps on his forearms proved it. Located on the northeastern portion of Celaria, the city enjoyed a moderating effect of a warm water current off the coast. Consequently, sitting north of 55 degrees, it was warmer than it would be further inland, upriver, where the cold mountain air was mericless. Spencer walked across the tarmac and thrust his hands deeper in the woolen pockets of his overcoat and smiled for the dedicated political journalists—the few of them—covering his trip to the capital of Elysia.

Standing beside an idling sport utility vehicle, likely an Oceanian manufacture, was a tall and slender man with short grey hair. "Welcome to Elysia, Alan," the man offered with only a slight hint of the French-Celarian accent common to the former French colony.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Léandre, I hear you even warmed it up a bit."

Léandre Fabron smiled and opened the door for the Democratic Socialist MP, "The gauge here reads six degrees, you are indeed welcome."

The two quickly climbed into the back seat before the vehicle roared off the tarmac to shuttering cameras and live video feeds—though nobody was watching except locals.

"How was Novikov?" Fabron enquired.

"Warmer. Warmer than I expect it to be here."

Léandre Fabron offered a knowing half-nod. As the leader of the Radical Party, a centre-left party in those areas predominantly French in origin, Poirier often met with members of the Democratic Socialist Party. Typically, the DSP left local elections to local parties. Nationally, the Radical Party could count on little support beyond cities like Choiseul or Louisbourg. Some support could be found in mixed Anglo-French cities like Épicéabourg or Charlesbourg, but that trended towards the more national DSP rather than the Radicals.

"Indeed, Alan," Fabron finally offered. He leaned down and opened the micro-fridge sitting opposite the two and took out two bottles of water, handing one over to Spencer. "Your man at the top is not going to like what we have to say, my friend."

"And that is?"

"The domination of British-Celarians is dwindling. Juristan. The Indian Islands. Novikov. Now Atrea. Proportionally you are shrinking, Alan. And I think it fair to say that Salisbury has done it to himself."

"Not Ingrahm?" Spencer asked with a half-smile.

"True, the Conservatives are in power now. But Novikov was your mess. As was Atrea. And Juristan too, if I recall. The Indian Islands, not so much—but a few hundred thousand are small compared to the dozens of millions. To be fair, both you and the Conservatives have backed this idea of Oceania. But it's a sham and it has had its run."

"How else do we unite as a country?"

"Why do we need to unite as a country?" Fabron handed Spencer a single piece of paper. "These are the latest polls out of Elysia. 27% of the population are in favour of independence. 31% are in favour of greater autonomy. That's a majority, Alan. You're lucky that our integration was in 1912 and not in 2012—or else it would be a far bloodier affair, my friend. We are going to run nationally, Alan. We have contacts in Atrea and Novikov and a few other places. It shall be an alliance of centre-left parties. And true centre-left. And we shall seek greater representation of minority populations in Georgetown."

"It is far cooler indeed, Léandre."

"Soyez bienvenus à la Nouvelle France."

Salisbury, Jacobia, United Kingdom

"Have you seen this," the Marquess of Salisbury asked to those gathered around him at his dining room table. "The latest polling data from the CBC," he said, referring to the largest, and arguably most important, national news organisation in the United Kingdom. He looked to his right, his former Foreign Secretary, Emily Deveraux, sat quietly thumbing through the sheets of data.

"The bombings in Sarnia are starting to rattle some nerves," she finally added, replacing her copy on the table in front of her then looking up at the leaders of the Democratic Socialist Party. Her former portfolio had only a tangential relation to colonial policy, namely because of the large border shared with the UK's rival, Sarzonia.

The role of shadow colonial secretary fell to Sir Iain Bashir, MP for Hamptonshire North. Young and athletic in appearance, he had also shown those around the table a keen intellect and the capability of great statecraft. The climb down between the Khailfah and the UK from full out war had largely been effected by Bashir's direct talks with his distant relation, the former sultan since replaced in a civil war. It had been for that effort that he had received his knighthood. And, according to some circles in the know, a peerage was forthcoming.

"Sarnia is a mess," Bashir stated.

Around the table there were polite chuckles at his statement of the obvious. The Arab-Oceanian waited until silence returned before elaborating. "We, Oceanians, are in the minority—at best a slim majority if population trends are accurate, but as to that we cannot say for certain until 2012. Regardless, a large part of the population is native Marerian and a significant portion of that population wants independence. And they are willing to die for it. Some could perhaps be persuaded with a broader stake in local government—but the local legislature there is Oceanian-only thus far."

"The fault of the Tories," shadow chancellor Stephen McKay moaned. "They made a deal with the devil in Woodstock. SABAR has done nothing but hurt the security of this country." McKay had gained some international fame, or disrepute according to others, from his participation in a conference in Seaburg, Hamptonshire during the Sarzonian economic crisis. It had become readily apparent at that conference his dislike for the Sarzonians—and that SABAR had reduced the number of troops to be deployed to Sarnia, and had been signed with Woodstock. "Pull us out, that is what I say we do on Day One," McKay added.

"But that fails to address the issue before us now, Stephen," Salisbury prodded. "The fact remains that Oceanians want peace and stability in Sarnia and the Tories are failing to deliver. And the bombing in Braddock is reinforcing that. If we can hit that point hard over the coming weeks we could well return to the position of being most trusted on national security."

"As Sarnia does fall under my portfolio's purview, I could conduct an investigatory tour of the colony," Bashir offered. "Afterwards, bring us back some primary evidence of the real state of affairs down there and form our platform on the basis of that. And if I received press coverage, it would be seen as action over words instead of Ingrahm's and Cahill's rhetoric."

At the mention of Cahill, once a member of the Democratic Socialist Party and now a cabinet member for the Tories, several people around the table rolled their eyes. Salisbury, however, simply tilted his head, his mind racing and contemplating. "An interesting idea, Iain. I already have a trip to my plantation scheduled, my yearly visit. Perhaps if you accompany me we could make the tour together and further lend the party some weight in that area of concern."

"Any chance," Deveraux interrupted, "of perhaps joining up and crossing the border, meeting with some Sarzonian officials in Pavanne?"

"So long as you talk tough and tell the bastards we want out of SABAR," McKay opined rather loudly.

"We do need their help in patrolling the eastern waters off the Sarnian coastline, Stephen," Deveraux retorted.

"Not if we scrap that damn treaty. Am I not correct, Bill?" McKay asked the shadow defence secretary, William Ramsey.

Ramsey, older and balding, leaned forward. A long-standing member of the party, from the days of its true democratic socialism heyday, he had been given the portfolio because his old and wrinkling hands were considered safe and somewhat shrewd for their age. "It would be theoretically possible. But, that would all depend upon the commitments we see out of the Citadel in coming weeks. Pulling our forces out of Haven will give us quite a deal to play around with—but we run the risk of Ingrahm committing us elsewhere before then."

"But that does not address the need of dealing with the Sarzonians," Deveraux said, returning to her original point.

"If we deal with the Sarzonians," Salisbury added, his soft but authoritative voice silencing everyone else, "we shall deal with them on our terms and our terms alone. Ingrahm has been soft, too soft. SABAR embodies that weakness and we shall correct that."

"Do we know who is leading in Woodstock?" Salisbury added, with a tonal shift present in his voice.

"The Moderates, if that really is any surprise," Deveraux replied. "Delgado is a long shot, if even that. If I were a betting woman, I would wager on Tyler."

"Which means more of the same," McKay muttered.

"Dare I say I watched their first debate," Bashir offered. "And Delgado is an impressive politician, for Sarzonians at least. Shame of it is his social issues, from what I can read. But, broadly," he nodded towards McKay, "I agree with Stephen, a mature Sarzonian democracy needs a real and viable alternative to the Moderate Party."

"But that is their business," Deveraux responded. "Not ours."

"Indeed it is," Salisbury added, flipping his wrist over to inspect his watch. "But, the noon hour has arrived and I have arranged for lunch to be served out on my veranda." He pushed out his chair and rose, prompting everyone else in the room to do the same. After the room had cleared, all walking out the French-style doors to the nicely landscaped stone-laid patio just beyond the walls, Salisbury walked to a small door leading to the inner halls of his estate manor.

He opened the door and stepped into a broad, marble-floored hallway. "Good afternoon, Alan, how was your flight?"

Alan Spencer stifled a yawn.

"That much fun," Salisbury laughed, wrapping his arm around his colleague's shoulders. The two had never been particularly close, hence Spencer had been left waiting in the hall outside the informal shadow cabinet meeting. They had joined the House of Commons at roughly the same time, although Spencer had quickly been out-politiked by his colleague. And so Spencer, the loser, had been shoved into the DSP backbenches. The reason, however, for Spencer's appearance in Salisbury's manor had much to do with the 2006 elections.

While Salisbury had become a peer, sitting in the House of Lords, the DSP had been devastated across the country. In Celaria, the Tories enjoyed a twenty-point margin. But Spencer had survived. And along with Spencer, most of Spencer's own backers, friends, and colleagues. Salisbury's rolodex had been thinned considerably, and so it was Spencer that had been making the rounds across the UK.

"You are not going to like it, Your Lordship," Spencer replied. "I visited with Fabron, Van Daal, Cabrera, and Almeida here in Celaria. Fabron is out, as are Cabrera and Almeida. Van Daal might still back you nationally, but only as a coalition partner, she says her party will be running their own candidates at the national level. I talked with Howard, who you had speak to people in Juristan. It is going to be tough going there, too. Novikov is a bit better. Heartman has indicated that the Liberal Democrats, like Van Daal, would support us as part of a coalition government—but without any formal arrangements. And Atrea, well, the Progressives will not have it."

Salisbury stood quietly for a long moment, at long last letting his arm fall from Spencer's shoulders. "It shall be a tough one, no?"

"Indeed it shall be, Your Lordship."

After another long pause, Salisbury removed his glasses and rubbed his brow. "Well, the Atrean elections are tomorrow and after that Ingrahm will go to the King to dissolve Parliament. You shall have your work cut out for you, Alan."

"And you as well."

Salisbury offered Spencer his hand, the two shook firmly and then departed. Spencer to a waiting automobile in the carriage house, Salisbury to the tea and cold sandwiches waiting him and his shadow cabinet.

[OOC: I just wanted to point out that no one party in Sarzonia is truly dominant, in all honesty. Sarzo was unaffiliated with any political party. Tyler is the same way. Haffner represents the Moderate Party, yes, but no party has a clear plurality in either house of Parliament.

That said, the Moderates probably are the closest to being the controlling party, but they are atop somewhat of a coalition of centrist legislators who reach from different sides of the Sarzonian aisle.

However, that's a rather minor distinction since the Moderates largely get what they want in Parliament. I just wanted to clear up the idiosyncracies of Sarzonian politics.]

With the Presidential Succession Act still not having passed through Parliament, Senior Vice President for Defence John Newman was actually behind House Speaker Charles Hunter in the presidential line of succession. Haffner was away from the country, so that left Hunter sitting in his office one afternoon.

The raindrops splattered against the window in his office on the fourth floor of Parliament Hall, providing a sweet rhythm as he sought to calm himself down after a heated exchange just half an hour prior. He drew in his breath. He would be relieved when the election cycle was over. He was ahead by double digits in his election campaign, so he felt a sense of relief that he could focus on other matters.

His reverie was interrupted with the phone ringing.

"Hunter."

"Mr. Speaker, this is James Melvin at External Affairs."

"James! First of all, call me Chuck," he said in an effort to smooth things over with Melvin after their heated exchange from earlier. "Secondly, what's on your mind, Jim?"

"We just received word of an explosion in Sarnia. Near Pavanne's border with the Oceanian colony."

Hunter froze for a moment. He recalled the House vote to ratify SABAR, remembering how close the House of Delegates came to defeating the measure in spite of some of the Oceanian concessions. Still, Sarzonia's Great Isolation meant that Pavanne was often left to make its own decisions. He mumbled something about the colonial government not acting to stop the uprisings.

"That's just it, Chuck," Melvin said. Hunter remembered that Melvin's hearing was exceptional. "The colonial government doesn't have the authority to order increased border patrols. Especially those that could possibly jeopardise SABAR."

"What has Georgetown's comment been about the mess?"

"The usual anti-Sarzonian bluster," Melvin said. Hunter knew that if Sarzo or Haffner were involved, the two-syllable word he would have heard would have been bullshit. However, Melvin seldom ever cursed. Especially with an advanced sense of professionalism.

"What do you think we ought to do, Jim? Offer our cooperation?"

"Lord Salisbury has shown little inclination to want to cooperate with Sarzonia," Melvin pointed out. "If this were President Sarzo, any suggestion of cooperation on our parts would be laughed out of the room."

"So what do you have in mind?"

"I say we send a communicade to Georgetown and one to Pavanne's government and ask them to cooperate on joint patrols."

"What about revisiting SABAR?"

"I believe the Oceanians would try to revisit it more so than we would. Oceanian Sarnia is far more important strategically to the United Kingdom than Pavanne is to us."

Hunter shook his head. He didn't like the prospect that Oceania would seek to revisit SABAR. However, he had one additional thought.

"What about Article III?"

Melvin looked up in recognition. Article III allowed the parties to temporarily suspend the treaty's limits on offensive weaponry, so long as the increased offensive weaponry left the border six months after the end of hostilities.

"What if we suspend SABAR and send a battalion to the border to try to hunt down these criminals," Hunter asked.

"Without consulting Georgetown?"

"Well, what do you have in mind then?"

"I'd suggest broaching the subject with Georgetown first before we deploy so much as a fire team over there. And I don't know if I'd go as far as sending a battalion. Perhaps two platoons would be enough."

"To hunt terrorists?"

Melvin paused for a moment. He was well aware of symbolism of sending even a token force to the Pavannian-Oceanian Sarnia border. The last thing he wanted Sarzonia to do was antagonise Oceania to the point where the two countries continued their verbal cold war at best or saw relations retrograde to the point where a hot war was in the offing.

"Either way, I think it'd be best if we offered cooperation with Oceania first," Melvin said. "Put the ball squarely in their court. But first of all, we need to make clear that the terrorists are not welcome in Pavanne and that they will be arrested. Frankly, I can't believe we haven't already taken that step."

Hunter paused for a second, then replied.

"We've been rather remiss at most international politics since Sarzo's death ... and before," Hunter said. "The Great Isolation has cost us most of our standing in the world. We've been playing quite a game of catch up in the past couple of weeks."

"I realise that, yes," Melvin said. "That said, I'd favour a better late than never approach. Condemn the attacks, then offer the Oceanian government our cooperation in apprehending those terrorists.

"There's a saying that 'only Nixon could go to China,' but our Nixon is dead. Somehow, one of us will have to stand in for Nixon and provide that olive branch."

Hunter still had his doubts. But he knew the time for debating had long since passed.

"All right, Jim. Get in touch with Georgetown. You know what to do." That he had no doubts about.

Melvin went back to his office to send the communication to Georgetown.

[OOC: Since this post is already feeling rather long, assume that Melvin has contacted the Foreign Secretary and has 1) condemned the attacks and 2) offered Sarzonian assistance in finding and arresting those responsible.]

CBC Politics
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Progressives Win Atrean Election
Alehessen, Oceanian Atrea—Oceanian Atreans have elected the Progressive Party of Oceanian Atrea with a plurality of the seats in the Vergadering, the Atrean lower house. Led by Frederick von Rybak, the Progressives won the most seats in five of the colony's eight provinces. Only in the Liberal bastion of Iserlohn and the small mountainous provinces of Phezzan and El Facil did the Progressives lose, in each instance placing second. However, a surprisingly strong showing by the Liberals, led by Thomas Reinhardt, in Schachen Province and Aldebaran Province pushed the Liberals into the role of the Loyal Opposition.

Voter turnout was recorded at 63.4%, higher than previous elections for the former colony-wide assembly. Results indicate that the Progressives won 218 of the 526 seats in the Vergadering, 41% of the chamber. The composition of the upper house, the Provinsiaalraad, whose members are proportionally delegated by provincial legislatures, was known weeks ago; certification, however, came only today. In the Provinsiaalraad, the Progressives maintain a smaller margin of 33 seats out of 96, 34%, owing to the typical stronger showing of the Socialist Party in the smaller, less populated provinces.

While early polls throughout the campaign indicated a Progressive victory, those polls predicted a tight race between the Liberals and the Socialists to serve as the Loyal Opposition. Most polls, including the CBC's, predicted a Socialist victory in the Vergadering. Instead, the Liberals beat the Socialists by 12 seats, mostly in Schachen where the Liberals picked up 50 seats and in Aldebaran where the Liberals picked up 15 to the Socialists' 17 and 25.

In the Provinsiaalraad, local scandals in El Facil and in Tiamat cost the Socialists several seats for the provincial legislatures. The result was a Liberal pick up in the upper house; currently the Liberals enjoy a one seat advantage over the Socialists—they remain, however, five seats behind the Progressives.

This election was to elect members for the Atrean parliament that would formally ratify the colony's accession into the United Kingdom. The colony, comprised of former provinces of the Atrean Empire, emerged as a de facto independent entity in the late 1960s and 1970s that asked for assistance from the Celarian Commonwealth during the Atrean civil war. Since that time, a broad integration of economies, cultures, and politics have occurred leading to the full integration of the colony into the United Kingdom, much like the former colony of Novikov.

