The Megatridimensional Order International Economic Summit (1983)

[bigbaldben]

Standing to the side of the window, watching the merciless morning light greedily devour the darkness, Octavius Silvercrone could not help but compare it to current events.   Yes, the darkness still had control of his republic, but it was fading fast.   He stroked at his thick black moustache absentmindedly.

“The sun always rises,” he said softly, then turned and left the room.  The two men from his security detail outside his door fell into step as he turned down the Minax Hotel hallway, leaving behind the safety of his suite.  His new suit had already begun to chafe.  He reached up to adjust his tie as he walked, but thought better of it.

“These are the best tailors in the country,” her voice chastised him in his mind.  “They know how to make you presentable.  Let them do their jobs!”  He smiled slightly and opened the doors to the conference room.

His three advisors were already in animated discussion, and he could feel the tension in the air.

“Good morning,” he said, taking his place at the head of the table.  The discussion died down as they each realized he had entered the room.

“Good morning, Prime Minister.”

“Status report?” he asked, pointing dispassionately at D’lia Terkuller.  He had already developed an affection for his new lead domestic advisor.  She was fiery, young and fiercely loyal, and she had time for little else.  As usual, she went straight to the point.

“Sir, citizens have already packed the airport to get a glimpse of the delegates.  Many camped out overnight in the terminals.”

“Security?” Silvercrone asked, and all heads turned towards Amaxia Ghent.  The light reflected from the gems on her necklace, taking the focus from her rather drab business suite.  She leaned her forward slightly, a few strands of gray hair fell across her forehead.

“Completely in control, sir.  We estimated a security force for high numbers and, as requested, doubled it.  In spite of the crowds, we have the entire airport on lockdown.  Order Guards, both uniformed and not, are already in place both here at the Minax and at the Frostoria.”  She met Silvercrone’s gaze, but faltered when he said nothing.  “There will be no incidents,” she insisted.

Silvercrone remained silent, but dipped his head in approval.

“Transportation and accommodations?” he asked, as he finally looked away from Ghent to Braise Thafter, Megatrine’s first foreign ambassador in nearly twenty years.

“One hitch with the Frostoria claiming additional ‘unforseen’ expenses due to security, attempting to weasel another few thousand trios from us at the last minute.  It’s resolved.”

“We didn’t accede, I hope,” said Terkuller.

“Of course not.  I told them we would gladly double the number of Order Guards at the hotel, and they nearly broke their ankles backing down.”  Thafter chuckled.

“I sent additional Order Guards anyway,” said Ghent, lighting up a cigarette.

Terkuller groaned.  “Seriously?” she said.  “I think they could be better utilized elsewhere than intimidating hotel staff.”

“While I appreciate your input, D’lia, it is nonetheless irrelevant,” Ghent replied.

Letting out a huff, Terkuller appealed to Silvercrone with her hands out.  Silvercrone said nothing, and he let a long uncomfortable silence fill the room.

“Were the additional Guards you sent uniformed?”

“Of course, sir, we….”

“Keep them there, Ms. Ghent,” he interrupted, leaning forward.  “But get them out of uniform.  The presence of uniformed Order Guards was, may I remind you, carefully calculated to make our guests feel secure…” He paused.  “Not intimidated.”  Ghent went pale and quickly crushed her cigarette.

“Yes sir.  I’m sorry sir.” She shot up out of her seat, knocking her notebook off of the table.  She collected herself and mustered as much dignity as she could, grabbed the notebook from the floor and excused herself.

“Just one more minute, Ms. Ghent.”  Silvercrone motioned to her seat and she sat down delicately. She shot an unpleasant look at Terkuller, who ignored her completely.

“Anything else?” Silvercrone asked the group.

“Watkins was on Spire-TV already this morning, decrying the Economic Summit and calling for a last minute repeal of the invitations,” said Terkuller. 

Thafter scratched the bald spot in the back of his head and cleared his throat.  “My guys have already put in a call to Spire expressing our dissatisfaction.”

“Typical swamper,” said Silvercrone.  “He has no idea when he’s beaten.”

Silvercrone stood quickly and the advisors followed suit.

“I don’t have to remind you what is at stake here.  Impress this on your staff yet another time.  Things will not go as expected, but in our reactions to them we need to be decisive and flawless.  Semper tres.”

“Semper tres,” they said as Silvercrone walked out the door.

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

The limo moved quickly, but the ride was smooth.  There was an escort of flashing lights parting the Saturday morning crowd.  In the back, Thafter looked in the mirror and sighed.  His blonde hair was thinning, he had put on weight, and the early morning creases on his face no longer faded with the day.  But, dammit, he had worked his ass off the last ten years to get here, and there was no way he was going to undergo a confidence crisis on the most important day in his career – one of the most important days in the history of the country.

He lit up a cigarette, leaned back in the seat and looked out the window.  The sun glimmered off the Great Southern Ocean as they sped along the Coastal Highway.  The ocean disappeared as the buildings of the commercial district became more and more prominent.

Thafter sighed.  He was glad that they had decided to hold the summit in Nirvana, instead of at the capital.  It was a rare decision where the advisors had stuck to their guns and Silvercrone actually conceded.  The Prime Minister had wanted the summit to be held in the capital of Tabula Rasa.

“One of the main goals of this summit is to begin to mend relations,” Silvercrone had said.  “I don’t want to sweep the past under a rug – I want it out front and dealt with.”

Tabula Rasa was historic and grand, to be sure, and was a monument to all Megatrine history.  But parts were still in disrepair from the war, and the rest of the city was monument to ALL Megatrine history, the good and the bad.
 
“And the delegates,” said Thafter, “surely do not need a blatant reminder of the bad.  Nirvana is modern, yes, but also our largest city, our cleanest city, and the only city large enough to host this event that is untouched by war.”

Silvercrone was finally swayed when Terkuller pointed out it may be considered insulting to the delegates to not put their best foot forward, and Tabula Rasa was not Megatrine’s best foot.

The limo slowed as the convoy entered the city proper and edged through the traffic lights.  One of the intersections was, to Thafter’s irritation, in the midst of repair.  Construction equipment was parked neatly off to the side, and a solid fence bordered the street, but it was there nonetheless.  An administrative oversight that punctuated what was otherwise a perfect path from the airport to the hotels.  Thafter took a long draw on his cigarette and exhaled slowly.  Well, if that is the worst thing to happen today, we will be lucky.

They passed the gleaming steel and glass skyscrapers, the dramatic open spaces of the modern gardens, and the structural magnificence of the Ziggurat.  Finally, the Grun International Airport came into focus.