In his victory address from his constituency near Alehessen, Progressive leader Frederick von Rybak promised to work with both the Liberals and Socialists to ensure good governance. His pledge, however, was expected given the Progressive Party's position in the Vergadering, where they are 46 seats short of a majority.

Many experts predict that the Progressives will stand a better chance of negotiating a governing pact with the Socialists, with whom there is far more common ground. Both parties advocate a greater level of political integration within Nova and support a more devolved system of government at the national level. Both parties support increased government regulation in economic affairs and promote a universal healthcare system, although the exact details differ between the parties. The Liberals, too, seek a more devolved system of government from Georgetown; however, their economic platform seeks to reduce the scope of government regulation and decrease the colony's relatively high business taxes to foster economic growth. Their regional plan focuses on strengthening cultural and commercial ties with Novan neighbours, but maintaining a strong political link with Georgetown.

By week's end, the Progressives are to introduce a bill acknowledging Oceanian sovereignty over Oceanian Atrea and formally submit to the Crown as a home country, equal in status to Celaria, Novikov, and the other home countries. When the legislation is received by Prime Minister Ingrahm in Georgetown, the Prime Minister will be forced to request the early dissolution of Parliament for a general election. This forthcoming election will be contested not just in the home countries of Celaria, Novikov, et al, but for the first time in Oceanian Atrea.

I shall reply to the Sarzonian offer in a forthcoming post, I just needed to get this up to establish the upcoming general election.

Foreign Office, Georgetown
New Britain, United Kingdom

In the large office of the Foreign Secretary, Gavin Astley sat behind his appropriately large wooden desk, hewn from the massive pines of Angrivaria. During the colonial period, it had been a gift from the governor of the Dutch colony of Angrivaria to the British governor of Rapsonia to celebrate cordial relations between the two colonies. After the Treaty of Kingston cemented the various colonies into one unified country, the desk symbolised an early positive gesture in 'foreign' relations.

None of that, however, was on Astley's mind. He was instead focused upon the communique before him. When the document had first come before him, through the usual long chain of mutual government contact intermediaries, he had wondered why Haffner had not penned the message himself. Then, after recalling the Sarzonian debates taking place in a foreign country, he breathed an inward sigh of relief. Perhaps it was best that the message hailed from neither Haffner nor Sarzo. Tensions between the two states remained high, but the long absence of Sarzonia from the Oceanian press meant that most of the public had ceased to care.

Indeed, while the CBC had carried the initial reporting of Sarzo's death and the subsequent announcement of a special election, Sarzonia was out of sight and mind. And with the dissolution of Parliament on Friday, the minds of the Oceanian electorate was squarely focused on the battle shaping up between Astley's own Conservatives and the Democratic Socialists of Marquess Salisbury. The problem with the communique, however, rested with the Marquess and his shadow cabinet, some of the most strident anti-Sarzonians in Oceanian politics.

After several minutes of silence, Astley picked up the phone set at the edge of his desk. He waited for the click and the familiar voice of his private secretary at the opposite end. "Yes, would you call the Prime Minister, please. Inform him that I have an urgent situation that needs his attention."

Asbury Palace, Georgetown
New Britain, United Kingdom

Sir Eustace Spalding clasped his hands together. "Your Majesty, this is a most ill-advised, excursion." The Private Secretary to the King then shook his bald head. Before him sat a twenty-one year old child. "Sire, you are expected to play an impartial role in these elections. Your previous commitments can surely be excused by the dissolution of Parliament."

"The Marquess invited me months ago, Eustace. You personally received the invitation and we agreed it was politically acceptable then under the condition I visit with leading Tories along with the governor and important local officials."

"Yes, Your Majesty. But that was prior to Mr. Ingrahm requesting you to dissolve Parliament for elections in which you cannot be seen as having a favourite. You, Sire, are above politics."

The tall and brown-haired George sneered at the older man before him. "I intend on following through on this visit, and that is final, Eustace. Good day." The King then waved his hand dismissively, prompting Spalding to bow deferentially before exiting the King's private study.

As he walked down the hall to his private office, he could already imagine the restrained fury of Ingrahm. In fairness, Spalding would privately admit that George was unfit for the throne. He had never been intended to rise that high in royalty. However, the death of the childless King Michael left the childless Andrew, Michael's brother, as sovereign. When he died unexpectedly, that left the line of Jan, or John, extinct. Instead, the crown passed to George, the first son of Jan's oldest brother. Unlike Jan's line, all of whom had been raised with the expectation of acceding to the throne, given Michael's own terminal illness, the line of Cornelis, later Cornelius, were established businesspersons. George, however, had inherited his father's vast fortune and had been content to spend it frivolously.

In 2006, however, King Andrew died and Marquess Salisbury returned from self-imposed exile in Port Elizabeth to oversee the installation of the young playboy George as King George. Spalding, and many other keen observers of the royal family, recognised the early and influential role of the Marquess in the King's early reign before the Democratic Socialists fell from power.

In fairness, Spalding knew what George was really doing. As he entered his office, he shut the door and found his way to his desk, sitting down with a heavy thud. From his desk drawer he withdrew a small leather-bound book of addresses and phone numbers. He picked up his phone and, instead of routing the call through his secretary, dialed the Citadel and the Prime Minister directly.

Office of the Prime Minister, the Citadel
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

"That little fucker." Ingrahm had replaced the receiver quietly in its cradle. And then slammed his balled fist into his desk. Under Salisbury, George had been allowed influence, albeit small and truly inconsequential, in government policy. Ingrahm had quashed any such possibilities after his cabinet had received the seals of office. And now the boy-king would be traveling to Sarnia at Salisbury's invitation, to Salisbury's photo opportunities, to Salisbury's press conferences, all to assert that the Tories could not be trusted with the security of the United Kingdom and her colonies abroad.

He picked up the phone again, this time determined to make a call himself. After his private secretary had picked up, Ingrahm spoke coolly. "Get me the Colonial Secretary."

Foreign Office, Georgetown
New Britain, United Kingdom

Astley hit ctrl+S and saved the document he had finished typing. He then hit ctrl+P and printed the short statement to the laser printer located in his office. Finally, as the toner imprinted the text and the whine of the device died down, the Foreign Secretary stood and stretched his legs. Walking over to the printer, perched on an old and rickety table in the corner where he kept most of his computer supplies, he only hoped that the Sarnians would agree with the contents of the message. He then brought the piece of paper over to his desk and quickly signed it, stuffing it in an envelope closed with the seal of HM Government. Placing it within another, larger envelope, he walked out to his private secretary and placed the envelope on his secretary's desk. "Make sure this gets to our friends in Woodstock, would you?"

Private Communique to James Melvin

Mr. Melvin,

Despite the years of acrimony and tense history between our two great nations, on the behalf of Prime Minister Ingrahm, the people of the United Kingdom, and those directly impacted by the tragic events in Sarnia in recent months, I thank you for your strong condemnation of the barbaric attacks waged by a small band of terrorists.

Additionally, the United Kingdom welcomes your revitalised efforts to find, apprehend, and prosecute those committing and abetting the acts of terrorism directed against the innocents living on both sides of our common border.

To best allay the concerns of those living in both Oceanian Sarnia and Pavanne, I propose a joint press statement announcing the contents of this message and its antecedent communique in Sarnia in a forthright fashion. Perhaps as early as tomorrow or the day after. Viscount Cahill, the Secretary of State for Colonial Affairs, shall be arriving in Avalon-on-Avon for a fact-finding trip, staying in Oceanian Sarnia for approximately a week before returning here to Georgetown. Perhaps a joint statement from the town of Braddock, where the terrorists attempted to destroy the nascent cultural and commercial links between our country, would best symbolise the renewed commitment of both our nations to defeating Marerian extremism and the potential for improved Oceanian-Sarnian relations.

Sincerely,

[signed]
Gavin Astley
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs

Salisbury, Jacobia, United Kingdom

From his entertainment room, the Marquess of Salisbury watched CBC coverage of the day's political events unwinding in Georgetown. "The beauty of it all, Geoffrey," he spoke aloud to his aide who was preparing drinks at the wet bar along the back wall, "is that as a peer I need not even be in Georgetown to control what goes on in Georgetown."

"Very nice work with His Majesty," Geoffrey replied. In the early afternoon, the CBC broke the news that King George would be accompanying the Marquess of Salisbury, the Leader of the Opposition, on a trip to Oceanian Sarnia. Officially, it was the private vacation of a member of the House of Lords who was not running for re-election. Unofficially, it was a ringing endorsement of the Democratic Socialists by the King.

"And the best that Ingrahm can manage to send in return is Viscount Cahill," Geoffrey continued.

"He is the Colonial Secretary, I would not underestimate him. He did, after all, originally work for us," Salisbury practically spat his title on the carpet flooring. "And James is a good orator, a minor cabinet secretary to be sure, but a good orator nonetheless." James McAllister was the Earl of Axcliffe, who sat in the House of Lords as Leader of the House of Lords. It would often be McAllister who would lead the questioning of Salisbury or be forced to respond to Salisbury's accusations.

Shortly after the CBC had reported that King George would be visiting Sarnia along with the Marquess, the channel broke the news that the Leader of the House of Lords would accompany Viscount Cahill to Sarnia. They would arrive tomorrow, just ahead of Salisbury and the King—preempting press coverage of the Democratic Socialists in Sarnia. But the press was not yet aware that not only would the Shadow Foreign Secretary be accompanying Salisbury, but so would the Shadow Colonial Secretary.

According to the early polls released by the CBC and several other networks, the Conservatives still held the lead. In 2007, in Celaria, the Tories bested the DSP 383 seats to 252. However, current predictions held the Conservatives losing about thirty seats, the Greens approximately ten, the Communists six and the Christian Democrats almost twelve. When put together, in Celaria proper that would give the Tories 365 seats to the DSP's predicted 286. It was still a large 79 seat difference. However, it was far smaller than the 131 seat difference in the Parliament just dissolved.

As Salisbury watched pundits discuss odds and chances in marginal constituencies, he was truly worried only about one small nagging issue: the inclusion this year of various smaller, regional parties. In Atrea, for example, the DSP and the Tories were running in very few seats. Most were being contested by local parties. In Novikov, polls indicated that local parties were resurgent. And the same was emerging in Juristan. Only in Kingsland and the Indian Islands did it appear the traditional DSP-Tory dichotomy was holding.

But, the positive for Salisbury remained the Tories' negatives. The Tories were seen as weaker on national security than the DSP, a sharp reversal since 2007. The decline was largely attributed to the worsening situation in Sarnia. And so Salisbury was placing a large portion of his electoral bet on winning the Sarnian security vote. He, his Shadow Foreign Secretary, Shadow Colonial Secretary, and the King would fly to Avalon-on-Avon in the afternoon. And so would start the greatest comeback in Oceanian political history.

CBC Politics
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Conservatives Lead in Early Polls
Georgetown—A number of early polls released today place the Conservatives ahead of the Democratic Socialists. While the vast majority of polls do indicate a Tory lead, a significant number place the lead with the statistical margin of error—essentially a tied race.

Almost all the polls included various third (and fourth) party candidates, typically exclusive of sub-national and regional parties. Among the most reputable polls released, the Brown Research Institute places the Tories ahead of the DSP at 27–22; the Young Institute for Policy places the Tories at 26–22; and the Times of Victoria has the Tories with a far slimmer lead of 31–29.

Perhaps most detailed of all the initial polls arrives from the reputable Financial Review, which has tracked national, sub-national, and regional parties in constituency-by-constituency races to present an early forecast if the election were held today. According to the Financial Review, the DSP would be behind the Tories by 49 seats outright at 249–200. The most interesting aspect of that result, however, is not the DSP placement or even the margin. Rather, that for the first time, the two largest parties in the United Kingdom, when combined, would not have a majority of seats in the House of Commons.

Instead of the usual two-party dominance, third and fourth parties would register a resounding 22% of the vote. The two largest victors would be the weakening Green Party, forecasted to win 25 seats, and the Liberal Union, forecasted to win 24 seats. Each is remarkable for separate reasons. The Greens currently hold 74 seats in Celaria, and while expected to drop owing to the addition of Atrea—coincidentally with 74 seats—a loss of 49 seats would be crushing to what had been emerging as the country's third (national) party. The Liberal Union, however, is remarkable for its success despite previously only contesting provincial and regional elections. Represented in the various Dutch-Celarian provinces, the Liberal Union represents the centre-left of the Dutch-Celarian political spectrum; however, in a broader sense falls into the Oceanian centre somewhere between the Tories and the DSP. It is not alone, however, in the Celarian constituencies. The Dutch-Celarian General League would win 10 and the French-Celarian parties the Radicals and the Democratic-Republicans would win 13 seats each. For the first time, even the small Portuguese parties, the Republicans and the Democrats, would hold seats, 4 and 6 respectively.

In Novikov, where Anglo-Oceanian parties have yet to take root, the centre-right coalition party of Suzvuk would be expected to win 112 seats to the Liberal Democrats' 106. This would be a far better showing than the last Liberal Democrat result under party elder Milos Borovic, who has retired from politics. Now led by Anglo-Novikovian Aidan Heartman, the Liberal Democrats made some waves when they announced they would seek the "most favourable political alignment" after the polls closed. It is seen as a slight to Marquess Salisbury, who has, heretofore, had the solid backing of Borovic and his Liberal Democrats.

Oceanian Atrea exhibits few surprises; the popular support for each party being recently measured in that home country's parliamentary election. The Progressives would hold 29 seats to the Liberals' 22. The Socialists registering a comfortable third at 16 seats.

Juristan remains a bastion for the right and centre-right, the Centre Democratic Party would be expected to win 16 seats and the Catholic Workers' Party 14 seats to the Liberal Party of Juristan's 7. While the numbers are not themselves surprising, Juristan is perhaps the most culturally conservative of regions in the United Kingdom, the surprise is that the Financial Review predicts neither Conservatives nor the Christian Democrats winning any seats. The editors of the Financial Review note that the DSP's one seat from the last election was already a marginal hold at best.

Kingsland would likely witness a slight shift downwards in the proportion of the DSP victory. The 2007 election's 7–2 victory for the DSP would be reduced to 3–2 if held today. And in the Indian Islands, the DSP continues to hold the home country's two constituencies.

CBC Politics
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Opening Shots Fired; Tories Strike First
Rydel—Prime Minister Rodney Ingrahm was campaigning in the suburbs of Rydel, a large port city in New Westmoreland Province, for local MP Claire Dunwoody who faces a close race against the DSP's Alexander Hartle, a former councillor for Southport, and the Green's May Collins. Ingrahm hit Lord Salisbury hard in a speech to open the campaign season, within which he criticised the domestic failures as a direct result what Ingrahm called Salisbury's "legacy of aggression."

At a speech before a large train station in suburban Rydel, Ingrahm hit out at the record of the DSP in their years of government that failed to see an increase in alternatives to what Ingrahm called the United Kingdom's "car-centric culture."

Rydel is located at the southern end of a heavily populated valley that stretches north to the major industrial city of Williamsburg. In 2005, Lord Salisbury laid out plans to establish a high-speed rail link between Williamsburg and Rydel to connect the major cities in the valley: Kendal, Deventer, Arden, and Broughlea. After the war with Novikov, however, the Government shelved the plans on account of a lack of available funds.

In his speech, Ingrahm said the decision to wage war against Novikov, and then increase defence spending to defend against "created threats" from states such as Sarzonia and Khaifah al Muslimeen, had "derailed a domestic agenda that promised peace, progress, and prosperity." Ingrahm made a point to connect the increased defence spending to the economic problems facing his own administration along with a whole host of other issues.

The speech came after Lord Salisbury had boarded the chartered aircraft that is flying the leader of the Democratic Socialists to Sarnia along with King George and the shadow secretaries for foreign affairs and for colonial affairs. However, the shadow chancellor, Stephen McKay, while campaigning in Normanby in his own constituency, Talbot Valley, refuted Ingrahm's claims.

McKay called Ingrahm's speech "rubbish from a rabble rouser." He then mocked the Prime Minister by adding that Lord Salisbury, often known for an uncommonly soft voice, had acted in defence of the United Kingdom throughout his premiership and would continue to do so by "speaking softly and wielding a loud stick." In comments made later while addressing a crowd in Oxford, McKay added that Ingrahm had done nothing but endanger the United Kingdom, citing the violence in Sarnia and New Albion through what he called "appeasement of Sarzo and Bashir," referencing the late President of Sarzonia and the former Sultan of the Khailfah al Muslimeen.

The DSP also responded through Alan Spencer, the former Minister of State for International Trade, who represents the more economically liberal wings of the Democratic Socialists. Speaking before a crowd in his home constituency of Lilburne North, Spencer took a noticeably softer approach than that of the shadow chancellor. Acknowledging initial "missteps" made by the early Salisbury ministries, Spencer noted that the Marquess had turned those same missteps into economic opportunities. Spencer claimed that the early discussions and involvements with Novikov, Sarzonia, and the Khailfah had allowed the United Kingdom "to establish the foundations of personal and economic liberties theretofore unknown."

Tomorrow will see Lord Salisbury, alongside the King, Emily Deveraux, and Iain Bashir, addressing his employees at his plantation in Sarnia. However, he is expected to make his opening speech of the campaign at a stop later in the day, however, when he reaches the town of Braddock, the scene of an August bombing by Marerian separatists. The Prime Minister will be in the city of Wilmington tomorrow morning before heading to the French-Celarian cities of Espoir, Citron, and Achard in Perrault Province. He is to address the issue of devolution and rights for minority groups in the United Kingdom.

CBC Politics
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Ingrahm Changes Course; Appears in Sebastia and Beira
Georgetown—Prime Minister made an unexpected change in his schedule this morning departing the city of Williamsburg, where he had spent the evening after appearing at a fundraiser for the Conservative Party, for the provinces of Beira and Sebastia. Stopping first in the city of Pakitatahi, Ingrahm called for the national government to better incorporate native Polynesians into the broader Oceanian identity. He stopped short of endorsing a plan favoured by some within his party to grant the Polynesian inhabitants of Celaria their own province or even home country.

From Pakitatahi, Ingrahm flew north to the city of Salvador where he addressed a gathering of local businesspersons and entrepreneurs highlighting the Conservative platform to further reduce corporate tax rates and continue to increase the number of bilateral free trade agreements between the United Kingdom and its major trading partners.

After Salvador, the Prime Minister traveled to the capital of Beira province, Porto Viseu, where he is due to address a crowd in an attempt to rally supporters of the local Tory MP facing a strong challenge from a well-known, local DSP politician.

In Oceanian Sarnia, King George and Lord Salisbury landed in Avalon and met briefly with the Governor General of the Colony and Brigadier-General Keating, commander of Oceanian forces in Sarnia. After a luncheon with DSP supporters in the colony, the group is due to fly out to Atherton for a brief campaign appearance by Lord Salisbury before heading south to Bryn Caer for a visit to Lord Salisbury's own plantation. Then this evening, Lord Salisbury will give his first major campaign speech in the town of Braddock.

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Breaking News: Explosion Reported in Sarnia
Avalon-on-Avon—Reports from Bryn Caer indicate that a massive explosion has occurred outside the Salisbury estate. Both the king and the leader of the opposition, along with shadow ministers, aides, and hundreds of supporters, are reported to have been in the area at the time of the blast. There are yet no reports of injuries to specific persons, though initial and unconfirmed reports point to high numbers of casualties.

More details shall be forthcoming as soon as they are available.

This thread has long been running in parallel with this thread of events in Sarnia (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=536496). This thread shall remain dedicated to those events taking place outside of Sarnia.

Porto Viseu, Beira, United Kingdom

"We face a difficult decision in the coming days and weeks, ladies and gentlemen," Rodney Ingrahm spoke into the microphone before him. His voice carried over the park in central Porto Viseu to a crowd gathered rather unexpectedly. He had announced his intention to visit the northeast provinces, only changing to the western islands and Portuguese provinces in the last few hours to gain some media attention.

"The people of not just Porto Viseu, but of the whole of the United Kingdom, are confronted by enormous challenges. You saw it here two years ago when Blakely shut down its operations and closed its manufacturing plant, moving the fifteen hundred jobs to countries where work can be had for cheaper." Ingrahm was forced to pause as the crowd booed and hissed.

"That came about as part of economic plan of Lord Salisbury, who eliminated the import tariffs on all sorts of goods we use everyday. Now, Lord Salisbury was partially correct," here, Ingrahm continued despite some small outbreaks of jeers and shouts, "in that free trade is truly good for all Oceanians. Blakely manufactured consumer electronic goods, and since the closure of the plant, local retailers have been selling those same consumer goods at lower prices. Prices so low that I can guarantee you more than half of you have them in your pockets or backpacks as I speak. And that is a good thing."

It was not a particularly important speech as he read the words from the teleprompter. The main part of his speech was to follow the opening specifically tailored for Porto Viseu. It appeared as a change; but in reality, the stop here had been long planned.

"However, Lord Salisbury failed, and miserably so, to prepare Porto Viseu and the United Kingdom for the fact that indeed, some jobs would be lost. You needed to know, and he kept you willfully in the dark as he used his own personal increased profits to buy up more land for his colonial tea plantations. He and his Democratic Socialists used you for his, and their, own gain. But, perhaps, more importantly, they failed to prepare Porto Viseu and the United Kingdom to grow new economy jobs."

"The Democratic Socialists, including John Carpenter," Ingrahm's mention of the DSP candidate for the constituency drawing the wrath of the Tory crowd, "failed the United Kingdom. Most importantly, ladies and gentlemen, Lord Salisbury and John Carpenter failed you."


From the corner of his eye, Ingrahm caught one of his staffers walking onto the podium. Ingrahm paused at the interruption. The Prime Minister used his hands to cover the microphone, barring anything classified from slipping out into the public consciousness. "Mr. Prime Minister, there has been an incident in Sarnia." The staffer paused momentarily. "The King's motorcade has been attacked. He is being helicoptered to an RAF field hospital not far away."

"I will wrap this up momentarily." Ingrahm felt his smile had disappeared and so he forced it to return. The words on the teleprompter mattered no longer. The eloquence written him by his staff were for naught as he gave an impromptu close to an enormously abbreviated speech. When he was done, he stepped away quickly from the podium and found the local MP he had been trying to stump for. "I am terribly sorry, Cristine, something has come up. While I cannot mention it now, you shall likely be hearing of it shortly and I do hope you will understand."

Ingrahm walked away without waiting for the bewildered MP to reply. He rushed down the stage to find his staffer waiting. "What the bloody hell happened?" he spoke, finally free from fear of the microphone.

"I can tell you more in the car, sir."

The door was open and waiting. For the first time, Ingrahm noted that his own security detail was conspicuously visible. Where there had been none before, police were in the streets with automatic weapons. He sat down in the leather seat, but could not lean back. His body would not allow it. Instead his staffer handed over his Ahua, an Oceanian made phone/organiser/mp3 players/everything. Which is why it borrowed its name from the Oceanian -Polynesian word for life.

The screen displayed nothing spectacular, it was a news item from the CBC website. The title, however, was deeply disconcerting: Explosion Reported in Sarnia.

"How recent is this?" Ingrahm asked.

"Minutes, sir."

"What do we know?"

"I know of little else, sir. Reginald said he would call in a moment once he gets some—" The staffer stopped as his device began to ring in Ingrahm's hand.

Looking down, Ingrahm found the name of his principal private secretary on the caller ID. Without asking, he answered. "What is going on in Sarnia, Reg?"

"A great deal. And none of it is particularly good, sir."

"What do we know?"

"En route to the event at Lord Salisbury's plantation, the motorcade was struck by an explosive device. We do not know yet what caused it—but I am hearing that the road was cleared of all vehicular traffic. It is not likely that it was a car bomb."

"And the King?"

"The King, Lord Salisbury, and the shadow ministers were all in the vehicles trailing the one directly hit. But it was a big explosion, sir. From everything I am hearing from down there, it is pure chaos at the moment."

"But how is the King, Reginald, I need answers, damnit."

"I cannot say, sir."

"Fucking find out!"

"I can tell you, sir, he is being airlifted to a military hospital—"

"I know that already damnit. Tell me something new."

"I am hearing some reports that Deveraux is dead. Salisbury is reportedly injured, some say bad, some say slightly. The Governor, General Keating, and Bashir are all in relatively good shape. Their car received damage, but they are all just shaken up might bad."

"Damnit, Reginald. I am sorry. I do not mean that. But, Reg, we can deal with shadow secretaries and governors later. I need to know about the King."

"And I am trying to tell you, sir, I do not know. Nobody knows. He is being airlifted to Heyford. Hell if I even know where that is."

"Okay, get a team together in Georgetown. Set up a video conference and bring me some information for when my plane gets in the air."

Sunderland, New Brunswick, United Kingdom

Stephen McKay was enjoying a juicy bite of steak when his chief aide tapped his shoulder. "What is it," he muttered through the meat.

"The King, sir…"

"Is with Lord Salisbury, what do I pay you for?"

"No, sir, there has been an explosion. The CBC is reporting it now. The King, and Lord Salisbury, are involved."

McKay looked to his right, then his left. In the middle of a restaurant he was wide open should a journalist or nosy constituent appear. And if his aide had it… "Get us out of here, now."

Within moments, McKay was exiting the restaurant with a conspicuously quarter-eaten steak left on his plate and a martini unfinished by its side. There was no tip. No note. Just a puzzled—and infuriated—wait staff. Nonetheless, McKay smiled and waved to the public quickly trying to take photographs and get autographs. Instead, McKay hurried to open the door to his automobile while his aide got into the front passenger's seat and told the driver to start driving anywhere.

"Can you get me in touch with…" McKay paused as he tried to think who was down in Sarnia. "Emily or Iain?"

"Already tried, sir, nothing going."

"What about Salisbury's chief of staff, Howard?"

"Again, nothing, sir."

"Can we get in touch with anybody in Sarnia right now?"

The aide turned around and shook his head. "Not likely."

"Fine, then get me Ramsey, that old bastard has to have some connection somewhere." The shadow chancellor hoped that the safe hands of the shadow defence secretary were still as well connected as they had been in years past.

Grantham, Kingston, United Kingdom

Gavin Astley was among the unfortunate MPs whose district had been so enlarged by the subtraction of Celarian seats that he now faced a challenge from a popular Democratic Socialist MP for the same seat, Kingston North. Previously, Kingston had held its own seat where Ronald Lewis represented the DSP. Now that seat had been merged into Astley's seat that was also adding parts of the cities of Louvois, Seignelay and Pencran. The French parties were fighting hard too. Kingston North was a tossup.

Much of Astley's schedule for the day revolved around meeting with important community organisers in Grantham, the base of his original constituency. He was at the home of one community leader when that man's mobile phone began to echo some pop song that Astley was admittedly unfamiliar with. "My daughter programmed it," the man offered sheepishly.

The man answered and walked into another room.

"So where was I," Astley continued.

"What to do about our relations with our friends?"

"Ah, well, it is critical that we maintain the strong alliances we have with nations like Pacitalia, Hamptonshire, Delesa, Cravan, and others. These nations form the backbone of the Conservative agenda to build peace through economic interdependence. We seek to continue to foster the—"

"Mr. Astley," the man interrupted, walking back in the room. "I am terribly sorry to interrupt, but I just had a most disturbing phone call. Do you mind if I turn on the television?"

Astley shook his head slowly, confused. "No, not at all…"

The host found the remote and switched the television to CBC News, where an image of a roadway, flanked by green fields, was covered in black smoke. Apparently the set had been quieted down the last time on and so Astley asked the common thought in the room as the man raised the volume. "What is this all about."

"A bombing." the man said matter-of-factly. The television shot zoomed in on the burning, mangled remains of what appeared to be—or formerly have been—a black SUV. "The King and Lord Salisbury were in there." the man added as the anchors' voices entered the fray.

But by then, what the CBC reported mattered little. The image and the man's words had been seared into everyone's mind. Including Astley's.

Huntingdon, Carolinia, United Kingdom

Alan Spencer woke up only with the tap of his chief aide. Fortunately, Lilburne North was regarded as a safe seat for the Democratic Socialists and so the DSP backbencher veteran could afford to take a quick nap on the train ride from Tremont to Huntingdon. Lilburne North encompassed much of the southern shore of Long Sound and someways up the King James River Valley, as far south as Braxton. It was a relatively large constituency; with two large ridges cutting into the territory its population was not very evenly distributed.

"What is it, Clive," Spencer asked with his eyes still shut.

"You are going to want to get up, Alan."

"What is it?"

"A bombing in Sarnia. Possibly involving the King and Lord Salisbury."

Spencer's eyes opened. "Are they dead?"

"I am hearing mixed reports—nothing confirmed either way."

"Any word on Emily or Iain?"

"Nothing. Phone lines are jammed and the CBC is not reporting anything on speculation. I imagine they are leaving the blogs to do that."

Spencer sat up. "Okay, then see if you cannot get in touch with…Christ, I have no idea. Try Stephen, perhaps. And if you cannot reach him…" Spencer paused to try and think of who else would be left to call in the DSP. "If you cannot reach Stephen try calling the Prime Minister's staff."

"I shall see what I can do."

Over Celaria

Ingrahm stared at the RAF group captain. His eyes contained a mixture of rage and fury alongside profound sadness and regret. He had no idea how he was supposed to react. How to feel. "Nothing you can do, Group Captain, are you certain?"

"We have tried thrice over, Mr. Prime Minister. I…I know not what to say."

"You did your best. Thank you. My staff shall be in touch." Ingrahm signaled for the line to go private in order to allow his secretaries to finish up the details of the call. He turned to the next video monitor where his principal private secretary was waiting, sullen faced.

"Sir, you do have a call from an Alan Spencer, the DSP MP for Lilburne North. He says he cannot reach anybody in Sarnia and would like to speak with you."

"I understand. Put him on hold for a moment, but get me Eustace at the Palace. Somebody should tell him. He knows William."

Richfield House
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

Like most Oceanians, Willem Barentsz had been sitting before the television for the last two hours. The 61-year old had thinning grey hair and cold pale bluish-grey eyes that were normally alert. Today, however, they were misty with tears that he refused to let run down his cheeks. A soft rapping on the glass-paneled door echoed in the drawing room those doors had sealed off. The man stood and found his cane leaning against his brown leather chair. He had been an active man once, but knee problems had relegated him to the cane in private. At public functions he could do without for a few hours before the pain settled in.

Before he could even reach the door, he found the familiar face of Sir Spalding. Barentsz motioned for the old friend to open the door and walk in. "Terrible news today, my friend." Barentsz offered as he turned around to return to his seat, waving for Spalding to follow.

"Indeed, it is, William." Many of Willem's closest friends—and Willem himself—preferred his Anglicised name. But Barentsz depicted a slight tremor in Spalding's voice and turned around again to find Spalding still standing in the doorway.

"What is it, Eustace?"

"I am terribly sorry, William." Spalding said, his voice cracking. "The King is dead." The man, now visibly broken, closed his eyes briefly before opening them and swallowing. "God save the King."

***

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Reports: King George and Lord Salisbury Die in Helicopter Crash
Georgetown—The Prime Minister's Office will not comment on reports from Sarnia that His Majesty King George and the Marquess of Salisbury died in an accident suffered by their helicopter during a medical evacuation. However, anonymous sources well-placed within the Royal Air Force in Sarnia are telling the CBC that the helievac unit on standby at Bryn Caer went down just outside RAF Heyford without survivors.

If confirmed, the death of King George would push his relative Prince Willem, or Prince William, to the throne. However, attempts to reach Prince William at his private estate in Georgetown have thus far been unsuccessful.

The Prime Minister's Office did announce, however, that it will be issuing a brief statement later tonight.

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

King George Dies in Helicopter Crash, Lord Salisbury Also Dead
Georgetown—The Prime Minister's Office has now officially confirmed what anonymous sources have been telling the CBC for several hours, that His Majesty King George died in a helicopter accident outside RAF Heyford. With the death of King George, Prince William accedes the throne where, if he takes William as his name, he will reign as King William III.

The Prime Minister's Office has now also confirmed that the Marquess of Salisbury, former Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition, was also in the helicopter, as was the former Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Emily Deveraux. Both died along with the eight RAF crew and medical staff aboard.

The crash occurred as the King was being evacuated from the site of a bombing outside Lord Salisbury's plantation near Bryn Caer. According to eyewitness reports, the King boarded the helicopter in decent condition while Lord Salisbury and Ms. Deveraux faired far worse. The helicopter's destination was RAF Heyford, where the Oceanian Army operates a trauma centre established for those wounded in the Government's struggle against the Marerian Insurgency.

As of yet, no party has officially taken responsibility for the initial bombing of the King's motorcade. Many have already announced, however, that Marerian extremists are likely behind the attack.

Prime Minister Ingrahm has returned to Georgetown from the campaign trail. He had been in the city of Porto Viseu at the time of the attack.

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Prime Minister Ingrahm Recalls Cabinet from Campaign Trail
Georgetown—In a written statement issued from the Prime Minister's Office, Prime Minister Ingrahm announced that cabinet ministers would be returning to Georgetown immediately.

Sources inside the Citadel have told the CBC that the ministers will be meeting along with the senior constitutional law advisors and select members of the Law Lords. The same sources tell the CBC that the nature of the meeting will be to discuss the impact of King George's death on the election.

As Grant Haffner was preparing for his return flight from Flagstaff to Woodstock on Sarzonia Three, he heard the telephone ring. He saw his chief of staff and other employees doing other tasks and realised the phone was the least of their concerns. Annoyed, he picked up the phone.

"Haffner," he all but spat into the phone. The person on the other end hesitated for a second, apparently startled at the brusque manner with which Haffner answered the phone. However, the man pressed on.

"Mr. President, this is James Melvin."

Haffner's eyes widened. He knew Melvin rarely called him unless something was seriously wrong. Lowering and softening his voice, Haffner addressed Melvin.

"What's wrong, Jim?"

"We just received word that King George, Lord Salisbury and several figures within Oceania have been killed in a helicopter crash."

Haffner stiffened. Oceania was no friend of Sarzonia's. He knew that. He knew the two nations were far from close, but he also knew that the United Kingdom was grieving.

"What?! How did it happen?"

"There was an explosion near Salisbury's plantation. The insurrection..." Haffner cut him off.

"Which the colonial government has not adequately addressed," Haffner said.

"That's just it," Melvin said. "Westley is telling us they need authorisation to send more troops to the Sarnian border."

"Didn't we just give them that authorisation?"