Thafter smiled wryly at the sign.  The Airport hadn’t been “international” for seventeen years and the Foreign Cleanse of ’66.  And in ’66, the airport was new, but modest.  The terminal came into view and the limo pulled up to the curb behind uncountable number of other chauffeured cars, one for each of the delegates.  Thafter snuffed out his cigarette, gathered himself and exited the vehicle. 

His security detail made their way through the crowds with Thafter in tow.  He straightened himself and brushed some invisible speck from his jacket as they exited the public area.  Through the window, he saw the first plane pulling up to the private gate.

Here goes … everything.

[Khem]

  Grohk cracked his neck and felt the pressure that had been built up in his sinus cavity for the past four hours. Flying was the worst invention Grohk could imagine. Sure you had international trade brought to its modern rapid pace but was it really worth being launched in a tin can through the air? It certainly didn't appear to him worth the pain shooting through his back as he stretched. He wore the traditional aurulent raiment as Tsa'gum of the Holy Isles with soft Gahk'ell leather boots. The honeyed tones of his robes clashed with the silvery grey of his eyes and the deep mahogany of his skin. Stepping onto the tarmac Grohk pulled forth a hand made cigar from the pack his wives had prepared for him. Lighting it quickly he took a long drag, slowly exhaling nebulous trails of smoke. Looking around he was unimpressed, even the Funkadelian airport in Atwali was a modern marvel by comparison.

  "Looks like this is going to be a rather long day..." he commented to Ta shining brightly above the skies of Nirvana.

  A retinue of Scribes and Mundaskawanen followed behind Grohk as he made his way swiftly to meet with the other delegates, his Da'kavo heritage plain to see in the length of his stride if not obvious from his immense size. He felt the Mundaskawanen an unnecessary precaution as this time capsule nation felt about as threatening as an otter pup in a warm bath.

[Bustos]

The door of the G5 corporate plane opened downward, revealing steps on its interior.  An extended stairway slid down to reach the tarmac.  The megacorporation's logo of the golden lion laid on the tail of the red luxury plane.  Out stepped four typical nameless men in black suits, surveying the landscape as they reached the tarmac.  One spoke into his wrist.

A Hemlander appeared at the opening, also dressed in a black suit, but it looked sharper and clearly tailored for the Lycan.  Her black fur, trimmed short enough to reveal a scar that etched the side of her right face, from the temple down to just below her jaw.  A slight hint of white fur in her cheeks displayed her experience.  She then stepped back, slightly fading into the darkness of the plane.

Duke Valerio Alosiso, the First, of the Bustos, Governor of Valorium, Chairperson of the Allied States of Bustos, appeared at the door, in front of his personal bodyguard, Babushka.  The youngest Chairperson in its history, at 24 years of age, had just assumed his position only a few months ago.  He was very aware of his Board of Directors doubts of his grandfather's choice to retire and pass him control of the company.  The Duke looked at this summit as a chance to show his worth and create the next most profitable foreign venture since Dalarian.

He stepped down to the tarmac, followed by Babushka, a few other executives and assistants and four more nameless men in black.

[Erno]

"Hope it's not against etiquette or anything to take off the coat, it's way too warm outside for me to keep it" - said Kenuje Hareli to his translator, as a moderately aged, but still working, four-engine turboprop was about to bounce, stick back to the ground, and stop in the airport. He caught a glimpse of a few more jets already parked outside - too bad they flew past too fast. Binoculars got moved - just if he can try and look through them - from briefcase to the coat pocket, Kenuje's guard helped some of the other official passengers, that would be going further North later, to relocate bags that got shaken up by turbulence on the way, and plane turned its shiny, polished metal side to the terminal building. Pilots, as their tradition demanded, slided open windows, and stuck Dalari and Megatrine flags outside to let them ripple on the wind. That is when everyone realised, that there were no bystanders on the tarmac, or by the gates of the airport. They were usually the ones this little show was put up for - well, them, and newspapers, that liked using such shots.

"Well, at least that could mean that there is no press inside. Less work for me!" - said Lesije, diplomat's guard, and got a slightly puzzled look back from most of passengers. Barely anyone, even in the Foreign Relations' ministry, knew of how well-built was the trio, soon to celebrate 11 years of working together. Soon after the craft stopped, staircase got rolled up to the open front door, and they swiftly got down to the solid ground. Kenuje thought of taking better look at other planes - alas, the stern look on most of the guards in the area made him decide against. "We'll see soon enough who is there, anyways" - he said to himself, while going through the passport check inside a building. It looked weirdly like an old T3 of Vade Central, but with moderately better signs - good enough to see the path the trio will be taking to the meeting point in advance.

[Myroria]

Gilas Quarrovth looked out the window of his business jet, decked out in Foreign Office livery, and saw waves of heat rising from the black asphault. Unbuckling his seatbelt as the jet lurched to a stop, he stood up and removed his blazer and tie. A casual way to introduce himself as a member of a foreign nation's state department, sure, but in the year since the Cefnor Conference he felt like a rising star in the Foreign Office.

He coughed when the co-pilot opened the main door and the heat from outside invaded the cabin. He reached back inside his blazer, strewn upon the seat, and grabbed his inhaler. He took a quick puff and placed it in his shirt's breast pocket.

"Can I get that for you?" came a voice from behind him. He turned and saw Sondas Hlaretrovth, his aide. He must have slipped into the bathroom as the plane was landing and just come out.

"Uh, yes please." Gilas said, motioning for his blazer. Gilas walked to the front of the plane. "You'll be a second set of eyes and ears for me during this conference, Sondas," he said as he strode down the central aisle.

"Yes, sera."

Gilas put his sunglasses on as he stepped into the light and near the staircase rolled up to the airplane door. More confident since his last conference, but no less asthmatic, he took his inhaler from his breast pocket and took another puff.

[Letonna]

"...is unknown. Our MOFA covert division has been trying to find out for years, but haven't been able to plot any sleeper agent in the country. All socio-economic data on the nation is at least 20 years old." A voice said on the said on a phone.

Grofft Belker had a hard time keeping the phone glued to his ear while also putting on his dress shirt and tie. He put on his custom blazer, and fixed a Letonese flag lapel pin, as well as a pin with the number 3 on it, signifing his rank in the Ministry.

"We're not entirely sure what will be discussed with such a reclusive nation. A second jet has been dispatched with Ministry of Finance, Health, and Internal Affairs representatives, specializing in their respective fields. Feel free to consult with them on anything you are not sure about. "

"Thank you Vice Minister. My aides will send you updates whenever possible. I don't anticipate any danger. All literture on the nation doesn't point to anything to be concerned about."

"Yeah, I don't know, these people were shady even before they went black. I don't want to lose another man to some extremists. Glory to the Crown, Glory to the Empire."