"We pledged our cooperation with the Oceanian government."

"So what happened to that? Weren't you supposed to contact their government about authorising increased force along the border?"

"I did that. They didn't authorise us to increase our military presence along the border with Sarnia."

"So do you think we increase our forces there now, SABAR be damned?"

"That would seem like a provocation of the United Kingdom."

"Not if we play our cards right. I'll see what I can do."

Haffner then turned to his laptop and quickly began typing.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v419/msarzo/GreatSeal.jpg

Official Statement
Incorporated Sarzonian Government

The Incorporated Sarzonian Government expresses its profound sorrow over the deaths of His Majesty King George, The Marquess of Salisbury and other officials of the United Kingdom's government. Even though our nations have never been particularly close, we join the United Kingdom in grief.

We also wish to apologise for our colonial government's failure to increase border patrols and get to the bottom of the terrorist attacks near the Oceanian Sarnian border with Pavanne. We have instructed Colonial Governor Don Westley to increase border patrols and cooperate fully with Oceanian authorities to apprehend any terrorists responsible for these attacks.

In addition, should Pavannian or Sarzonian authorities capture any insurgents responsible for this or other attacks, we shall expedite our extradition process to ensure that they be brought to justice.

I can not condemn these attacks on Oceania in any stronger terms. I pledge the full cooperation of the Incorporated States of Sarzonia in this matter.

Grant Haffner
Acting President
Senior Vice President and External Affairs Officer
Incorporated States of Sarzonia

Breaking news from PNN.pc

http://www.syti.net/Images/Davos2007/FerencGyurcsany.jpg
Alistair Tetley, Lord Marquess of Salisbury
Politician, philanthropist, statesman and diplomat
1963 — 2008

Salisbury, Oceanian king, Deveraux die
Marerian terrorists behind initial attack at Lord Salisbury's estate; fiery helicopter crash accident reportedly unrelated



Simeone Lavarsetti, PBC News Correspondent in Oceania, from Georgetown

Former Oceanian prime minister Alistair Tetley, the Lord Marquess of Salisbury, has died.

Also dead are His Majesty, King George, and former foreign minister Emily Deveraux.

Much of what happened is still unclear, but the Celarian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) initially reported a helicopter accident near RAF Heyford following a terrorist attack at Lord Salisbury's plantation estate in Bryn Caer, in Oceanian Sarnia.

The tragedy has struck right in the middle of an election campaign in which Lord Salisbury, though behind in opinion polling, was aiming to return to power with a coalition government. His death has sent shockwaves through the liberal democratic international community and shoved the United Kingdom into what will be an indefinite period of mourning.

In the initial attack at the plantation, a car bombing, it is reported that Salisbury and Deveraux suffered severe injuries. The two, along with the king, were airlifted out of the area with RAF Heyford, a medical triage centre, as their destination, but the helicopter went down, under as-yet unclear circumstances, before reaching the air force base. All eleven people on board the helicopter perished in the crash.

Lord Salisbury has been celebrated as a compassionate, liberal reformer with strong intellect and profound political skill. During his ten years as prime minister, he oversaw sweeping market reforms within the Oceanian economy, masterminded a mostly peaceful imperial expansion of the United Kingdom, and, sometimes with help from Timiocato, engineered the country's own diplomatic golden age.

But the United Kingdom, through Salisbury's primacy, struggled with its own international adolescence, almost irreversibly damaging relations with Sarzonia. It also fought a long colonial war of attrition against Novikov from which it just barely recovered, and has since had to deal with violent separatist insurrections in some of its new colonial possessions. Evidence of those widespread insurgencies is now more striking than ever given the turn of events leading to the deaths of the king, Lord Salisbury and Ms Deveraux.

Salisbury was also criticised for reshaping his centre-left Democratic Socialists (DSP) from their original labour unionist, socialist position to become a neo-liberal, market oriented party with essentially a personality cult centred on the former banker and economist.

Some nations have already issued statements condemning the terrorist attacks and expressing sadness over the tragedy.

The Constazione met in an emergency session Thursday, passing a special resolution which declared a national week of mourning from Monday, through to Friday. Pacitalian prime minister Archetenia Nera told reporters that "today, we stand with our Oceanian brothers and sisters. Today, we are all Oceanians."

Several questions now remain regarding successors, both within the monarchy and the DSP. It is expected that Prince Willem will assume the throne as William II, but, as of Thursday, it is by no means clear who will assume the leadership of the Democratic Socialists.

Pacitalian archonate Dr Timothy Ell, widely considered the late Lord Salisbury's closest friend both inside and outside the international political arena, is reportedly devastated by the news and has cancelled his appointments for the day. The Directorate of the Archonacy refused to issue a statement, saying a unified positional release from the government was forthcoming.

The directorate would also neither confirm nor deny that Ell would fly to Georgetown later this evening to meet with the UK prime minister and help tie up the late Lord Salisbury's affairs. He is also scheduled to meet with Maxwell Newsom, the United Kingdom's ambassador in Timiocato, on Friday evening.

Prime Minister's Residence, the Citadel
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

An abnormally strong fall storm was forecast to descend upon the Oceanian capital within the hour. From the verandah attached to the residence of the Prime Minister, Rodney Ingrahm gazed up into the sky; the light grey sky and gentle breeze of the afternoon had grown darker and the breeze increasingly stiffer. The deciduous trees in the cobblestone courtyard had started to sway while yellow and red leaves were torn from branches and began to blow into piles along the distant brick inner wall.

Near the distant main gate another black saloon entered with its headlights leading the way. Ingrahm counted that as the seventh such car. This one was a CMG Terova, an upper-scale saloon with high-performance characteristics. Without seeing the occupant of the backseat he knew it to be the Defence Secretary.

"Excuse me, Mr. Prime Minister," intruded the voice of Gavin Astley, the Foreign Secretary. "I wanted to inform you that Lord Cahill's plane is on approach to Emperor's Field but he shall still be about fifteen minutes late."

"Reginald could not have come out here to inform me?"

"He could have, sir." Astley replied, finally stepping out from the doorway into the chilling autumn air. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"Holding together," Ingrham replied absently, never once turning to look at his friend and colleague. "I never much cared for either of the two. One was an unrepentant playboy and the other a thinly disguised autocrat. But, in the end, Gavin, they were symbols. Not just here, but abroad."

Astley nodded and took the moment to stand next to Ingrahm, who finally turned to meet his friend. "This was just released, sir."

Ingrahm took the piece of paper in Astley's hand. "Who would have imagined that Haffner of all people would be the first to respond?" he asked rather rhetorically. "Have you drafted an official response as of yet?"

"No, sir, I was waiting until after the meeting. I thought it best we coordinate a common policy and strategy to deal with the crisis."

"But this is already on the CBC?"

"Yes, sir."

Ingrahm nodded. He could only imagine what was happening at the Democratic Socialists' headquarters across town. Ingrahm caught himself and frowned for a brief moment. In truth, only the staffers and organisers were likely concentrating on the political ramifications of the statement. McKay and the rest of the party heavyweights were probably walking around with hung heads.

Astley stayed quiet. He knew they were both thinking the same thing.

Democratic Socialist Party Headquarters
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

Stephen McKay had flown from Tyrconnell to Georgetown after learning of Salisbury's death. When it was confirmed that Devereaux had died as well and that Bashir would likely be remaining in Sarnia for some time to come, there were few people to call back to Georgetown. But the few had gathered, and they now sat around a highly polished, oval-shaped, mahogany desk behind frosted glass walls. Unusually, between the men and women gathered, battles of Celarian whiskey and other alcohol stood—most half-drained with glasses before each person.

"So the question is what do we do? How do we respond?" McKay asked, trying to prompt a discussion—his previous attempts simply prompting more quiet drinking and reminiscing. "The elections are in two weeks and we have lost our leader. What do we do?"

"The normal election of a party leader takes months if not weeks," offered William Ramsey, the shadow defence secretary. He had seen several such elections—and won one of them back in the 1970s. "Depending on what the Tories are cooking up over at the Citadel, we may have but four or five days to dither and after that we need new plans to seize the initiative from the Conservatives."

Around the table the shadow ministers and senior backbenchers muttered their disapproval. "I cannot fathom why you all mutter," moaned Ashley Thomason, one of the more famous DSP backbenchers. She had once served in Salisbury's cabinet before running against him and losing. "Ingrahm knows he has to come out hard. The Tories have been running on the platform that they are strong on defence and strong on Sarnia. You cannot have a bombing that injures the King and leads to his death and then come back trotting the notion of 'Tories equal safety.' It is not going to work. We have an opportunity to hit them hard and in what is now their soft underbelly. We rip out their entrails and choke them to death in the electorate. We can hang their Foreign Secretary. We can hang their chancellor. We can hang their home secretary. And if we are lucky we can hang Ingrahm himself. We can eliminate the Tories for at least two to three electoral cycles."

"I do not disagree with you entirely, Ashley," Alan Spencer offered from behind his glass of whiskey. "We hit the Conservatives and we hit them hard. We can turn what we were hoping to be a narrow plurality over the Tories into a near majority. But to do so will require real finesse. If we go over the top once, just once, we come off as partisans and the Tories will have all the ammunition they need to send us packing for two to three electoral cycles."

McKay coughed loudly. "But that does nothing to solve our immediate problem. It is all well and good that some of you think we can crush the Conservatives. But we need to have a message. Salisbury was that message. We need a new one."

"I agree with you, Stephen," Ramsey replied. He downed a shot of vodka before continuing. "But before we can get that message, we all need to be united behind a leader. You all know the polls. It is not just that we are behind the Conservatives. It is that Lord Salisbury was behind Rodney Ingrahm for Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. We need a head. We need a leader around which the country can rally. But to do that, we need a leadership conference."

"No we do not," Thomson answered back. "I came close to beating the Marquess last time around. I am the closest thing we have to a deputy prime minister."

"Except that you sit on the backbenches," quipped McKay. "We would need someone with an established and current visibility."

"I think we need a platform first," offered Paul Reynard, shadow transport secretary. "If we offer a clear alternative to the Conservatives we could certainly pull enough swing voters away in the marginal constituencies."

"A message," McKay scoffed, "we have a simple message. Kill the bastards who did this. Wipe them off the continent."

The room erupted into chaos.

"That is rather rash, Stephen," Ramsey finally shouted over the room.

"Why? Mckay snapped. "They killed the King. They assassinated him. They should die. We find who detonated the bomb and we kill them. We find who built the bomb and we kill them. We find who ordered the bomb and who financed the bomb and we kill them. And then all those people dancing around the streets and burning Oceanian flags, we kill all of them."

Prime Minister's Residence, the Citadel
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

"We have fighter-bombers on standby at the airbase outside Avalon and the strategic bombers from the exercise at St. Ives. I say we carpet bomb the whole of the Sarnian jungle and wipe these cockroaches from the face of the earth." Sir Quentin Sterling, Secretary of State for Defence, pounded his clenched fist against the table for emphasis.

"It is not that simple," Viscount Cahill shouted. "We cannot go around the continent and wiping out an entire race of people. We have a word for that, Quentin, it is called genocide."

"Look at some of our closest allies and look how they get away with it. I think here and now we re-examine all the good that this democracy and civil liberties for minorities has given us. Because frankly, Thomas, the only thing I see is the body of a dead monarch. Our monarch." Sterling turned towards Ingrahm, who sat at the head of the table and had been noticeably silent for the past half hour. Most of which had preceded along Sterling's lines. "It is a simple thing, Mr. Prime Minister. These terrorists strike and they expect a reaction. They expect us to launch some cruise missile or some smart bomb and hit a training camp in the southwest jungles or a warehouse in Thames River or maybe a depot in Pavanne or Free Marerius. They expect this idea of proportional response."

"It is simple economics," Sterling continued. "You, sir, are an economist. They factored in this 'proportional response'," Sterling practically spat the phrase onto the tabletop. "If they want to continue along these lines, we make them pay for it. Raise the costs of their operations. You kill an MP, you lose a hundred Marerians. You kill a former PM, you lose a thousand. You kill a king. Hell, you lose your right to exist."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" shouted the First Sea Lord, Radovan Noskovic. "Kill the minorities? Do you forget how badly our little war went? Your side started wiping us out in our villages. And you want to go around and do it all over again?"

"You started the whole thing. You used a nuke. You and your submarine pals went around and blew up city after city."

"It was a war. You were starving us to death. You leveled an entire city. Our capital city."

"After you nuked us."

"It was a last resort."

"A last resort that led to two more months of fighting."

Ingrahm watched as the room fell into a shouting argument as the various members of his coalition government began to go after each other. He turned to Astley, the calm Foreign Secretary who was berating the Secretary of State for Novikov because the latter's father had led the government which killed the former's brother.

Ingrahm placed his head in his hands and left the room.

Democratic Socialist Party Headquarters
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

An hour after the shouting had subsided, the alcohol was finished. The suit jackets and vests and ties worn by everyone were now all stretched out across the back of seats and on coatracks at every corner of the room. McKay was leaning against the back wall nearest the door, keeping an eye on the quiet and hushed discussions between the various factions of the party that had begun to emerge.

Some, like himself, had come around to focusing on a swift and immediate reaction to the violence. Ramsey had been correct, though McKay would never admit to it. Killing all the Marerians was not an option. But they could kill a good number and dissuade the Marerians from trying anything like it ever again. SABAR had to go. The Sarzonians had failed miserably. But so had the Yaforites and most importantly the supposedly free Marerians. McKay suspected the free Marerians of all being insurgents. Invading the country could only be accomplished if SABAR was scrapped and the United Kingdom could send hundreds of thousands of troops across the Marerian-Oceanian border.

Then there was Thomson. She was not backed by Ramsey, a fact that made McKay smile as the two continued to debate the so-called finer points of the agenda. She had advocated sending troops into Pavanne. Sarzonia was still in shambles and could not be counted on for anything. There statement of condemnation was simply a half-hearted apology to escape blame. Free Marerius would also have to go. And so would Thames River. And while McKay and Thomson agreed upon the importance of scrapping SABAR, she failed to see, as Ramsey had so delicately pointed out during one shouting match, that the United Kingdom would need to deploy almost its entire army and marines to stabilise the whole Sarnian continent. And even then such an action was of dubious outcome.

The liberal hippies in the party were represented by Spencer. Though even they admitted to wanting some blood. Peace talks and such were acts of appeasement. They would only encourage the damn Marerians to strike once again. Perhaps in the Home Islands.

But, while the party was divided roughly into three camps, they had agreed on one measure over the objections of the party president, who had left the room after losing the argument. There would be a new party leader.

"Alright everybody, settle down," McKay boomed, silencing the last few people grilling each other's ideas. "You all have your papers that we distributed earlier. You have all heard the plans presented. Each of you will go out into the hall, write the name of who you want to lead the party and then stuff it into this box." McKay pulled up an old tissue box that he had emptied for this purpose. "When we have all gone, we will count the ballots."

McKay pointed to the shadow agriculture secretary. "Andrew, you go first."

Prime Minister's Residence, the Citadel
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

"That went well, Gavin. You did a marvelous job with Nikolai back there."

Astley looked at Ingrahm with a cold fury in his eyes. "He asked for it," he started, but then caught the meaning behind Ingrahm's statement and the Prime Minister's own expression that was coldly neutral. "But I apologise, sir, it was most unprofessional."

"Sterling went over the top."

"His family is close to the Royals, though, sir. He has known…he knew King George for many years."

"But launching into that tirade against Radovan, most immature."

Astley nodded. The two were sitting outside underneath the roof of the same verandah from earlier. Except that now the wind was whipping across the courtyard with an unpredicted ferocity. The rain was pelting the stones and pooling in the depressions and garden boxes.

"It has been a remarkable day."

"Indeed."

The two sat silent for several long minutes, the only sound that of the rain pouring down across the capital of the United Kingdom.

"I want you to thank Haffner for his offer, and then accept it." Ingrahm finally said to break the silence that had found Astley quietly fidgeting by its end. "And when you do so, please do so with your usual command—I want to see no more of what I saw tonight. Regarding the discussion on the constitutional issues, specifically the elections, we will address that again tomorrow with cooler heads. Tonight is excusable, dare I say that. Venting is just that. We all lost some good friends and we shall all continue to deal with it in our private fashions. But tonight was tonight and tonight alone. Are we clear, Gavin?"

"Absolutely, Prime Minister. There was one other issue that arose after the meeting. Our ambassador to Pacitalia wanted to let you know that he is scheduled to meet with Archonate Dr. Ell, who was as you know, sir, a close friend of Salisbury."

"Understandable, of course. Do make sure that Dr. Ell receives my personal invitation to Georgetown. It is the least I can do."

"Very good, sir."

Astley stood to rise when one of the Foreign Office staffers that had accompanied Astley to the meeting emerged. She quickly handed over a note to Astley before returning to the far warmer interior of Ingrahm's residence.

"And, sir, you may want to have a look at this."

"What is it?" Ingrahm asked, taking the note from Astley.

"The response from the Democratic Socialists to the Sarzonian offer. It is unsigned."

"They still have no leader."

"But the language certainly narrows the potential contenders."

"Indeed."