"Glory to the Ministry." Gruff said before hanging up the phone.

"We'll land in 5 minutes sir." and aid next to him said.

Grofft ran a comb though his slicked back, jet black hair and put some trendy sunglasses on.

"The Ministry of Health has recommended all staff wear sun screen sir." The same aid said.

Grofft scoffed and shooed away the aid. The jet came to a landing, and pulled into an assigned jet terminal. Once the hatch to the plane opened, a wind of hot abrasive air rushed in, shocking those aboard who were used to the cooler temperatures of Letonnasburg.

Gofft walked down the stairs. He could see other nations jets near by, including a Bustosian and Myrorian plane. He looked to his aides and staff assembling behind him and he turned to address them.

"Well, I guess this is it. Welcome to Megatridimensional Order."

[St Oz]

The agent from STIA, dressed in the usual black slacks and undecorated black military button up, approached Dr. Feridnha Evrashik in her seat with a coffee press and two mugs, "I made some coffee, Comrade Ferdinha."

Feridnha nodded to her, "Thanks, Comrade." She hated meeting with any STIA liaisons, there was an unnatural politeness that shook her foundation of the typical harshness you experienced in any part of Ozia. Where do they find these automatons? She wondered.

The plane could be described with one word, stale. The jetliner had the weathered iconic symbol of the gear, hammer, and compass on the vertical fin and wings. The interior wasn't better, presenting the signature Ozian extra-dowdiness. Interior decoration planned ten years ago that looked fifty years old, a unique anachronistic feat that only Ozian bureaucrats could achieve. The two sat at opposite ends of an airline booth with old, tattered pleather that belonged in an old restaurant, and at the front were busy bureaucrats drinking coffee, gin, or both in front of their paperwork. There were no attendants on this plane, and all passengers had to make their own drinks and meals. Feridnha wore what most of the other bureaucrats wore, jeans and an untucked oxford, the Ozians were never the best dressed at any event. Blazers, ties, and dress skirts were all capitalist-abominations in their society. To them, it symbolized submission and insecurity.

Feridnhapushed down on the coffee press and poured the coffee between the two mugs as evenly possible. "What's the weather like at the airport?"

"The radio said it's over thirty centigrade at that airport and high humidity."

"Laershkolae!"

The liaison rolled her eyes at the profanity, "As for the briefing. In this folder we have some of our SR-2 photographs." Feridnha took a moment to look through the photos which had Ozian letters labeling different buildings and other interesting observations. "Most of the country, as you can see, is still scarred by the civil war they had in '66, they also seemed to have hosted the conference in Nirvana for good reason, it's simply untouched by war, and prettier than their other cities."

"What's STIA's theory on their economic situation? Why the sudden openness?"

"We're not really sure, but it seems obvious that they're stagnating. Why else would they open themselves up to investment? They used to have an efficient agriculture sector, but we think their machinery is dated and overpopulation is putting a strain on it."

She scanned through the photos and reports, circling items with a pen as she did, "Yep, seems so. Just looks like an experiment in autarky gone wrong."

"Their military is dated, and they host standard goose-step parades it seems. Their civil right's situation is unknown, but there is a society there. Your call if you want to address it."

"In my experience, the bigger the ceremony, the shittier their situation. I'll be on the look out for any signs, but I see no reason to bring it up, especially when we have non-governments in attendance who couldn't give a shit about civil rights attending."

"Whatever you choose. As for safety. You should know you're going alone, because we don't want to look paranoid. We have a hunch that they're not going to attempt anything violent, but we have a team of SOSOT commandos on a standard carrier patrol on standby."

"I don't mind if they do anything, it's a standard royal meet and greet as I see it. I guarantee that if they tried anything the one damn communist is at the bottom of the list for asking for a ransom. I'm thinking it'll be the lamest royal bloodbath since the Vrotrith scandal."

The Liaison laughed. Feridnha thought, Maybe there is personality in that STIA puppet. The pilot announced over the intercom, "We're now arriving in Nirvana."

[bigbaldben]

Thafter waited as the massive Khem dignitary, Grohk, slid easily into the black limo with the small Khem flags attached to the front.

"Thank Revia," Thafter thought.  There had been some concern over accomodating the considerable size of the Khem.  Thankfully, "bigger is better" was the unofficial motto of Megatrine.

He followed Grohk's entourage into the limo, and called for the driver to leave.  Flashing lights followed, as the security detail led the driver into the streets.

It was highly unfortunate that the Khem had been the first to arrive.  He had wanted to greet all the dignitaries personally, but it was of the utmost importance that he personally greeted and escorted the Khem. 

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

"Al'Khem is going to be the biggest problem," he had told Silvercrone.  "They are from the culture most unlike ours, and they are most likely to shrug off our olive branch for no discernable reason."

"Would they be so pompous..?" said Silvercrone.

Thafter shrugged.  "No. That would imply they won't be agreeable for no reason other than they think they're better than us.  In fact, should all the nations reject us, I would be most confident that Al' Khem would reject us on merit."

"What I'm saying is that if they do reject, we probably won't be able to discern what the problem is, and they aren't likely to come right out and tell us, even if we ask outright."

"I just assumed based on intelligence reports that they're arrogant."

"No, the intelligence reports aren't so harsh. You sure you didn't pick that up from TV?"  Thafter grinned, and Silvercrone gave a wry smile.

"If you weren't my friend..." said Silvercrone and then laughed.

"But seriously," said Thafter, "they're no more arrogant than any other nation.  They just take particular pleasure in showing it at every opportunity. We have to understand that going in and realize that in spite of how smug they may appear, they will judge our proposal on merit.  In fact, I wouldn't be surprised that if they like it enough, they will immediately take credit for it.  We have to be prepared to hold our tongues if we want their support."

"So you'll escort them yourself? Seems like an exercise in futility."

"While they will judge our proposal on merit, if we offend them, they will not hesitate to leave before we even get to a proposal."

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

As they drove through the city towards the hotels, the conversation was cordial, if a little stiff.  Thafter was sure to show great deference and respect to Grokh and the Khem, showering them with compliments and appreciation of their visit.  But he managed to bring the conversation around to the high points of the city just as they passed by.

He couldn't tell - the Khem were notoriously hard to read - but he thought Grokh was impressed with the both the Gardens and the Ziggurat.  Or he had gas.  It was probably gas.

Just before they reached the hotel, he handed each of the Scribes an agenda for the conference.  He was careful to not show disrespect by handing anything directly to Grokh himself, and was equally careful, though it was difficult, to ignore the Mundaskawanen. 

They were a little more unnerving than he thought they would be.  They still weren't as downright scary as the Order Guard, but then again, he knew more about the Order Guard than was healthy.