***

UK Foreign Office Statement
HM Government and the people of the United Kingdom thank Acting President Haffner and the Sarzonian government for its offers of aid. While much divides our two countries, we are joined not just today and not just in grief but always by a greater commitment to the success of liberal democracy. Democracy allows and indeed thrives on divergent views and opinions; and our two countries exemplify that in many minor issues. But at the core, the United Kingdom and the Incorporated States stand together as a united and indivisible front dedicated to the defence of those institutions of democratic governance that the terrorists failed to destroy.

Gavin Astley
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs

***

UK Foreign Office Communique
Addressed to the Directorate of the Archonacy
On the behalf of Prime Minister Ingrahm and HM Government, I would like to offer condolences for the loss of a man well reputed to be not just a personal friend unto you, but a friend to the people of Pacitalia. Additionally, the Prime Minister and HM Government would like to extend Archonate Dr. Timothy Ell an invitation to visit the United Kingdom. While the details of the loss and the forthcoming funeral of the late Lord Salisbury are not yet fully available, Prime Minister Ingrahm would like to inform you privately that the funeral shall likely be in the early to middle part of the coming week.

Sincerely,

Gavin Astley
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs

***

Statement of the Democratic Socialist Party
The United Kingdom of Oceania and her people are the victims of a barbaric and monstrous act. The Democratic Socialist Party notes that the Acting President of Sarzonia has issued a mea culpa for the negligence of Woodstock over the last several months that has directly led to the recent and tragic loss of His Majesty King George and the Marquess of Salisbury. This apology, however, can remain only the token words it constitutes for those words cannot and should not be accepted by the United Kingdom.

The Democratic Socialist Party calls on the Prime Minister to immediately withdraw from the Sarnian Border Armaments Realignment Treaty. It is now clearly evidenced that the treaty, more commonly known as SABAR, has resulted in nothing short of the complete degradation of Oceanian national security. And this unthinkable and untenable situation must be immediately rectified.

Furthermore, the United Kingdom and the Prime Minister must take immediate and decisive action against those who seek to harm the people of the United Kingdom along with those who harbor them. The United Kingdom cannot now, nor shall it ever under a Democratic Socialist ministry, allow both the people and fundamental institutions of Oceanian government to be threatened as they are today.

Westley paced through his Governor's Mansion in Bethesda with a note in his right hand. Little had happened in Pavanne since Sarzonia went into the Great Isolation. However, the same could not be said of Oceanian Sarnia.

The colonial militia drilled about as much as colonial militias were expected to. With local police forces and bases and a fairly widespread populace, not many threats faced the Pavannians.

Except for Oceanian Sarnia.

Even then, most pragmatists realised that war between Oceania and Sarzonia was a topic best left avoided. Sarzonia's economy was too fragile to support a lengthy offensive conflict against anyone and Oceania was only now beginning to recover from its occupation of Novikov. A war between two nations that both espoused democratic ideals would end up devastating both.

Still, Westley shook his head at the letter he still held in his right hand. It was a missive from Haffner ordering him to step up patrols of Pavanne's border with Oceanian Sarnia. When he read the letter, Haffner's disappointment – nay, anger – over Pavanne's slow response was eminently clear in its language.

He called Major General Tony Knox on a secure channel.

"General, this is Governor Westley."

"Yes, governor?"

Westley drew in his breath and exhaled slowly.

"I'm going to have to direct you to send a brigade to the border with Oceanian Sarnia," Westley said. "Clearly Woodstock believes we're dragging our feet."

"We didn't get formal authorisation to mobilise on the border until just now," Knox said.

"I know," Westley said. "But Haffner has a bug up his arse. He wants those creeps rounded up yesterday."

"And Oceania is quick to pin the blame on Sarzonia."

"No wonder Haffner's shitting a brick."

"Well, that and the Democratic Socialists are demanding that Oceania withdraw from SABAR."

"They do that, who the hell knows what's going to happen?"

"They could find themselves escalating the situation into a war."

"Which I'm sure Haffner would love right now."

"So what do we do? Unilaterally revoke SABAR?"

"That's up to you and Haffner to sort," Knox said. "I'm not the one elected to represent anyone." Knox turned to leave, but Westley said, "wait." He turned back around and looked at the general.

"Perhaps we should broach the subject with Georgetown to re-negotiate SABAR."

"Not us," Knox said. "That's Woodstock's responsibility."

*****

Six hours later, on the Sarnian/Pavanne border

Damnit. I hate this fucking job.

Corporal Jared Clark grimaced as he marched slowly on the Pavannian side of the border with Oceanian Sarnia. Looking for insurgents was not the job he envisioned after training with the Blue Cobras. He always thought he'd infiltrate an enemy compound and degrade a would-be enemy's ability to fight.

Not this. Not looking for insurgents who were up to no good. He sighed and absent-mindedly felt his Quinn and Collins S-120 submachine gun (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9632235#post9632235) on his right shoulder. He switched his S-40 Boar .40 calibre pistol (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9791796#post9791796) from his right, dominant hand to his left, so he could give the right hand a break from brandishing that weapon.

Taking great care to make as little noise as possible and to remain hidden, Clark continued his patrol. He allowed himself a brief moment to check his watch, taking care to keep his pistol from being in a firing position at himself before checking.

2155 hours. Just five more minutes and I can go back to base, he thought. He'd still have to wait until Private First Class Gillian Jefferson could come relieve him, but he began the slow walk to the rendezvous point.

That is, until he heard a suspicious rustle in the woods.

He quickly switched the pistol from his left hand to his right and ducked down. Even though he wore night vision goggles, he squinted, realising it could be anything making the noise. He then saw the unmistakable silhouette of a human foot. He pointed his pistol in the direction of the foot and walked up, slowly.

He then saw a man set a package down and reach inside. Silently, Clark took the safety off his weapon and trained it on the man. Clark was no dummy. He knew they were dangerously close to a part of the jungle that could serve as a passageway between Pavanne and Sarnia.

He continued his slow stalking approach of the man, then saw Jefferson approaching. At least he hoped it was Jefferson. Or did he?

She seemed to be walking with similar caution. She saw another man slowly approach the man working with the package. She drew her S-120 and set a nighttime visor on the weapon.

Working with the discipline of two coordinated actors even though nary a word or a glance passed between them, Clark and Jefferson both found cover. Clark then put his special operations training to good use by trying out his ventriloquist skills.

"Come out with your hands up!" he yelled. The two shadowy figures looked – away from either Clark or Jefferson. He then cocked his gun and walked silently up to them, as did Jefferson.

"I wouldn't try anything if I were you," Jefferson said. "You're under arrest."

The larger of the two men took a swing at Jefferson and missed. The smaller man opened fire. Thankfully, she was wearing a spectra vest under her uniform shirt, which meant she would recover when she came to. Clark fired his pistol at both men. Unfortunately for the men, they weren't wearing any such equipment and they both staggered from the shots.

Clark then wielded his submachine gun and whacked both men upside the head. He fingered his communications device and pressed a button. Within a minute, a squad of military police came onto the scene and took the two men into custody. A bomb squad then took the package and detonated its contents after finding out it was a bomb.

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

Two hours later

"General Knox!"

"What is it Colonel?!"

Colonel Tara Jordan walked up with a sombre look on her face, but Knox could see her eyes dancing with otherwise well-masked delight.

"Seems we've made a couple of arrests and foiled a plot to create another explosion on the Oceanian Sarnia border."

Knox smiled slightly before resuming his otherwise dour demeanor.

"So what do we do now?"

"I've got 'em on a military police transport en route to Oceanian Sarnia now. They're in the process of being extradited as we speak.

"Good."

Knox and Jordan both knew it was a small, likely inconsequential victory. But they also hoped it was at least a step in the right direction.

The Citadel
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

Reginald Laird frowned as he raised the volume on the television set in his office. On the screen, smoke filled the screen and people were captured live, walking about with blood and soot upon their face. In the distance, an outdoors café appeared devastated; the plate glass facade lay in pieces and the parasols, while still upright, were peppered with noticeable holes.

Across the world, such scenes were not unfamiliar. Daily, it seemed, Laird watched somebody blowing something up in the world. The problem had just visited the United Kingdom—Prime Minister Ingrahm was in fact now in a meeting with the new monarch. Laird, Ingrahm's principal private secretary, frowned because this scene was not somewhere else in the world, it was in the United Kingdom. He frowned not because it was in Sarnia. But because it was in a part of the United Kingdom previously imagined as safe and stable. The Indian Islands were now apparently anything but.

The CBC was broadcasting video of the aftermath of an explosion outside the home country's largest stock exchange. In reality, it was a minor blast. Only three people had been killed. But politics were never about reality. Rather, they were always about the perception of reality. And two terrorist strikes in two days worried Laird. While the general election was on a de facto freeze, Laird worried that the images were solidifying in the public's mind. That the Tories would be seen as weak on national security, once their strong suit. That the Tories could lose the election.

Laird had authorised his communications staff to announce the Sarzonian capture of alleged terrorists in Pavanne. But, the bombing in Liberation had trumped that coverage. A private letter of thanks had been sent to Haffner from Ingrahm—it had remained private because Laird feared the political fallout that would come once the campaigning resumed.

And the overnight tracking polls seemed to confirm those fears for Laird. While the CBC reported about the disruption to the markets—the major Oceanian exchanges were down by a few percentage points for the second day in a row—they had not yet received or chosen to broadcast the polling data. Support for the Conservatives had cratered. Support for the Democratic Socialists had risen considerably. And while Laird was ready to attribute that to sympathy votes—the election was two weeks away. If the sympathy held the Conservatives would be wiped out at the polls.

Asbury Palace
Georgetown, United Kingdom

Willem smiled at Ingrahm. "You want me to suspend the elections?" the new monarch asked.

Ingrahm nodded. "It is only fair, Your Majesty, that we respect and honour the lives of the late King George and Marquess. We cannot do that in the partisan atmosphere that will quickly emerge if the elections remain to be held in two weeks' time."

The elder man shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He had not yet grown accustomed to the notion of being king. "This has nothing to do with your poll numbers?" Despite the awkwardness with which he sat, Willem remained a businessman at the core. "You are down by at least fifteen, if you shall allow me to be generous. If we hold these elections in two weeks, Rodney, you will lose. You are going to lose support, that much is clear. But if you wait, you can recover some of this ground and hope that the leaderless DSP crumbles before you. At the outside, that it splits. And then you retain a plurality and head the next coalition government."

Now the Prime Minister smiled. "I can only reiterate that the people of the United Kingdom need to respect and honour your late relation and my former colleague in Parliament."

"I understand," Willem replied. At least Ingrahm was being honest, Willem thought. At least as honest as a politician would ever be in front of royalty. "Would two months suffice? I expect the state funerals to occur within a week's time—my staff is already hard at work preparing the details. And then perhaps a week of mourning and general non-campaigning gives your opponents one and one half months to settle their affairs and your party to reverse its fortunes."

"I imagine, Your Majesty, that two months shall certainly suffice for the purpose of honouring King George and Lord Salisbury."

"Now what is this I hear of the Sarzonians handing over some Marerians?"

"It is not yet wholly understood, Your Majesty," Ingrahm replied, taken aback that Willem had read what was developing into but a minor news story with the reports of a bombing in Liberation. "Currently, Governor Ashford is still in hospital recovering from a broken leg. General Keating is also in hospital, under supervision from an injury sustained to his head. From what I gather, the colony's premier is taking charge."

"A Conservative Party member if I recall," Willem added.

"Yes, sir, an upstanding and upcoming member of the party. I have already sent a private letter of appreciation to the Sarzonian acting president for his quick actions and commitment to regional security."

***

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Elections To Be Delayed Two Months
Georgetown—After meeting with the King, Prime Minister Ingrahm has announced that the elections scheduled for later this month shall be postponed two months "to allow a proper period of mourning and reflection for the tragic loss suffered by all Oceanians, of all political parties."

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Bodies of King George and Lord Salisbury Arrive in Georgetown
Georgetown—An RAF transport, escorted by an assortment of modern and vintage RAF fighters, has returned the bodies of the late King George, Marquess of Salisbury, and Emily Deveraux. The flight arrived at Glenleigh, just outside Georgetown; the king's coffin was taken by horse-drawn carriage to Asbury Palace where it shall lie in state. The Marquess of Salisbury will lie in state at Parliament House.

Even though Haffner technically was still acting president, he had already begun to dial down his 20-hour days to a more typical day for his "day job." It still meant he was in the office early and didn't leave until late, but at least he now saw Gloria and had some time with her.

He took a look at a letter addressed to him by Ingrahm. His brow furrowed when he saw the name. He opened it and read the contents. It was a quick congratulations on the capture of alleged terrorists in Pavanne. He allowed the right side of his mouth to curl up slightly in subtle acknowledgment that Pavannian ad Sarzonian counter-terrorism efforts were slowly beginning to bear fruit.

He then turned on the television. After the usual droning about Tyler's latest administration picks and breathless discussion of the first Inaugural Ball and presidential inauguration in Sarzonian history, the camera cut to a striking brunette.

She looked squarely into the camera with a purposeful countenance.

"This report just in. The United Kingdom has announced its intention to delay its elections by two weeks in light of the recent terrorist attacks in Oceanian Sarnia. Prime Minister Ingrahm said the move "allow a proper period of mourning and reflection for the tragic loss suffered by all Oceanians, of all political parties."

"Political analysts in Woodstock are split over the announcement. Some are saying the move is merely an effort to allow Conservatives to blunt momentum being gained by the opposition Democratic Socialists.

"The Gray House and External Affairs have not commented as yet."

Almost as if on cue, Haffner's telephone rang. Dreading who it could be, Haffner picked up.

"Grant Haffner."

"Grant, this is Jay."

"Mr. President," Haffner said with a mixture of humour and relief. He was glad someone else was going to take the heat, at least as of 15 December.

"Not yet," Tyler said.

"I know, Jay. What's on your mind?"

"Are you going to release a statement on the United Kingdom's delay of their elections?

"No, why?"

"Good. Don't. I believe we'd say a lot more by remaining silent on the matter."

"What if we're asked?"

"Well," Tyler began. Haffner could hear the hesitation develop in the young politician to be. However, his next thought was far more positive.

"If we're asked what we think, say that Oceanian elections are a internal matter and we shall not comment on their internal matters."

Haffner smiled. The wheels of pragmatism were already beginning to turn in Sarzonia. He liked it.

"Sounds good."

Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

A grey pall blanketed the Oceanian capital with only the city parks providing a visual pop to the setting; the deciduous trees had turned to shades of crimson, vermillion, and amber. Despite nature's attempt, however, the city embodied the dreary, damp and raw weather. Another low-pressure system was set to arrive in the evening and bring about further rain showers.

Amidst the pervasive melancholy, which on most days would keep most of the city's population indoors at either home or work, under umbrellas and awnings, people were beginning to cluster throughout the capital. Most were doing so along the broad King Street, which connected Parliament House to Asbury Palace.

While the people gathered Rodney Ingrahm watched a single RAF transport manoeuvred on the tarmac at Glenleigh Airport, just outside central Georgetown. He stood alone, his body wrapped in a warm, woolen overcoat to fend off the air that threatened to bite every man and woman to the bone. Inside the belly of the plane lie the coffins of King George, Lord Salisbury, and Emily Deveraux, along with those of several others who would receive national tribute. Somewhere behind him, Ingrahm could faintly hear the whinnies of the finely combed white horses waiting to draw the royal carriage to Asbury. Beyond that, the finely dressed members of the various branches of the armed services were marshaling for the ceremonial procession that would lead to Parliament House.

The initial, and indeed traditional, plans for state funerals provided for the monarch's lying-in-state to take place at Parliament House. Traditionally, so would that of a deceased prime minister and anyone else so deemed deserving. Originally, the Palace and the Prime Minister's Office had decided to hold the lying-in-state at two different locations. However, as the transport arrived with the bodies of the deceased, the plans were amended.

Slowly, the transport came to a stop and the rear cargo gate opened, revealing the row of coffins, that of King George with the Royal Standard and those of Lord Salisbury and Deveraux with the flag of the United Kingdom. Ingrahm watched as an honour guard rendered honours as bearers removed the coffins from the transport, each coffin moving to a separate Royal Artillery gun carriage. Then, several individuals exited from the aircraft and began to walk over to Ingrahm and the others waiting for the procession to start.

Turning around, Ingrahm found the new monarch, William III, standing beside his own immediate family, his back straight and face dry—unlike those of his wife, son, and daughter—watching the bearers place his nephew's coffin gently on the gun carriage.

"Excuse me, Mr. Prime Minister," came a hoarse and cracking voice from behind Ingrahm. The Prime Minister turned to find four individuals standing before him. Ingrahm recognised all of them.

"Would you mind, sir, if we accompanied the procession?"

"Absolutely not, Mr. Robertson," Ingrahm responded to the man, whose face was drawn in quiet anguish, from a pain apparent to all that was not just emotional but physical. The man had managed to make his way from the aircraft on a set of crutches, with one leg and one arm carefully wrapped in white plaster casts. Each cast delicately hidden—though obviously so—beneath a well-tailored suit.

Howard Robertson attempted a smile, his face clean but still black and blue, a giant scar running across his cheek from when he had been ejected out of Salisbury's SUV and onto the Sarnian pavement. But the scar perhaps most noticeable about a man previously bald was that upon his scalp—what was to be a lifelong reminder of the emergency surgery need to remove a section of his scalp to relieve pressure upon his brain tissue.