As they stepped out of the limo on to the curb of the Minax, he breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn't left yet, and that was the best result he could have hoped for.

The entourage were unloading the massive amount of luggage and Grokh giant-stepped his way into the hotel.  Thafter handed them off to a hospitality expert and headed off to the conference room, wondering how he could feel so tired before 10 AM.

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

Thafter felt better at noon.  All the dignitaries had been successfully checked into their hotels:  Al' Khem, Myroria and Bustos contingents in the Minax, Dalari, Bustos and Ozia in the Frostoria, only a block away.  They were now being served middy in the Frostoria's extravagant ballroom.

While Megatrine's guests relaxed and ate rare Crystalisk and expensive Calochortus Max, Thafter and his group of liasons stayed at the Minax consolidating notes.

Thafter stood at the head of the room while the five liasons chattered among themselves.  He gave them a moment.  It had been, for all but one of them, the first opportunity to exercise the skills they had been learning for the past three years. 

"Ok, people, let's go over what we've learned.  As I've told you from day one, no amount of intelligence and news reports can take the place of hands-on experience."  He took his seat and pointed to the Bustos liason.  "What did you learn and what do we know that we didn't know already?  Go."

"The Duke makes no secret of the fact he is eager to have something productive come out of this conference.  Nothing surprising there, he's said as much on television.  However, I believe we got the motivation wrong."

"How so?" asked Thafter.

"We thought that, having been practically weened for the position, the Duke would be in the same mold as any other monarch by a different name - a typical spoiled heir attempting to elevate the family name.  He is not.  He has strong motivations towards profit and there is insecurity there.  He's looking to prove himself."

"Anything else?"

"He's obsessed with the Lycan assistant.  He does a good job hiding it, but there's little doubt."

He pointed at the Myroria liason.  "Myroria, go."

"Nothing unexpected.  They are a little less on formalities than we expected, given their grand government structure.  But Gilas Quarrovth is what he appears to be - shrewd and straightforward at the same time.  His success at Cefnor has not changed him."

"Overconfident?" asked Thafter.

"Not sure yet, sir."

Thafter couldn't help himself, and went out of order to point to Videllia Norteq. She was older and gracious, but not pretentious in the least.  She also was the only liason to have any ambassadorial experience.

"I'm eager to hear about the Ozians," said Thafter.  Norteq did not hesitate.

"Honestly, sir, I'm not sure any amount of cultural and psychological study could have prepared me for actually meeting the Ozians. They are as informal and socially rude as any tribe you'd find in the South, yet they harbor no doubts of the power their nation holds.  I got on well with them - they are not savages as they have been characterized in the press, but we already knew that.  But they are True Believers, and there is no indication how they would respond to what they would consider our Gaean heresy."

"Interesting," said Thafter, scratching on his notepaper.  "What else?"

"They have remarkable intelligence - they probably are the most informed about the Megatridimensional Order.  However, in the few places where they are wrong, they are very wrong."

"For instance?"

"One of the assistants, as we were going into the hotel, asked if they would be treated to a military parade.  I was confused, but it turns out they believe that our Mocking Day parades are actual military exercises."  The room erupted in laughter.

"Ok, settle down," said Thafter with only a wry smile. "It's amusing but let's not forget that these misconceptions can be harmful to our foreign goals."  The laughter subsided.  Back to Norteq, Thafter asked "Any indications on how they might take our proposal?"

"As we expected,  no there is not.  I would describe them as 'violently unpredictable.'"

Thafter nodded and pointed to the next liason. "Dalari?"

"Sir, as expected, they appear neutral and open."

"Nothing new?"

"Well, sir, they spent a significant amount of time talking to the press and crowds inside the terminal.  In fact, they seemed a little annoyed that there was no official announcement made to the crowds.  I believe they were also expecting a podium or something.  I believe we underestimated the importance of the press to the Dalarians."

"How did they handle it?"

"Graciously. And I believe they understood when only a few of the press asked innocuous questions and our citizens stood there with eyes wide, mouths open.  Kenuje Hareli commented through his translator that he felt a little like a zoo animal.  I can understand why, and I said so, sir."

"Your goal being...?"

"Sir, delegates to the conference are very much in the dark and, for a limited time, we have more knowledge than they.  My goal was to ease their concerns being unfamiliar with our culture."

"Well done."  Thafter said.  "Ok, Letonna, go."

"Grofft Belker is slick, charming and absolutely deadly.  We definitely want Letonna as an ally rather than an enemy.  Their hidden ruthlessness is breathtaking."

"Anything else?"

"When we walked through the terminal, we had quite the opposite of the "quieting" effect that Dalari had on the crowds.  I believe it was due in part to the '3' pin Belker wore on his lapel."

"His rank in his Ministry, correct?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid the crowds took it as an insult and by the time I had hurried Belker to the door, the crowd was angrily booing.  I am glad they were the last to arrive."

"Dammit.  We should have prepared him or the general populace for that possibility.  Dammit!"  Thafter threw his pen down on the table.  "Ok, what was the damage?"

"Confusion until I was able to explain.  I apologized and implied it was a small segment of our population infatuated with '3.'  Once said, he asked if it would be better to remove it, and I let him know in no uncertain terms that he was the guest here, and besides, he would mostly be out of the public eye the next two days."

"Ok, nice damage control, probably the best we could have done."

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


As Thafter was grilling his liasons for information, Prime Minister Silvercrone was in the Frostoria ballroom introducing himself to each table of delegates as they dined.  His goal was simple - introduce himself, welcome each delegate, and try to gauge their interest in economic alignment.  Not so easy, but he was confident.

He approached the first table and smiled. "Good day, I am Prime Minister Silvercrone.  Welcome!"

[Myroria]

Gilas watched the Prime Minister chatting to another table - by the dour look on their faces, he guessed they were Letonnese. He cut a piece off his steak and put it in his mouth before wiping his hands on a napkin. Caught off guard by the Prime Minister smiling and turning away from their table, he swallowed the piece nearly whole as the man walked towards his table.

Gilas nodded to Sondas and stood from his chair. He shook the Prime Minister's hands and smiled.

"It's excellent to meet you. Her Majesty sends her best regards."

The Prime Minister smiled. "Send her my own."

Gilas put his hand on the back of the chair and leaned a bit.

"As I understand, she would have liked to attend in person. There was a gala planned for the same date, though, to attract foreign investors and - "

"You don't need to explain at all!" Silvercrone explained. "I know very well what it is like to feel crunched for time."

Gilas nodded again. He smiled, but began to cough and reached inside his blazer pocket for his inhaler.