Standing beside Robertson, Sir Iain Bashir offered a wincing smile. Dressed sharply, like Robertson, he wore a suit that hid the gauze covering a wound on his chest from when a piece of debris punctured his chest. Likewise, Governor Ashford and General Keating offered polite smiles and comments of thanks and gratitude despite what Ingrahm could read as visible pain, mitigated only slightly from what the Prime Minister could imagine to be copious doses of painkillers.

Ingrahm led the four over to William, who allowed some sense of sadness to fall across his face as he greeted each man and offered his condolences for their loss and their injuries. While they each met their new sovereign, Ingrahm walked over to his cabinet ministers who would be driven separately to Parliament House after the procession began shortly.

"Are they coming with us?" Astley enquired, his tone not of the typical derision for those of the opposition party, but of sympathy for a small number of survivors visibly strained by the experience.

"No, they wish to accompany myself and the Royal Family."

"I see." Astley fell silent, having nothing much else to say.

After some moments of silence between the two friends, a sergeant walked over to Ingrahm. "Sir, we are ready."

"Very well."

It began promptly at 14:30 when the Royal Artillery fired their guns for the first time from Battery Park, a large royal park adjacent to King Street. The route was inordinately long at ten kilometres, but it was a singularly unique procession for the tragedy it represented. As it started at Glenleigh, Ingrahm walked beside William who walked beside Robertson, Bashir, Ashford, and Keating.

Ingrahm had first met Salisbury years earlier, at the annual Parliamentary Dinner in 1992. Every year, the Sovereign, then King John, hosted a dinner at Asbury Palace for the whole of the House of Commons and House of Lords. In 1992, Salisbury had yet to be ennobled and sat in the Commons as Alistair Tetley, MP for Salisbury. Ingrahm had just been elected as the MP for Islington and was introduced as such to Tetley. Ingrahm remembered the event for Tetley had congratulated him for being one of the few bright spots in the Conservative campaign that year. 1992 had witnessed the fall of the Tories and Prime Minister Violet Clarke; she would resign her leadership position to be replaced by Sir David Hughes later that month.

The procession was solemn, as a military band played appropriate funeral songs and the guns fired at respectful interviews in Battery Park. Ahead of them, the hooves of the horses clopped against the pavement and the women relatives of King George and Deveraux wept. Ingrahm had noted, along with the media, that there was no family left for the late Lord Salisbury. Born an only child to parents who were themselves only children, his parents had died early while Tetley was in his twenties; and he had never married. One of the worst kept secrets in Georgetown centred on the fact that Salisbury and Deveraux had grown quite close. One of the worst kept rumours centred on reports the two were secretly engaged. The only people in the procession specifically for Salisbury appeared to be his personal aide, Geoffrey Blaine, and now Howard Robertson, his chief of staff.

As the procession turned onto a cross street that would bring them onto King Street in two miles, Ingrahm looked ahead at the carriage carrying Salisbury's coffin. Tradition held that prime ministers received state funerals. Tradition held that families and loved ones followed. But the man who many had once considered the most powerful in Oceania had now but two men in trail, one limping along proudly on crutches. Ingrahm swallowed hard.

Howard Robertson had first met Alistair Tetley in Salisbury at the invitation of Tobias Heath. Heath had once served as Tetley's chief of staff, the two had been close friends for many years, and so when Tetley became prime minister in 1997, Heath had brought to Tetley's estate in Salisbury several people to head up an expanded staff. Tetley interviewed Robertson for nearly an hour, quizzing him on the ins and outs of the House of Commons and the House of Lords. Tetley sought answers on who could be relied upon within the Democratic Socialist Party. He wanted to know what could be done to better assure his legislative agenda passed with few incidents or interruptions. Robertson spoke his mind. And ranged a bit too far, leaving him wide open to be shredded by an MP that was smarter than Robertson had imagined at first glance. The man spoke barely above a whisper, Robertson remembered thinking. He was obviously daft. And yet Robertson left crestfallen. He returned to Georgetown only to find an envelope in his post, an invitation to serve as Tetley's Deputy Chief of Staff.

He served in that capacity until the Accession Crisis. Immediately prior to the crisis Heath was away from Georgetown in Oceanian Sarnia, attending a secret meeting with a Sarzonian official to find some way of repairing bilateral relations. After King Michael's death, the new monarch, Andrew, replaced Tetley with the Tory leader, Daniel Collins, without elections and without popular consent. Heath had been informed and was flying back to Georgetown when his plane disappeared over the Pacific, never to be seen again. The only two people who knew what had truly happened, King Andrew and Prime Minister Collins, themselves disappeared over the Pacific during a flight to a foreign country. None of it was ever spoken again by Tetley, who would only draw his lips together tightly and offer a cold glare to those who brought the matter up. But Robertson now wondered if the only person who really knew what had happened to King Andrew and Prime Minister Collins had taken that secret to his grave.

The procession finally turned onto King Street. It was a broad avenue designed during the city's founding for triumphal processions of victory over the neighbouring Dutch and French colonies. Since the country's independence in 1912, however, it had come to take a role in the processions preceding the state funeral. Alongside the tall poles from which hung the flag of the United Kingdom were the Celarian Oaks whose leaves ranged from golden yellow to deep red. Beneath the grey skies, the guns at Battery Park echoed across the processional route while the carriages moved ever closer to Parliament House.

As they ever neared the final destination for the procession, Sir Iain Bashir walked in silence. He had met Alistair Tetley first in 1998. At the time, the new prime minister was touring the Foreign Ministry and stopped by a room occupied by young staffers. Tetley took several minutes to walk about the room and introduce himself to the various men and women who would someday become the future of the party. The second introduction, however, was far more important towards shaping Bashir's own political future. At the insistence of then Foreign Minister Ivan Valovich, the Democratic Socialists ran Bashir in the safe constituency of Hamptonshire North. Tetley traveled to Valovich's neighbouring constituency to campaign, and at a fundraising dinner, the Foreign Minister introduced Tetley to Bashir with praise and plaudits. It would not be long after those kind words that Bashir would make his way into the front bench in 2005 where he had served ever since.

At long last the procession arrived at Parliament House, passing millions of Oceanians along the entirety of the route. Ingrahm watched solemnly as the bearers lifted the coffins of the three individuals off their respective carriages and into the building. Along with the others, Ingrahm followed and watched the coffins be placed upon individual catafalques, with King George's placed in the centre and raised above those for Lord Salisbury and Deveraux.

The Archbishop of Georgetown then took several steps forward and offered a brief few prayers. Ingrahm noted that the Archbishop did so despite his years of public differences with Salisbury, a professed atheist. William stood in quiet attendance, along with ambassadors and guests and a large gathering of the public fortunate enough to make their way into the building.

When the Archbishop finished, twelve guards in ceremonial dress with appropriate arms arrived in the chamber. Four guards took position at the corners of the King's coffin before the others took similar positions for Lord Salisbury and Devereaux. The guards would remain for three days, as Parliament House would be open to the public for the lying-in-state before the funeral service.

Haffner stared out at the mass of faces, cameras, digital recorders and notebooks in the Gray House press centre. With just over a month before Tyler's inauguration as the country's second president, Haffner still had to perform certain duties as acting president. One of them was addressing the press pool.

I'll be glad when I don't have to face this bunch again, Haffner thought.

"Members of the press corps, Mr. Tyler is currently tending to other business, so he has asked that I announce the additional members of his cabinet," Haffner began. "We are excited to name George Porter as the new vice president for business and commerce. He brings 12 years of experience with the financial side of Pomentane Ballistics." He heard a couple of mumbles from more senior members of the press corps still smarting over Pacitalia's removal of copyrights from that company and its role in the decimation of Paci-Sarzonian relations. He put both hands up in a "stop" motion and scrunched his eyebrows as if to say "knock it off!"

"Our new vice president for employment services is a woman who has brought 21 years of experience to human resource management, including a stint in the Office of Personnel Management in the former United States of America, Ms. Rose Schoenfeld.

"In addition, we are pleased to announce that Carter Marshall, the son of former Vice President for Health and Athletics Jimmy Marshall and the nephew of former national team coach Bryan Marshall is the new vice president. We have retained Tracy Obenga as Vice President for Science and Technology, Bill Lighton as Vice President for the Home Guard, Kathy Bunhall as Vice President for Naval Operations, Antonius Santius as Vice President for Army Services and Operations, Greg Roders as Vice President for Air Force Operations, Tad McGuire as Vice President for Space Force Operations, Henrietta Goudine as Vice President for Education and Jonathan Cochrane as Attorney General.

"Many of the faces are familiar to Sarzonians. These are people who have and will continue to serve Sarzonia to the best of their ability under President Tyler and Lieutenant President Lewis. We have the utmost confidence in their abilities to do their jobs.

"I'll take questions. You in the white blouse with gold trim?" A trim woman standing approximately 5-foot-10 stood up, wielding her digitial recorder almost as if it were a weapon.

"Lindsay Stallworth, Portland Press Herald," she said. "You had the Sarzonian flag flying at half mast throughout Woodstock today. "Is that in reaction to the state funeral in Oceania?"

"It is," Haffner said. "We wish to express our nation's condolences to the United Kingdom in their hour of grief."

"Mr. President," a male reporter blurted out.

"Nick, you know the protocol," Haffner said, startling most of the press pool by referring to the reporter by name. Nick Collins of WWST Channel 8 in Woodstock didn't care. He continued on with his question.

"Mr. President, the Gray House and External Affairs have yet to comment on the United Kingdom's postponement of their elections. Do you think that constitutes hypocrisy on the United Kingdom's part after they referred to President Sarzo as a de jure dictator?"

Haffner glared at Collins. He knew he couldn't simply brush off the question and leave it unanswered, but he felt the pressure of having to get himself into further hot water assault him like flames in a bonfire protesting the Pacitalian government during the days of Constantino Sorantanali's prime ministerial regime. He thought for a moment and weighed in with an answer that was sure to irritate the anti-Oceanian hawks beginning to gain strength in Parliament.

"Oceania's electoral process is an internal matter facing the United Kingdom," Haffner said. "It would be inappropriate for the Incorporated Sarzonian Government to comment on Oceania's internal matters.

"Terrorism is a very real threat to both Oceanian Sarnia and to the United Kingdom as a whole. It is a threat to the security of the Pavannian-Oceanian Sarnia border. It is a threat to the security of the Incorporated States itself.

"Next question."

Collins still stood up and blurted out his response.

"You still didn't answer the question about whether you believe Oceania is being hypocritical for postponing their election after calling Sarzonia a de jure dictatorship.

"I believe that question is best left unanswered," Haffner said. "We'll let the record speak for itself.

"That's all the time I have. Mr. Collins, I'd like to see you in private. The rest of you may leave."

Two burly security men, each standing 6-foot-1 and weighing 200 pounds of mostly muscle walked over to Collins with their right hands poised over their service weapons. They were there to ensure that Collins didn't try anything funny with Haffner. They escorted Collins to a room where Haffner stood with his arms folded.

Haffner didn't wait for the two men to shut the door.

"Nick, you know as well as anyone what the protocol is. If you don't start following it, I'll have your press credential revoked."

"You have no authority to do that," Collins said. "Besides, my questions cut to the very heart of the lack of relationship between Oceania and Sarzonia. It's time the people get some answers."

"I've answered all the questions I'm going to answer about Oceania," Haffner said. "Until such point as it behooves me or President-elect Tyler, that's all you're going to get. Now, we can do this one of two ways. Either you start cooperating and ask questions when you're called upon or I will have your press credential revoked. Got it?"

"Again, Mr. Haffner, you don't have the authority to do so."

"The president or his designee does have that right," Haffner said. "And until 15th December, I'm the president. So yes, I do have the authority to revoke your press credential. It won't keep your station out of press row, but they'll have to send another reporter.

"The choice is yours," Haffner said before waving his right hand in the direction of the door.

"I haven't finished," Collins shouted.

"Oh yes you have," Haffner said as the two men dragged Collins literally kicking and screaming out of the room. Shaking his head, Haffner picked up the phone and called WWST.

"May I speak to the news director please?"

A female voice replied, "this is she."

"I'm revoking Nick Collins's press credential. Please send a different reporter."

The limousine's sleek, black figure slowed as it came to a halt outside 15 Hancock Drive, the home of the Offices of the Directorate. A light pattering of rain cascaded across the limousine's figure and streaked down its tinted windows. The precipitation lingered over Laurana, creating a misty aura underneath the streetlights as darkness overtook the city following an orange and red sunset. The Cravanian 'Iron Lady' stepped out of the rear of the limousine, her heeled-shoes clicking against the wet brick sidewalk up to Lenning Block's west entrance, an aide holding an umbrella over the lady's head. Two members of the Royal Guards Fifth Security Battalion stood watch on the viewing platform over the entrance, their uniforms soggy and wet under the constant rain.

"Evenin', m'lady," the elder Sergeant at Arms who serviced the entrance said as he tipped his hat and opened the door for Director Annadale. "How's business?"
"Not so good, Jim," Annadale replied in a simple, yet somber tone. "Not so good."

As Annadale entered the Block, her aide closed the umbrella unceremoniously and shook it dry, leaving it in an umbrella bin near the entrance. The two walked down the desolate hallway as Annadale's heels clicked louder yet on the tiled marble floor. The Director took a turn into a stairwell, rising to the third floor where the Directorate's central offices resided.

"Evening, ma'am," Annadale's secretary said in a soft voice as the Lady Director hung up her coat in the outer office. "I've just received a message from the Foreign Office; your plane for Georgetown leaves tomorrow morning at eight thirty."

"Right," Annadale said. "Thanks, Jenny. Keep my calls, I have some work to be done."
"Right, ma'am."

Annadale closed the door to her inner office as she entered, undoing her braid and resting her bag on a green velvet-laiden chair which sat before the large, Cravanian Maple wood desk. Drawing the wooden blinds open, Annadale surveyed the surrounding landscape outside of her window. The Royal Fountains sat directly centered in her window's view behind her desk. Lights of blue, green, and white washed through the geysers of water like an aurora while the normal white lights of the square illuminated the mist in the dreary night. On many nights there would be numerous citizens visiting the square, but on a night like this there were no footsteps on the pavement as raindrops washed the brick work in puddles of water at low spots.

Annadale stood in reflection, watching the tranquil scene of the inner city at peace as she collected her thoughts over the recent passing of her acquaintance and, to some extent, personal friend. The United Kingdom and Eastern Havenic Kingdom had shared close ties since the 'Conflict in Strobovia,' and as such Annadale had become quite well acquainted with numerous members of the Oceanian government at the time during her own Government's infancy. She had also grown fairly familiar with former Minister Deveraux, and on at least one occasion during her foreign visits had met with His Majesty, the King.

Immediately following the crash, the Foreign Office had made a statement of condolences for the Oceanian people along with the Royal Court's Office for Relations. Annadale, however, felt the need to attend the funerals in person. And, because the monarch was among the dead, the Queen Herself would be among the attendees. Annadale knew what this would entail, and dreaded every second of the coming ordeal: much, much tighter security than usual would persist to annoy her as it usually did. She had no doubt a few teams of CSAS would be deployed to coordinate with Oceanian security forces, in addition to the usual Guards and agents, which meant her every move would be recorded and scrutinized; probably also plotted and planned like a chess piece. She was by no means a pawn, but the priority of her safety and the safety of Her Majesty still restricted her freedom greatly.

The First Director sighed to herself, and finally sat herself down at her desk to finish up work left over from earlier, before her visit to Parliament at the Palace of Lancaster. She had to do something at least semi-productive to keep her mind occupied and avoid thinking about the next day.

**********

http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c381/crave22/Cravan/CBNlogocopyresize.png

Cravanian Broadcasting Network

http://i308.photobucket.com/albums/kk333/herebeawesomestuff/tymoshenko_road.png
First Director Annadale arrives directly on the tarmac at King Robert International.

CBN-3


Queen, Lady Annadale Leave for Georgetown


Following a declaration of a week of mourning from the Chambers at Lancaster, Lady Annadale and Her Majesty, The Queen Alice departed Laurana this morning for Georgetown to pay their respects for His Majesty, King George of the United Kingdom of Oceania, former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Lord Marquess of Salisbury Alistair Tetley, and former Foreign Minister Emily Deveraux. Her Majesty, The Queen's aircraft, Royal Air Service One, left approximately twenty minutes after Lady Annadale's personal jet, the Concorde. Both are scheduled to refuel at the Cravanian Virgin Islands and the island of Saint Anthony before completing the final leg of the journey to the United Kingdom. Escort is to be provided to each stop, until the final leg of the journey where escort F.6 Adeline fighters will return to base at RAS Saint Anthony approximately halfway through the leg of the journey.

Neither the First Director's Office nor the Royal Court's Office for Relations have released any further statements on the activities of Her Majesty and the First Director during their stay in Georgetown, although it is expected that numerous diplomatic and social visits are planned for both.

Both aircraft are projected to arrive in Georgetown at approximately 21:00, Laurana Time.

For further coverage on this and other stories, and for coverage on the recent and untimely deaths of the Lord Marquess, His Majesty the King, and former Minister Deveraux, stay tuned to CBN or check out w-w-w dot cbn dot com. Next up after the break: weather reports for the Home Islands and Aurde. This is Melissa Baxter, and you're watching CBN-3.