[Bustos]

Some of members of his entourage clearly didn't appreciate the heat and were glad to be indoors.  Especially, Babushka, although she didn't show it.  The Duke knew his bodyguard well, 10 years of having the Lycan follow him everywhere he went, he'd pick up the non verbal clues that hinted her moods.  Personally, Duke Alosiso actually enjoyed it as it reminded him of his time in al' Khem.

As they headed to their table, Duke Alosiso stopped by Khem's table and introduced himself to Grohk.  The man's statue and reputation had preceded him.  His introduction, spoken in Khemish, was brief and he politely asked of possibly getting to know one another better and Kalli later in the evening.

Meanwhile at the Allied States table...

“...but, they are so...poor,” replied an executive at the table, referring to another delegation.

“Such is the consequence when you punish those who produce and give to those who do not,” commented the young Chairperson as he sat down.  The executive was slightly startled and embarrassed as she didn't realize he was right there when she made the comment.  “Let's keep our focus on why we're here and not on the peasants.”  Heads nodded at the table as they recalled his promise of a bonus if this summit proved fruitful.  A good leader keeps his team focused Grandpa always said.

“Remind me to stop at the other tables.  I want to say hello before we leave,” he said as he gazed around the ballroom.  His personal assistant nodded and wrote a quick note on his tablet.  The Chairperson couldn't help but notice how his delegation was perhaps the most ethnically diverse.  “And you brought the box of Peace Blunts and the bottle of Captain's for the Prime Minister?”  The assistant reached into his messenger bag and placed both on the table.  “Excellent!  Thank you.”  The Chairperson looked forward to meeting the Prime Minister and presenting his gifts, hoping to foster goodwill.

The chatter seemed to have died when he sat down so he decided to liven the mood.  He looked at his personal assistant, “Why don't you tell them the joke with the Eluvatarn, Myrorian and Ozian on the beach and the genie?”

As his assistant began, the Duke leaned towards the Senior VP of Global Strategy Group to his right.  “Correct my history if I am wrong.  We do share a similar history with the Megatri, yes?  Both of us broke away, fought native tribes, and pretty much didn't get involved in international squabbles?”

“Correct, my lord.  We have some things in common however, not counting the Great War period, trade with them was rather limited.  They didn't seem to care about the rest of us, or as some intelligence suggest, too busy fighting amongst themselves to look beyond their borders.  With this summit, I am going to guess someone finally won.”

Overhearing the conversation as the assistant told his joke.  “If I may add, my lord,” mentioned Senior VP of Regional Consulting.  She then lowered her voice, “Records show we discreetly favored one of their factions before the civil war broke out.  It was just good busi....”  She quickly cut herself off as she saw Prime Minister Silvercrone approaching their table.  She began to laugh and do a light clap, “Hahahaha, good joke Mr. Serafin,” even though he had yet to deliver the punch line.

[Khem]

  11:00 AM: The Mundaskawanen finally gave the all clear for us to set up our equipment. The locals have no fax machines or any expedited means with which to file our reports to the Record with any haste. There seems to be a few sparks of culture to be seen within the grander structures and the occasional commons. The common folk have a dazed and daydreaming quality to them not unlike Sword Sorrow among the Da'Kavo returned from unrighteous actions. Infrastructure seems incredibly biased toward autos, should make for a net increase in oil sales if they have anything of worth to the wider market with which to feed their desire for personal conveyance. The Tsa'gum has been as he usually is after flight, of a Gentu temper. Updates to follow...

  Grohk had forbade more than a single Scribe and Mundaskawanen accompany him to the reception hall of the Frostoria. Largely brooding on the circumstances in life which had led to his miserable state he sat with his broad forehead rested on an immense palm. I blame the wars, they wouldn't have thought strapping yourself to can screaming through the sir without the need for aerial advantage. If it weren't for those factories they couldn't have built all those damn rivets pretending they can safely hold together razors in the air and play like a birds feather...

  He was broken from these dour thoughts and curses of industrialization as Duke Alosiso approached his table. Barely out of childhood. he noted as the Duke gave a rushed introduction. He introduced himself by a lengthy generational title with a pan-cefnor history embedded within its structure. The mention of knowing one another better prompted a laugh as he said, "Son, I doubt you even know yourself yet. But I'd be happy to watch you drink yourself into a stupor as you try to find him!"

  Looking about he noticed Gilas and recalled all he had learned from the Record of the Cefnor Conference as well as the testimony of Kno'tai. Thinking on it he waited until Gilas made eye contact and then lit up a cigar with a confident smirk intended to irk the fellow. According to Kno'tai he was more fun when annoyed. Satisfaction was had as the man briefly had a look as if he had tasted something foul from the underside of a Gahk'ells talon. Happy with himself he went to grab a plate of the local cuisine.

  After getting his fill of food and drink Grohk brought himself over to Thafter and extolled the virtues of the Megatri palette. His mood was much improved and his demeanor had become extremely friendly.

[bigbaldben]

Silvercrone’s mind was moving too fast to make sense, but not fast enough that he didn’t care.  He ran his hand through his thick black hair. Easy now. Though he had been briefed thoroughly on the customs of each of his fellow nations, he wasn’t physically prepared for the toasts, the ceremonial drinks and – DAMMIT, that was great freaking blunt.  He was feeling very diplomatic, but not entirely due to the drink and smoke.  Some was due to the warmth showed by each nation.  The Khem emissary Grokh was especially surprising, even going so far as to compliment the food that Thafter had hand selected.  Maybe the world wasn’t as twisted and hateful towards his country as they had feared.  Or maybe the diplomats had years of experience being diplomatic – and he did not.

Thankfully, he had D’lia with him.  She had a knack for sniffing out insincerity.  As soon as he bid them welcome, he’d get her feelings on the day thus far and bond a little over lunch and maybe he could invite her up to his room and…  Focus!

They were on the balcony overlooking the ballroom, and the Frostoria’s hospitality expert called for attention.  Silvercrone waited patiently as his guests quieted and turned their attention.

“Fellow nations of Taijitu,” he said, “I most happily and most humbly welcome you to our great country!”  As the interpreters passed the translation, the room broke into applause.  “It has been far too long that representatives from your nations have come and stayed with us.  We were, as you might say, doing a bit of remodeling.”  Laughter, good.  “Now if we could only do the same for our airport.”  Again, laughter from the delegates.

“But in all seriousness, I do hope you enjoyed your travel through our beautiful city of Nirvana.  I hope your liaisons pointed out the Ziggurat and the Gardens, of which we are quite proud, and I especially hope you are enjoying the native cuisine.”

“When we conclude, we will head to the Minax Hotel for the formal opening of the Summit.  But in the meantime, please enjoy yourself, and thank you for being our honored guests.”  Silvercrone joined in with the applause from the crowd.

As they were being seated at the balcony table, D’lia said “Everything seems to be going well.”

“It does, but let’s not forget we haven’t accomplished a damn thing yet.”

“I’ll be interested in hearing what Thafter has to say when we get over to the Minax.”

“Yes,” said Silvercrone, leaning back in his chair.  “His pessimism is a good antidote to our optimism.”

D’lia smiled, but only for a moment.  “Yes, well, even in my optimism, I spotted a few concerns…”

Some part of Silvercrone was listening, toying absentmindedly at his glasses, and filing the pertinent information in his brain for later recall.  But the other part of him was lost a fantastic universe where he was not PM and D’lia was not his Advisor

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

Thafter finished talking with the hospitality expert at the Frostoria, having made his way over from the Minax.  He didn’t have to be there, but he had hurried over after receiving the various delegation reports.  He was relieved that he had enough time to introduce himself to all the delegates during the reception.  He’d been careful to not prattle on as he was wont to do.

The delegations began moving to the front of the hotel for the short trip to the Minax.  The Khem, as usual, were first, and even the massive and regal Grohk smiled and nodded his recognition as Thafter held the door respectfully.  As much time as he had spent researching and being concerned about the Khem, he found he was actually beginning to like them.  He chuckled to himself at the thought.

He waited outside the Frostoria and lit up a cigarette.  There were four Order Guards nearby, dressed in gold armor with green highlights.  They were always helmeted in public and their eyes were hidden behind a steel grey visor indented into the front of a gold titanium helmet.  The only part of the actual body you could see was the mouth. They were well-trained and brutal, but Thafter knew enough to know they were, somewhere, still human.  Thafter offered a cigarette to the nearest guard and shrugged when the guard smirked.  It was a playful gesture from the only man the Order Guard knew they could trust.

The street was deserted – blocked off by the Order Guard.  In fact, they had blocked the public from the entire route to the Minax.  Looking at the empty street, Thafter got a chill, even in the afternoon heat.  Have to get that checked out, he said.

Another couple of limos pulled up to the curb and Thafter turned to see Duke Alosiso, led by Babushka and another bodyguard who’s name Thafter didn’t quite catch, walking briskly out of the Frostoria.  Just as Thafter made the decision to step forward and engage the Duke, there was a crashing sound at the end of the block.  Thafter started to turn, expecting to see the all-to-familiar squabble between two citizen drivers.  But before he could turn, he felt tremendous stinging pain in his right side, and then immediately another pain, but blunt, on his left side.  It was then he realized he was falling, and the last thing he saw was golden and green armor of an Order Guard, enveloping and protecting him.

Too late,  he tried to say as he lie on the sidewalk, but good try.  With his last ounce of strength, he patted the Guard on the helmet.  Thafter sighed tiredly, and as he closed his eyes for good, he wondered if it was the same Guard to whom he offered the cigarette.

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

As soon as the Duke realized he was yelling, he forced himself to stop.  But the pain in his leg and foot was almost unbearable and he was holding his ankle with both hands as he lie on the floor of the car.  He looked over and saw, to his surprise, one of those Order Guards that had seemed to be omnipresent. The guard was watching intently out the back window as the limousine careened down the unfamiliar streets.  It took the Duke a minute to realize the Order Guard was talking to him.

“…pressure on it, sir. We are taking you to the designated military base to meet with your Spec Ops team.”

“Have…have…they been notified …?”  The Duke gasped as the limo made a hard turn, and the guard held out a steadying hand without even turning his head.

“Yes sir,” yelled the guard, then “Stay down, sir.  They may be in pursuit.”

“Aren’t these cars bullet proof?”

“Yes sir, and bomb proof.  But I must insist you stay down for your own safety.”

“How far do we have to go?”

“About three miles sir.  Your Spec Ops team has just entered our airspace and is being escorted to the base by our air units.  They will be at the base before we will.”

“How do you know that?”

The Order Guard tapped his helmet – “radio transmitters inside" - but his eyes never left the road behind them.

Duke gasped at the pain before he had a chance to ask his next question, and tried to keep pressure.  There was an unbelievable amount of blood, and he wished he would have paid more attention to the contingency plan when he was being briefed by Babushka –  Babushka!

“Where are my bodyguards?” he snapped quickly.
 
“One dead, sir.  Don’t know about the other.” 

“Which one?”

“Sir?”

“Which bodyguard is dead?”

“The Lycan, sir.”  Babushka.  The Duke’s heart sunk.  He remembered Babushka pulled out her dual Berettas before the Duke even saw the threat. He remembered Drahoslav, his other bodyguard, throwing him into the limo almost simultaneously as a sudden stinging erupted on his leg and turned immediately into searing pain, just before he passed out.

“What happened?” said the Duke, surprised that he hadn’t thought to ask that question already. The Order Guard did not reply.  The Duke winced as they skidded around another corner. 

“I saw the automobile racing towards us and … and I heard … the gunfire.”

“Sir, please save your strength.  There will be time to sort this out later.”  Just then, the Duke began to feel dizzy, so he laid his head down on the floor of the car and submitted to unconsciousness.

---------------------
Silvercrone was beside himself.  His honored guests, with the exception of the Khem and the Bustos, were in the reception hall exchanging hushed words and looking untrustingly at the Order Guards who formed a line of protection in front of them.  His personal security guard was about to take a right cross from the Tres University boxing champ of 1965 when he finally let Silvercrone through.

As Silvercrone stumbled into the muggy air outside of the Frostoria, all his senses were overwhelmed with stimuli. 

He smelled the smoke and burning metal from the 4x4 practically lodged in the trunk of the limo with the Myroria flags.  He heard two cries, one anguished as a member of the Bustos delegation wept over a dead body, and one tormented, as Order Guards and paramedics surrounded him in an effort to save what they could.  He tasted the metallic deception of blood and shock.  He touched the Order Guard General on the shoulder, his cold metal armor pained his flushed, hot skin.

And when the General and he walked over to the security van and reviewed the footage, he saw …everything.

He saw his lifelong friend Thafter fall just seconds before an Order Guard tackled him to the ground.  He saw that same Order Guard, riddled with bullets, stay motionless.

He saw Babushka, before anyone else had even moved, draw two guns from her holsters and empty both into the charging 4X4, and he saw her fall.

He saw Drahoslav wrestle the Duke into the car, then fall to the ground.  He saw an alert Order Guard diving in after the Duke a split second before the limo peeled out on to the street.

And he saw the mother fucking bastards in the 4X4.  He watched the driver die instantly from Babushka’s deadly aim.  He watched the passenger fire his automatic weapon indiscriminately until the 4X4 plowed into the Myrorian limo that had pulled in behind the Bustos car.  Then he watched the passenger’s head explode into the windshield on impact.
 