Democratic Socialist Party Headquarters
Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

Located on historic Cook Street, the headquarters building of the DSP attracted the attention of many for its modern-style reflective blue windows and stark white concrete contrasted sharply with the weathered red and yellow bricks of the late Georgian-period architecture. Often, despite the visual appeal—or lack thereof depending upon whom was asked—the building drew little other notice. Recent events, however, had forced that to change.

The day after the procession, the clouds and grey skies had disappeared, replaced with a largely clear, azure sky and temperatures nearing 5° Celsius—near average for Georgetown in November. Oaks, birches, alders and maples lined the various streets with two silver birches standing outside the DSP headquarters, their once green leaves now amber. What was normally a quiet street was now crowded and noisy with print and broadcast journalists camped along the brick-laid sidewalk.

For much of the day had, the press had been taking snapshots of various MPs and party officials walking into the building. Without exception, each of the photographed individuals politely refused to answer questions about the future of the Democratic Socialist Party sans Lord Salisbury. The politicians and party officials were decidedly not so shy on the inside.

Ashley Thomason had arrived near half-past nine, her daily Starbucks latte in hand. Now, at ten, the paper cup sat three-quarters empty on a mahogany table. It sat among scattered pieces of wax paper and other paper cups from those sitting around her. "I do not understand the hesitation, Alan," said with an openly contemptuous smile across her face. "Ingrahm has given us two months, ostensibly, for mourning; practically, to rebuild the Tory brand; but truly, it is for us to recover. And if we are to defeat Ingrahm in two months' time we need to move forward on electing a new party leader. And we need to move quickly."

"My concern," Spencer replied, crossing his fingers at the table's edge, "is that we appear too politically motivated." He then leaned back into his seat. "I agree, we need new leadership. And we need an open and transparent election process," he shot a quick side glance over at McKay at the head of the table, "that the public, or rather the party, is fully involved with."

"Those take weeks," McKay moaned, already tired of listening to Spencer. "We have eight weeks. We need to fashion and then hone a new platform. And then we have to get elected on it. Do you want a dog and pony show, too?"

The room chuckled.

"If we most too hastily, Stephen, that may be just what the country elects us to run," Spencer quipped.

McKay glowered at Spencer for a brief moment. His eyes were diverted from his fellow MP only when the frosted glass door swung open. Standing in the hall, a tall and narrow figure with black hair and brown eyes in a finely tailored suit, and a man similarly well-dressed but supported with crutches and several plainly visible scars.

"Welcome, Iain, Howard," Thomason offered, inviting the Howard Robertson and Sir Iain Bashir into the room. "We were just discussing what to do about the elections."

"What is there to discuss," Robertson answered quite quickly. "We win."

Another round of chuckles and polite laughter erupted amongst those gathered. The two newcomers took seats and exchanged pleasantries with those gathered thus far. "Solid idea, Howard," Thomason then replied. "We were discussing how to hold a leadership contest; it is a tricky situation given the current political climate and the affairs of state before us all."

"And accordingly, we need to move very carefully so as not to upset the electorate," Spencer chimed in. "If we move too quickly, the country will see us as being purely opportunistic."

"I say shrewd. Hell, not even shrewd, practical," McKay responded. "Damnit, Alan, we need a leader."

"Think of it practically," Thomason added, continuing McKay's argument. "Ingrahm will be able to move about the country during the next two weeks while we move about this room, continuing to snipe at each other instead of Ingrahm."

From the far side of the room, at the opposite end of the table as McKay, an elderly gentleman, bald but for some fine white hairs protruding from his ears, spoke up. "As chairman, I would need each of you to present me with," he paused and looked down at a piece of paper, "ten percent of the parliamentary party to become eligible for a leadership contest. That is, each of you would need to present me with 26 signatures. I have been watching you go back and forth for some time now, all of you. And I have seen my fair share of leadership contests. Get the damned thing over with." My staff will have all the paperwork you need to fill out in an hour."

Having said nothing else but the requisite pleasantries, the chairman of the parliamentary party rose and quietly left the room. Those left behind, while not stunned, then each made an excuse to allow themselves to follow the man out—each going to their key supporters.

***

CBC Politics
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Democratic Socialists Announce Leadership Contest
Georgetown—Democratic Socialist Party parliamentary party chairman, Sir Nigel Wick, has announced that the DSP shall be holding a leadership contest with nominations open for four days. According to DSP rules, a nominee for the leadership position must be backed by ten percent of the current parliamentary party. With a current seat total of 260, any individual seeking to run needs the signatures of 26 MPs.

If there is but one nomination, that individual will become leader of the DSP. Two nominees require a decision by the party's membership. If Sir Wick receives nominations for more than two persons, the parliamentary party will hold a series of runoff votes to determine the final two nominees. At that point, those two nominees will be presented to the party's membership.

CBC Politics
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Who is Who in the Democratic Socialist Party
Georgetown—While DSP parliamentary party chair Sir Nigel Wick has made clear he will not announce who has submitted the paperwork and signatures necessary to run for the DSP leadership contest, the DSP ship has begun to spring some leaks with the names of former Home Secretary Ashley Thomason and former Chancellor and current Shadow Chancellor Stephen McKay at the top of the list. So, who are these two and the others who would seek to lead the Democratic Socialists into the upcoming general election?

The Frontbenchers, a.k.a the Frontrunners

Ashley Thomason, Former Home Secretary
A formidable DSP stalwart, Thomason has served in Parliament since 1993 when she won a by-election to take her recently deceased husband's constituency of Markham. She has served in cabinet-level positions under two prime ministers, Reginald Baker and Lord Salisbury, in two significant capacities, first as Rural Affairs Secretary where she poached numerous Tories on critical votes and from 2002 until 2007 as Home Secretary—previously known as Interior Minister. In the latter position she crafted and helped push through Parliament legislation that removed most guns from the streets and replaced them with uniformed officers resulting in a decrease in crime from when she took to the portfolio. Her career suffered, however, when she challenged Lord Salisbury for leadership of the DSP in 2007, losing both the contest and all her cabinet-level positions and responsibilities.

A potential weakness for a Thomason campaign is her connection to rural Celaria. The DSP has a strong base in industrial and urban areas, long a strength for a party historically built on labour support. Her rural connections, while certainly strong, put her outside the urban party network that is far stronger. Additionally, her more pastoral and traditional upbringing has, many claim, instilled a far more conservative outlook on social values. Thomason, for example, has publicly opposed gay rights and, to a slightly less degree, abortion rights. She has also opposed legislation to commit government funding to stem-cell research. These three issues in particular are known to be seen as critical tests to those seeking party leadership this year.

Stephen McKay, Current Shadow Chancellor
Well-liked by the press for his outspokenness, always guaranteed to generate a story, McKay has long served the DSP in financial matters and, alongside Lord Salisbury, is often given credit for pushing the party towards its late economically liberal agenda. Prior to working as chancellor, McKay worked in several junior minister-level posts at Treasury and is reportedly better known than most MPs—and even some prior chancellors—to the Treasury's civil service staff. Under his financial leadership, the economy of the United Kingdom grew tremendously, leading the UK to become one of the world's leading economic powers. McKay has said on occasion that the surpluses enjoyed by the government should therefore be spent re-investing in social capital and supporting the lower and working classes of the United Kingdom.

McKay, however, also has weaknesses. While the press loves his outspokenness, Salisbury and the world were not always so keen. One of his more notable lapses was at the Seaburg Conference during the Sarzonian economic crisis, where comments made to the press led to the collapse of a proposed assistance package and precipitated further runs on Sarzonian banks and currency. None of which was helpful to a Salisbury government that had attended the conference in an attempt to shore up an economy that the Prime Minister had hoped to turn into a market for Oceanian goods and services. And with the UK taking on ever more roles internationally, the DSP must be certain that its leader and the person they hope to become prime minister, can control his language to build and not destroy relationships with foreign powers.

Sir Iain Bashir, Current Shadow Colonial Secretary
One of the newer members of the DSP parliamentary party, Bashir came to Parliament only in the 2000 general election, representing a suburban district of Port Hamptonshire that has a strong Arab minority population. Indeed, Bashir is himself ethnically part Arab, a fact certainly understood in the promotion of the candidate in his constituency. Bashir was one of former Foreign Minister Ivan Valovich's two proteges, the other being the late Emily Deveraux—long thought to be Salisbury's preference to succeed him as party leader in the future. As a protege of Valovich, Bashir became well versed in crafting foreign policy. However, in 2005 Deveraux was promoted to Foreign Minister and Bashir instead sent to the less glamorous role of Colonial Minister, later Colonial Secretary. In this capacity, however, Bashir leveraged his family history to draw down a looming conflict with Khailfah al-Muslimeen. Several months later he, instead of Ms Deveraux, served as lead negotiator for the Treaty of Georgetown, which stabilised relations with that country.

While Bashir has long advocated increasing the role of local government in colonies and territories in his role as Colonial Secretary, Bashir is still the Shadow Colonial Secretary. His portfolio includes the responsibility of overseeing Sarnia. It is an enormous, if not written or stated, liability with which to lead the DSP into a general election. The DSP would need to ensure that the Conservatives would not seek to address the issue if they were to choose Bashir. And similarly, they would raise the risk of bringing up that very connection if they were to attempt to use Sarnia against the Tories.

The Backbenchers, a.k.a. the Second Tier Candidates

Alan Spencer, Former Transport Minister, Housing Minister, and International Trade Minister
Perhaps one of the least known of the best known DSP MPs, Spencer entered Parliament in the same year as the future Lord Salisbury, 1988. However, the two men would often cross paths with Spencer falling to the left of Salisbury's centre; and as history has shown, the centre prevailed in that internal debate within the Democratic Socialist Party. Salisbury never rewarded Spencer with high portfolio positions; Spencer only ever reached the level of Transport, then Housing minister and later International Trade minister, itself a junior minister position. In each of those positions, however, Spencer is widely seen as being successful and has slowly moved to the centre, supporting the free trade and economic liberalisation plans he once railed against. It is because of this slow shift in alignment and strong history on the backbenches that he counts numerous supporters among the DSP backbench that survived the party's trouncing in 2007. And initial ballots will not include the broader party, but rather, those surviving backbench MPs.

But then that is the problem. Who are these backbench MPs? Who is Alan Spencer? For his years in Parliament, he has only rarely glimpsed the spotlight regularly shown upon major cabinet secretaries. While elections are about the support of party platforms, in the era of television and internet stardom, parties have also become about the personality at the head of the party. And so again we ask, who is Alan Spencer? His survival in what many see as a marginal constituency has long been based on his timely shifts in positions. Spencer, in many ways, exemplifies the role of political chameleon, changing his suits and colours to fit the needs of the electorate in that election year. He initially opposed free trade, then supported it. He initially opposed Oceanian imperialism, and then supported it. One wonders if he shall oppose it if he wins the leadership contest. Who is Alan Spencer?


Paul Reynard, Current Shadow Transport Secretary
Originally from Aubreux, Reynard is the MP for Montlys-Fleury constituency and has been since 1995. In his youth, Reynard belonged to the Radical Party, typically strong in the French-Celarian regions. However, that party's commitment to pacifism in the mid and late 1990s caused his to switch party allegiance and so in 1997 he joined the newly appointed Prime Minister Tetley as a member of the DSP. As a reward for switching parties, Reynard was given early roles in the Culture Ministry, eventually becoming Arts and Culture Secretary. In 2007, after the electoral loss and the need to shuffle seats after demoting Thomason and her few supporters in junior ministry posts, Salisbury promoted Reynard to Shadow Transport Secretary. Reynard has long been an advocate of promoting civil and ethnic liberties, providing notable dissent against Lord Salisbury's plan to introduce Oceania as a nation and an overarching ethnicity for all citizens of the UK. As the UK becomes increasingly multiethnic, and faces increasing opposition to the idea of 'Oceania,' some DSP MPs feel that an individual more keen on devolution or the more radical step of federalism may be a valuable party leader. Reynard has, however, long stated his opposition to constitutional changes to create a federal state, instead proposing more devolved powers for the home countries and colonies.

While some in the DSP support Reynard for his stances on the future of the United Kingdom as a multinational state, many cite his lack of policy experience in the big portfolios, such as chancellor, home secretary, or foreign secretary. Doubtless, Reynard could assign policy heavyweights to those very proposals; however, then the argument could be continued that the party would remain as fractious as it is currently given the lack of a unifying figure at the top. Additionally, his opposition to the notion of an 'Oceania' could well harm him. That policy was, after all, perhaps the last major policy agenda of Lord Salisbury, a well-loved figure within the party. And turning away from the former party leader may be to radical for the DSP.

Ayna Tzaoli, Current Shadow Health Secretary
A former Housing Secretary and now Shadow Health Secretary, Tzaoli has a solid base in the segment of the DSP dedicated to improving, if not expanding the welfare state. Like few others, she has served under two ministries, that of Salisbury and his predecessor, Reginald Baker. She survived Baker's cabinet as a gesture by Salisbury to keep some of Baker's social liberal heavyweights to counter his own shift to the centre. In later years, however, Salisbury increasingly distanced himself from Tzaoli, who refused to sanction the budget cuts authorised by the then Prime Minister. She has pledged to reduce the level of spending on defence and foreign engagements in order to redistribute that money to education, healthcare, and public works projects.

Many in the DSP support Tzaoli for her lifelong commitment to the public's welfare; she worked as an obstetrician in the private sector before coming into Parliament in 1982. However, some criticise her for not moving to the centre along with not just the DSP, but many even within the party argue the broader electorate. The economic liberal wings of the party, while supportive of measures to reduce defence spending, argue that her plans to spend more money on healthcare and education cannot be adequately balanced out according to her detailed outlines. Additionally, her service in the government has been limited to areas such as healthcare and education, where she wants to expand early childhood education and offer better incentives to minorities and underprivileged youth to attend university. She has never held the major portfolios, nor even worked in the departments as a junior minister.


Howard Winchester, Former International Relations Minister
Winchester might be a welcome, if not familiar, sight for those watching the upcoming elections from abroad. As the late Emily Deveraux was the protege to Ivan Valovich, Howard Winchester was Deveraux's own protege, long groomed to eventually succeed her when she were to become party leader. Accordingly, while Deveraux often represented the UK on high-level talks and public appearances, the daily briefings, low-level meetings, advance work, and side talks at major summits, were always handled by Winchester. He perhaps represents the best foreign policy credentials; qualified, however, that he has long been executing policy not shaping it.

Winchester's detractors point out that among those on this list he has perhaps the least parliamentary experience. He won his constituency for the first time in 2005 and so has sat in Parliament for only three years. Additionally, while he served in policy research institutes prior to running for his seat, his foreign policy credentials amount to enacting the policy of Deveraux, not assisting in crafting new policy. Critics also add, similar to his lack of parliamentary experience, he has also never held a major portfolio position and lacks experience even leading a faction of the DSP parliamentary party.

obviously i'm a tad late, but i actually haven't been online in a really long time, so i hope this isn't a bother

The Oak Office (Prime Minister’s Office)
St. Myhre, Delesa

The Prime Minister’s office was dark, as it often was in the last few months. Lester Geddie never went home anymore; he stayed in his office or was being shuttled to nearby briefing rooms and the such, rarely seeing his family. Times were tough, even dismal in Delesa; the Confederacy seemed to be tightening the noose on Delesa, slowly choking the life from the Commonwealth. Even many of the top media agencies seemed to favor the presidency in the Confederacy. The polls were slipping, and a re-election for Geddie was slim to none. He fiddled with his gold wedding band standing close to the large window behind his desk. It was raining outside; a storm had come in from the bay, cleansing the streets of St. Myhre. There was a light knock at the door as the secretary carefully popped her head in.

“Sir? I have some bad news. It just came across the wire from our embassy in the Kingdom.”

Lester left out a noticeably loud sigh. The bags under his eyes were huge, his face seemed to have aged 10 years in the last week, his hair continued to retreat back into his skull. “What is it?”

“Well maybe you should just read it yourself.” He stepped in quickly and placed a folder on his desk right in front of the seat. Geddie continued to stand, as he looked down over the folder, using as little effort as possible to flip it open. A small newspaper clipping in the folder caught the breeze and fell to the ground; it was only one for several. The headlines seemed to jump off the page. Geddie’s reaction was quick and obvious, his facial emotion changed as he took a seat in his leather chair, not taking his eyes off the folder’s contents. He lifted a single sheet of paper under all the clippings, letting them fall to the ground, fixated on the sheet of paper. His eyes widened, mouth opened and silently cursed.

The secretary remained with her head low at the front of the desk, unsure what to say or do. With one hand holding the paper up reading it over and over again, his other hand scratched his chin, elbow propped on the desk Lester quietly said “Send a copy to the King’s office right away.” The secretary nodded “Of course, right away.” She quickly and quietly left the room closing the massive oak doors behind her with a gentle click. He stood up and walked back over to the window was starred out towards the bay where the massive thunder clouds rumbled and lightening cracked. “God speed lads.” He whispered.

Diplomatic Communiqué
To the United Kingdom of Azazia
From the United Commonwealth of Delesa

The United Commonwealth of Delesa, including her colonies, would like to offer their condolences and support in this time of grief for the people of the Kingdom. Over the years the ties between our two countries have weakened from what they had once been, but alas the Delesian people feel the stinging pain from the loss of their comrades, their brethren.

As it is a time for remembrance, for what King Edward brought to the Kingdom as well as the other political members to the government, making it fair and just for the people of the Kingdom, but it is also a time for rejoice and congratulations as well. The Commonwealth passes on good wishes to the Kingdom’s newest monarch, King William the third and prays that he may lead as confidently and professionally as his father.