He watched the four men in the back emptying their weapons at the Bustos delegation and then at the Order Guards who were retaliating, and then he watched each of the scum die, one by one.

And now, someone pointed to another monitor in the van, and he saw a live news broadcast on Spire-TV.  And he saw The Ascendancy, not yet fifteen minutes after the event, claim responsibility for the attack.

“If this war was not over yet,” he said to the General, “it will not see another day. Here is what we are going to do…..”

---------------
Silvercrone’s next order of business was his guests, and he went directly from the van back into the ballroom and addressed the delegates.

“My esteemed guests, I am truly appalled and anguished to report to you that there has been a … an attack on one of your fellow delegations.”  The room became very noisy once again as arguments began instantly, and questions shouted indiscriminately.

“Which delegation?” someone shouted.

“The Allied States of Bustos.” 

“Was Duke Alosiso hurt?”

“We don’t know.  We believe he is alive and being extracted by his Spec Ops team at this very moment.”

D’lia was at his side and put her mouth to his ear.  “I’m not sure if you should be answering these questions until we know more.”

Silvercrone gave her a look she had never seen before – and a look she never wanted to see again.  An aide came up and mercifully pulled her aside to let her know the local reporter was ready for a live interview.

“What about the Khem?”  The questions from the crowd continued.

“They made it out of the area before the attack.”

“Did they leave the country?”

“I….I don’t know.  The Order Guards at the Minax said they arrived safely, but since then I don’t know what they chose to do.”  The crowd was getting stirred up again.  He knew he probably had one more chance before they simply wouldn’t listen to him anymore.

“Please.  Attention please!  What we are doing … as you see these gentlemen in the orange jumpsuits very busy around you right now … these are telecommunications experts and they are setting up a private line for each of you to call directly to your nation’s leadership.  You will each have your own private conference room.  I would urge you to talk to your leadership and determine what is best for you and your country.”  The crowd had calmed and was quieter than it had been all afternoon.

“As far as the Summit goes, I’m afraid I am not sure whether we will continue or not.  It will depend, I think on three things, the first of which is the health of the Duke.  The second is an assessment of our protection ability in light of this latest attack … and the third, which is the success of a planned military response that is being carried out as we speak…”

Murmurs in the crowd. 

One of the delegates shouted to Silvercrone – “You know who did this?”

“Yes.”  Silvercrone paused.  “The Ascendancy has taken credit for attack.”  Not surprisingly, he felt the wind being sucked right out of the room.  Complete silence.  Silvercrone sighed.  I’m really going to do this?  I’m going to throw out all my training and protocol and go with my instinct?  He knew the answer.

“The Ascendancy, yes,” he said, “and I know that some – perhaps many of you – backed the Ascendancy during the civil war before the Purge of ‘66, and no doubt some of you did so after the Purge.  And the Ascendancy lost.”  The silence was so deafening, Silvercrone felt it physically.

“This Summit, with your presence here in our nation, is a gesture of goodwill on your behalf.  A recognition of the now ruling, legitimate government of this nation.  So the slate is wiped clean.  This summit was, in part, to mend those old wounds, and to move forward into peace and prosperity with all who would join us.”

“Whatever link you had with the Ascendancy before – allies, enemies or indifferent, no longer matters to the Republic of Megatridimensional Order.  What matters is what you do starting today.” 

Silvercrone took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

“In fact, as I am speaking to you, I have decided we will continue the Summit, if even only one nation stays.  We will not allow demons of the past to soil the present, or the future.  They have their own demons.  And it is not in the Megatrine nature to allow others to dictate our path.  That said, the telecoms will be up in a few minutes, I am told, and please take all the time you need.  Those of you staying at the Minax – your belongings are being brought here to the Frostoria as we speak, so that you may leave immediately if you so choose. 

If you choose to stay, and I hope you will, we are in the process of clearing out many of the spaces we were using administratively, opening several suites for your use.”

“Thank you all, no matter your decision.  I will personally keep you updated as I receive news.  Your Liaisons will show you to your communications.  As soon as you have decided, please let your liaisons know so we can begin immediate preparations either way.”

[Letonna]

Groft fished in his pockets for his bottle of headache pills. He had already taken 3 more than he was supposed to that day, and was pinching the 4th and 5th out of the bottle. His aides and ministry officials bickered behind him, caught up in the fear of the moment. He waited until his superiors could be reached in Letonnasburg.

"...Yes. But we need to speak to Minister Vambaum immediently. Rank 11 yes. No I have clearence from Belker himself. Yes. Ok I will." An aide yelled into a phone.

"They're connecting us now sir."

"Even when my own life is threatened I still have to go though 20 minutes of red tape to get anyone." Belker thought to himself.

The aide nodded to Grofft and handed him the phone. Before he could even say anything an irritated voice yelled at him.

"I hope you know you're calling me at home Belker! Do you know what time it is?! Aren't you supposed to be at some party? I mean Jesus, you couldn't forward this to my secretary?!"

"There was a terrorist attack sir, we need the Ministry's or Crown's clearence on what to do."

"Was anyone on your team hurt?"

"No Sir. Most of my team were socializing or away from the combat."

"And what of The Order? What are they saying?"

'They seem to be in confusion, but are in damage control mode at the moment. They also seem to be determined to continue. They claim it was The Ascendency."

Vambaum grumbled.

"Sir?"

"I assumed they were well under control. We had cut ties with them in the early 70's under Ulfrums 'clean up our PR' debacle. However, if you ask any Internal Affairs veteran, they'll say we cut ties because of a few deals gone sour. I suppose no better time to make a statement than when the whole world is watching. Contunue with the conference Belkin. I'd send you Imperial security, but I think a Letonese military plane flying in would not aide the situation."

"Understood Sir.  I will have an aide phone you in the morning with updates."

"Good. I might make a few phone calls to some friends in the Cefnor nations, see what they think. Glory to the Crown."

"Glory to the Ministry."

He hung up the phone. His team had gone from bickering to watching him anxiously. He stood up, and turned to face them.

"It's business as usual. We're stilling bringing the Empire's best wishes to this conference. I advise you to all sleep it off, and stick close to security from not on. No leaving the hotel, the conference, or my sight! Got that?"

The assemblage of bureaucrats and ministry officials nodded.

[Bustos]

On the hospital ship ASS Marr by the maritime border of The Megatridimensional Order...

“Clearly...they shot...my foot!”  He screamed and pointed at his right foot, encased in bandages and a brace that covered the foot and lower leg.