On behalf of the Commonwealth we again send our apologizes, and our support in the successful apprehension of the criminals responsible for that attack and see that justice is served. Should you choose to accept, Prime Minister Lester Geddie will lead an assemblage of political figures including our own Opposition Leader, Peter Rowdy to the funeral services of your fallen countrymen/women. His majesty King Edward the third (of Delesa) would also like to be in attendance to pay respects to a peer but more importantly a friend.

Our condolences;
(Signed)
Lester Geddie
Prime Minister
Commonwealth of Delesa

Government House, Axcliffe
Royal Crown Colony of Axcliffe

The low-pressure system lashing St. Myhre was forecast to later take an indirect swipe at the Oceanian colony of Axcliffe. Most of the worst effects to be on the northwestern coastline, primarily around Mount Holyoak and Crewemouthe; but, the impact would nonetheless be felt throughout both islands of the colony.

But from the second-story vista of the Government House, Royal Governor William Hastings could see only the clear skies to the east and the warm, white beaches. What he could not see, however, were the tourists—from both the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth. Since the outbreak of the conflict between the Commonwealth and Confederacy, nobody wanted to travel to the pair of islands that sat along the most direct route between the two warring parties.

Treaties obliged the UK to provide for the defence of the Commonwealth. And so it was no surprise that the clear skies east of Axcliffe were soon occupied by a flight of RAF fighters, probably on a routine patrol. Further out at sea, the Royal Navy maintained a picket line of frigates and patrol craft to keep the Confederate naval forces at a distance. Every so often, they intercepted a Confederate vessel or submarine. Yet, since the conflict had begun, the Royal Navy had lost one cruiser and four destroyers to Confederate submarines. The numbers themselves were far from insurmountable—Georgetown had hundreds, if not thousands in reserve. But, they remained in reserve.

One cruiser amounted to one-third of the cruiser force, and the four destroyers amounted to nearly a quarter of his destroyer force. Hastings had yet to learn of the loss of any frigates—rated between cruisers and destroyers—because, in all likelihood, they were amongst the newest vessels in the Royal Navy. They were also the ones performing most of the work. All six of them—and two remained at HMNB Invercardon awaiting new engine plant systems. But, Confederate patrols sank the convoy with the parts last week.

Hastings could read the writing on the walls, or more commonly in the press, just as well as Geddie or Rowdy and perhaps even Edward III himself. Delesa would be fortunate if it survived; no longer did the once jingoistic press mention even the possibility of retaking the Confederacy. And as Hastings turned away from the view out his window, he could wonder only what then?

The Confederacy, while ostensibly at war against the United Kingdom as well as the Commonwealth, had largely chosen to bypass Axcliffe. Long-range air raids were occasionally launched—the local RAF personnel often replied with weary and forced smiles that they were fighting their own Battle of Britain. And while the two RAF fighter squadrons continued their patrols, and continued to intercept the long-range bombers of the Confederacy, and continued to assist the Commonwealth—albeit with decreasing regularity—they were merely two squadrons against an entire air force.

The Queen's Axcliffe Lancers were an armoured recce force. In August, they had been reinforced with a battalion of light infantry supplemented with an air defence battery from Georgetown. But, would they be enough to forestall an outright Confederate invasion of Axcliffe or Invercardon? Hastings added his signature to the press statements, of course they would. But he also added his signature to the classified intelligence reports from the Royal Intelligence Service and Defence Intelligence. Families of high officials and officers were leaving for extended vacations in the Home Islands.

Relations between Georgetown and St. Myhre had become tense. Georgetown's polite refusal to reconsider deploying additional forces to Delesa had not been well received. Relations between Axcliffe and St. Myhre were only less so—and that Hastings surmised was only because of the close working relationship he shared with both General Brigman and Foreign Minister Surreal. That and the fact that despite national disinterest in the UK, Axcliffe was itself bearing, while certainly not the brunt, still a proportionately heavy blow.

Yet, the news of the death of King George and Lord Salisbury, who had initially appointed Hastings to Axcliffe, had somehow managed to place even more of a heavy cloud over the clear Axcliffe skies. Hastings knew that military resources were not infinite. And with the rampant problems in Sarnia now boiling over, military resources would likely be directed to that theatre instead of Delesa. Stalled attempts at forging a strengthened defence pact between the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth, with joint maritime forces and regional commands, would likely remain just that.

Without warning, Hastings' door suddenly flew open and two black-suited men wearing opaque sunglasses appeared in the doorway. "Your Excellency, we need to get you underground, immediately."

Despite the urgency in the one man's voice, Hastings could detect a sense of routine. Indeed, the governor was not wholly surprised. "Air raid?"

"Yes, Governor. We need to get you underground to a secure facility."

The first several times, it had been a surprise. His pulse had quickened. Some brown hairs had turned grey. Now, he simply pulled a prepared dossier from the corner of his desk and followed the security personnel to the recently constructed command bunker just east of Government House.

When they finally reached the command centre, Hastings found Air Vice-Marshal Sir Derek Evans demonstrating sternly to some subordinate. After a moment, the subordinate was dismissed and Evans walked over to the royal governor and offered the usual salute. "Terribly sorry about all this, Bill—"

"But," Hastings interrupted, "I imagine that the fighters I saw minutes ago were not just a routine patrol?"

"No, sir, they were our alert force reacting to a penetration of our airspace by a Confederate bombing force. Quite an organised force, too. Overflew one of our navy's picket forces and…well…I will let Adam fill you in, but suffice it to say we have not heard from the ships since. The fighters reported engaging the long-range escorts of the bombers, and we knocked a few down, but our boys were all lost I am sad to say."

"And what do we have inbound?"

"We shall be putting out the fires for a few days, Governor."

As if on cue, the ground began to shake.

Diplomatic Communiqué

On the behalf of the people of the United Kingdom, I should like to express the heartfelt thanks of a nation for the kind wishes of the Delesian people, long our brothers and sisters under arms and under peace. His Majesty's Government remains committed to the long-standing friendship and alliance shared by our two great nations and despite the troubled times, welcomes the condolences and support.

The United Kingdom would surely welcome any delegation of officials able to attend the state funeral of the late King George, Lord Salisbury, and Ms Deveraux. And on the behalf of King William III, His Majesty would be most pleased to meet King Edward III for a discussion of the future of Oceanian-Delesian relations.

Sincerely,

[signed]
Rodney Ingrahm
Prime Minister
United Kingdom of Oceania

The Oak Office (Prime Minister’s Office)
St. Myhre, Delesa

Geddie quickly reviewed the latest report from the Royal Commonwealth Navy Admiralty, which as it often did, requested more funding. That it was ‘imperative that the RCN maintain a steady line of ships to keep any Confederate invasion force at bay.’ He groaned, followed by a slight chuckle.

With various colonies and outposts of the Commonwealth around the world it was hard to maintain a ready force to counter or delay an attack, not to mention guess at which colony would be first, as it wasn’t a matter of if anymore it was when and where? Being constantly at a state of alertness can take a nasty toll on the Armed Forces, but so far the system was working impeccably and causalities have been limited to only the military and strategic components and not the civilians structures.

The ‘war’ if it could be called that was more of a competition of who was going to blink first. Each side was carefully monitoring the other, occasionally probing each other's lines but never enough to spark a full-out engagement. After the disturbing discovery of traitors in the Commonwealth Intelligence Agency, many people begun to doubt the Commonwealth’s capability to properly govern, but Geddie just needed to shrug it off, it was a small fish in a sea of problems. His Majesty’s Secret Service managed to be continuously loyal and had ‘purged’ the CIA, and opened the door for them to start over and fix their problems. The question was to absorb the CIA into the government, because as it had always been the CIA was a civilian agency contracted by the Commonwealth, but their the recent breech in security it might be just easier to monitor if they were bought out and regulations changed. But that’s a lot of money, money that the Commonwealth didn’t have.

It was time for his meeting with the Ministry of Defence, he grabbed his coat, scarf and hat as he left the office, heading down the stairs into the basement garage where a waiting motorcade of black SUVs and cars waited with MSS agents everywhere armed with various guns ranging from assault rifles to submachine guns to pistols.

His secretary was already in the Land Rover SUV, and as Geddie got into his seat, she handed his a slip of paper. “Came in this morning.” The motorcade begun to roll forward up out of the underground parking lot and out onto the private driveway towards Charles Street, the main drag in St. Myhre. Geddie looked over the letter before placing it into his briefing folder for the MoD meeting.

“Thanks, I’ll phone Rodney later after the meeting and work something out, you can go home after the meeting.”

Diplomatic Communiqué
To the United Kingdom of Azazia
From the United Commonwealth of Delesa

As this letter is being written the works are already in progress to organize an agenda and plan for the upcoming visit to you country. For obvious reasons several government officials will have to depart early from the trip after the funeral to attend to local matters, including Minister Chase Surreal and Minister Gordan Brigman.

Should the topic of strategic importance and concern arise during the trip, Rear Admiral Leroy Vincent and Major General Fredrick Riel will be there to represent the Armed Forces of the Commonwealth.

His Majesty King Edward III will be able to attend the talks with King William III and has prepared various issues of importance, which he would like to touch on, including a more structured joint-command of the operations in the south-west seas where the crown colony of Axcliffe is located and a high risk area of operation for the Commonwealth and Kingdom.

Sincerely,
(Signed)
Lester Geddie
Prime Minister
Commonwealth of Delesa

Georgetown, New Britain, United Kingdom

"Did you see the latest from the Monitor?"

Reginald Laird shot an unwelcome glance towards an intruding communications director. "Yes, Elisabeth, I did," he growled.

"Do we have a response?"

Laird grimaced. Since the death of the king, the Conservative Party had fallen dramatically in the polls. Once known as the party of the king, the party of security, that mantle had fallen and now lay tattered on the blood-stained soil of Sarnia. And while the Conservatives were predicted to be nowhere near their most recent electoral success, Laird saw the fragmentation to which Communications Director Elisabeth Hill alluded. Thus far, no political party had yet picked up that mantle.

"Standard fare. We are committed to showing all of Oceania that we are a party of peace and security."

"But that strategy is not working."

"What do you want to do, Elisabeth? Admit that we got the king killed? Because that will serve us well, I am certain."

Hill shook her head. "Alright," she replied with a sense of resignation in her voice.

Laird watched her leave his office. And as the door clicked shut he picked up his copy of the Monitor. According to their projections, the Conservatives were down to 191 seats in the House of Commons. Not even 20% of the chamber.

Ruytershaven, Angrivaria, United Kingdom

An arctic air mass had descended from the north, across the Pacific, and was feeding chilly air into the northern islands of Celaria. Felix Rademaker tugged at his gloves once again, attempting to pull them closer to his skin.

"We seem to be resonating, Felix," a familiar voice said over the backdrop of automobiles racing along an arterial motorway underneath the city park. The man standing behind Rademaker handed the leader of the Liberal Union an opened copy of the Monitor, opened to the same page as Laird. "They are projecting 51 seats. Including two border districts, one in New Westmoreland and the one outside Maryport."

"I saw," Rademaker replied quietly. "If we can hold, Jan, that makes us the fifth-largest party in Parliament. We can have real clout for a change."

"Only if the Conservatives continue to fall, Felix. Do not feel triumphant yet."

Rademaker turned around to find his chief of staff with a sober look upon his face. "I thought I was to tell you to be more realistic."

The two men laughed. Not far from them, a crowd was assembling in the city park. While the weather had certainly turned out to be colder than expected, the two could count at least a few hundred people.

"What we might have to decide, Jan, is with whom to side. The Democratic Socialists went with Thomason, yes, but you read the same reports I do. Internal rivalries are driving that party apart."

"That Salisbury managed to keep those egos in check is a testament to his political skill."

Rademaker nodded quietly. Salisbury had also managed to keep the Democratic Socialists as an umbrella party, which had for years kept regional parties like the Liberal Union as minor political parties. He had been a great politician. But his death was becoming a political opportunity.

"Thomason is a hawk. Ingrahm is more tempered, far more moderate," Jan thought aloud.

"But by being a hawk in a socialist party, is not Thomason a moderate?" Rademaker asked.

His chief of staff smiled. "Let the Democratic Socialists settle the issue of who they are and what they are standing for."

Georgetown, United Kingdom

"A good feeling, is it not?"

A spring rain wrapped itself around the solid black limousine; the flicking of the windshield wipers only accentuated the rhythmic pelting of the rain. The vehicle dashed down wide, tree-lined boulevards throwing shrouds of oily runoff across sidewalks littered with trampled posters of red and blue hues.

The person to whom the question was directed flashed a broad smile across her face. "It is indeed."

Islington, United Kingdom

The kitchen was quiet, cleaned and seemingly polished pots, pans, and ladles hanging from cabinet hooks and reflecting the morning sunlight. However, as the man sitting at the table glanced towards the flowers just starting to bloom, he saw the skies were overcast.

From the distance he heard the echo of soft footsteps. And so he was not surprised when a pair of hands landed gently upon his shoulders. "Come back to bed," a woman's voice pleaded. One hand then moved to the newspaper in her husband's hands, taking it from his weak grip. As the man stood up, his wife placed the paper face down on the table. But as they walked away he could see the end of a title whose second line fell beneath the fold: loses election and his seat.

Ruytershaven, United Kingdom

"We could have joined, Felix, we would have been the third-largest party."

A slender man threw back a partial grin to his chief of staff. "They have a majority of two seats—"

"That will likely be backed by dozens of others from different parties on different issues…" the chief of staff interrupted.

"Very true, very true. But look at the new landscape, my friend. Noskovic is now leader of the Loyal Opposition. Leader of any likely opposition coalition. A Novikovian party, Jan. The new government is weak. Only five parties—not the dozens feared in the early days—comprise the coalition. Heartman is more inline with our own goals. Gescard is more at odds than King-Calabrius and the Juristanians."

"But most importantly, Jan, look at the clowns in the tent. No longer do they have Salisbury's iron grip on the machine to keep all of them in check. They will fracture. And when they do we and our new allies shall be ready."

Georgetown, United Kingdom

"I want the airborne troops we discussed in Sarnia within 72 hours. And make ready the preparations to deploy an additional two infantry divisions to southwestern Oceanian Sarnia. I also want to see any plans already prepared to invade Thames River."

"Yes, Prime Minister," the chief of staff answered.

"We are going to hear from the bastards south of the border. We are breaching almost every article of our treaty with Woodstock." The Foreign Secretary chimed.

"Let Pavanne wail away, Stephen," the Prime Minister answered. "Tyler is weak. He cannot realistically expect to challenge us, sending divisions will force him to spend his weak dollars in maintenance and supply costs. Woodstock will seethe and move token pawns upon the board, but can do little else. Ultimately, Stephen," the Prime Minister continued, leaning in towards her Foreign Secretary, "our national security policies shall be dictated by neither Pavanne nor Sarzonia. Nor anybody else for that matter. Are we clear on that issue, everyone?"

"Indeed, Prime Minister," all but Stephen McKay replied. He waited a moment longer.

"Yes, Ms. Thomason," he added with the smile of a sated man.

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

United Kingdom Increases Commitment to Sarnia
Georgetown—Ashley Thomason's new government has announced plans to send more troops to the restive colony of Oceanian Sarnia. With Aidan Heartman, the new Defence Secretary, standing beside her, Thomason confirmed that an additional 40,000 troops would be deployed within the coming weeks.

The announcement comes as an early fulfillment of a pledge to crackdown on violence throughout Sarnia. It was in Sarnia only several weeks ago where King George and Lord Salisbury were killed after an assassination attempt by nationalist terrorist groups. While both the Democratic Socialists and the Conservatives made similar such pledges, polling conducted by the CBC throughout the campaign indicated that the Tories won only ten percent of the security vote.

Such a deployment, however, does not come without controversy as the extra troops breach the terms of the SABAR Treaty negotiated by former Prime Minister Ingrahm with Sarzonia. According to SABAR, neither the United Kingdom nor Sarzonia would deploy additional forces to the Sarnian continent. SABAR was long criticised by Thomason during the treaty negotiations. And according to Stephen McKay, the new Foreign Secretary, the United Kingdom is considering withdrawing from the treaty altogether.

CBC News
Celarian Broadcasting Corporation

Conservatives to Merge with Other Centre-Right Parties
Georgetown—The United Kingdom is witnessing the first reaction to the implosion of the Conservative Party since its disastrous election results a few months ago. The rump of the Conservative Parliamentary Party has reached an agreement with the political leadership of Suzvuk, the General League, and the Republican Party that shall see a unified political party contesting the next general election.

Lord Uxbridge, the newly chosen leader of the Tories, announced the agreement at a press conference alongside the leaders of Suzvuk, the General League, and the Republican Party. In the previous parliament, the Conservatives governed with Suzvuk, the leading centre-right political party in Novikov. Prior to this year's election, the General League and the Republicans had cooperated with the Tories especially in not contesting national elections.

The new party would currently sit 196 MPs in the House of Commons, moving to second, ahead of the Liberal Democrats, the Novikovian junior member in the Democratic-Socialist government. Neither Lord Uxbridge nor the other party leaders were willing to comment on the name, leader, or specific policy platform of the new party; only saying that the men were in spirited discussions over small differences.