“More specifically, your achilles tendon, sir,” continued the doctor.  “Mending and resetting the bones broken by the bullets wasn't a problem.  I'm afraid the bullets ripped the tendon apart and the damage was too severe to fully repair it, my lord.  I was able to piece it back together by harvesting your part of your plantaris muscle with some Artelon.  However, even with the best rehabilitation therapy, I'm afraid you'll walk with a slight limp for the rest of your life.”

The Chairperson was upset to hear the news.  “WHAT do you mean a slight limp?!”  But it was not the thought of the permanent limp that really angered him as the coming to terms of being a target of an assassination attempt.  The confirmation of Babushka's death.  Babushka...  The apparent revival of the Ascendancy, an old rival of his grandfather.  The doctor had, unintentionally, become his emotional outlet.

Only recently did he wake up from surgery and been delivered all the news on what had happened in the past 10 hours.  He also watched the security footage of the attack released by the Megatridimensional Order.  He remembered hearing the gunshots and the burning pains to his foot while being shoved into the limo before passing out.  He slightly came to when he realized he was in a helicopter surrounded by his own Spec Ops medics.  Very woozy as the painkillers did their work before passing out again until a couple of hours ago.

In the Duke's hospital room, his grandfather had already arrived, sitting by his bed.  Nine flatscreens, sitting on wheeled carts, each with a Director of the Board present.  Discussing recent events and the options.  The doctor, with an assistant and a nurse checking the medical machines and IV attached to him, had just explained the extent of his injury.

His grandfather got up and shooed the assistant and nurse out towards the door, grabbing the doctor along with him.  The grandfather told her in a low voice, “It's not you.  It's everything.  Please forgive him.  I'll call for you when he is in a better mood.”

The room, now just with the two of them and the Board.  Regent Christopher, the Fifth, of the Bustos, looked at his grandson.  “It isn't easy being the Duke, is it?” he joked.

Duke Alosiso gave a small smile and shook his head, still staring at his injured foot.  “Babushka asked me to wear a Kevlar vest under my suit.  Maybe it should have been Kevlar socks instead?”

A few smiles and small laughs came across the flatscreens.

“Babushka...”

“I know,” said the Regent.  Ten years ago, he personally selected her as his grandson's bodyguard from the Karzvojn Clan.  He walked over back over and stood besides his bed.

“Her pups?”

“Her family, is now, our family.  Same goes for Drahoslav's.”  The Regent squeezed the Duke's hand and paused for a short moment before looking back at the faces on the flatscreens.  “Now, let's review our thoughts and options again.  We'll need to follow up with a course of action soon.”

2 hours later, an encrypted communique is sent to the Office of the Prime Minister of the Republic of the Megatridimensional Order.

To:  Octavius Silvercrone
Prime Minister
The Republic of the Megatridimensional Order

From:  Hefina Eleri Bowen
Director of the Office of Public Relations
CEO of Regional Consulting
The Allied States of Bustos

First, we are happy to report that Duke Valerio Alosiso, the First, of the Bustos, Governor of Valorium, Chairperson of the Allied States of Bustos is in satisfactory condition despite wounds sustained in the Ascendancy's assassination attempt.

In a couple of days, at his insistence, Duke Valerio Alosiso will return to lead his delegation and see to the Summit's end.  He will not allow the actions of a few terrorists, derail the opportunity for future prosperity and peace.  To ensure the Chairperson's safety, new security procedures and measures will be undertaken.  See attached security files.

We are sending a team of investigators, including counter insurgent specialists, to support your team in finding the specific person(s) involved in this attack.  They will place themselves under your team's direction.  You will not only find them quite eager and motivated but, have access to our intelligence, military, and satellite networks.  We hope they will prove most useful.  See attached personnel files.

We will continue to maintain a carrier battle group by your maritime borders to provide any type of support to your forces combating the Ascendancy, if and when needed.  A marine expeditionary division will be attached to the carrier group.  Note, they may conduct independent operations beyond your borders.  See attached military files.

The Chairperson will not forget the heroic actions of your Order Guard and the Allied States will stand united with the Megatridimensional Order against the Ascendancy.

May our relations grow strong and profitable.

[Myroria]

"Has anyone seen Gilas?" Sondas said, holding his hand over the handset's speaker. The room shook their collective heads nervously. Sondas sighed. "No one's seen him since the shooting."

---

"I'm sure he's off crying and puffing on his inhaler in a bathroom stall somewhere," Sarandas said. He propped his feet up on his desk and held the phone to his ear with his shoulder. Sarandas Raraniseth was the newest Royal Chamberlain, following the unfortunate death of his predecessor to lung cancer. He had little patience for Gilas, especially after having been juggling three phone lines for nearly an hour in the middle of the night.

"Today's really not the day to deal with Gil's shit," he said.

"Oh yeah?" Sondas said on the other end. "You're having a bad day?"

"Some guy double parked and blocked me in in front of a building on Oak Street this afternoon. I was almost an hour late to a meeting."

"An hour late?" Sondas said. "Boy, I thought my day was terrible." There was silence on the other end.

"You know," Sarandas said. "You don't got to be an asshole."

"Oh, he just walked in." Sondas exclaimed. "There's a lens missing from his sunglasses."

"Who, Gil?"

"Yeah."

"He probably fell down running inside."

---

"I'm sorry I'm late, everyone! I'm okay!" Gilas said. He spoke without a wheeze, as if he made sure to take a puff of his inhaler before walking in.

"You're missing a lens from your sunglasses," a woman standing in the corner of the room said.

"Yes, well, I was running up the stairs to get away from the gunshots and I tripped." He threw his hands up in the air. "I could have gotten seriously hurt." The room full of heads nodded.

"Are you on the phone with Pelagis?" Gilas asked Sondas from across the room. Sondas nodded. "I have to speak with them!"

"Hold on," Sondas said to Sarandas. "He wants to speak to you."

Gilas sat down at the table with the phone, removed his sunglasses, and took the handset from Sondas.

"Gil?" Sarandas said. "This is the Chamberlain. We're preparing Natheneren Air Force Base in Nova Letonna for your arrival. Your delegation is to leave as soon as possible."

"What?" Gilas asked, taken aback. "Work hasn't even started! The Minister will be furious! We - we're on orders from the Sedera herself!"

"I've been on the phone all night with the Foreign Minister, the queen, the director of Section 6 - it's too dangerous to keep you there and we're not sending in special forces. We'll figure out what to do about this conference once your delegation is home."

"The opposition wants this country isolated so they can focus on the government. Isn't it obvious?"

"These orders are from Her Majesty. What would you rather do? Continue serving the Foreign Office or go back on the Council? You could represent - what was it? Every numbered township between Ivorheart and Podunk, Nowhere?"

Gilas paused.

"Give us a few hours to pack."