The Garden: A Prelude to the Sword

[Brazul]

“A rocket facility?” Estevan Alfaro asked, wiping the sweat from his brow. Finishing the swipe, he lowered his fedora. “Presidente, are you sure that's wise?”

President Augusto Remon waved him aside, face florid as he took another drink of cool water, “Relax, old friend. Senor Fuller has a fool proof plan. Tell Estevan!”

In the corner of the room, between the winding wooden columns and gauzy curtains, a sharp dressed man nodded, clutching his briefcase. “Of course, sir. I represent the Astarte Corporation. We're an international organization dedicated to commercial space travel. Your nation lies along the perfect latitude for satellite launches, and you have the infrastructure to match. You're looking to gain in prestige, we're looking for partners.”

Alfaro shook his head. “Security will be expensive-”

“Generalissimo Porras has assured me that he can provide, and Senor Fuller has contractors who can guarantee safety.”

Porras is a drunken fool who has trouble dealing with riots in the garbage slums. “I am filled with confidence.” Estevan said.

The President laughed. “You need something to drink, cousin. You are always too uptight. This will be good for us. Bring prestige! Now we will have banks, pharmacies, the internwebs, and space! Picture! Nations, big and small, bringing their best and brightest, here to our little paradise!”

Alfaro glanced out the open windows to the jungle and the perfect blue sea beyond. “And what will they bring with them, hmm?”

Fuller stood, his briefcase to his chest. “Wealth, Mister Alfaro.”

Alfaro took a drink, and it burned as it went down. “Perhaps. There is no point in arguing, is there?”

“No, cousin.” President Remon leaned back, slicing open an orange. “I've already signed off.”

Alfaro sighed heavily, and took a second drink. “To good fortune, then.”

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

The nation of Brazul has announced the construction of a commercial launch facility. Need a satellite launched? We can do it for a modest fee!

[Monahtan]

"Busy?" the voice on the phone asked.

"Never too busy for a friend," General Akardy Aksenov replied.

"Can you come to my office? I have something I want to show you."

"I'll be there in forty-five ."

---

Hour and a half later...

The thud of General Aksenov's knuckles tapping the door frame echoed through the Minister of Information's office. Sergei Vlasov was seated inside at his computer scanning over some files he had just been made aware of through one of the many intel analysts that worked for Info. "Information" was purely a title given to put the public at ease; having a division of government named "All Things Secret, Covert, And Probably Terribly Illegal" wouldn't go over too well from a PR stand point.

"Come in," Vlasov shouted toward his door. The blinds on the windows on either side were open and he could clearly make out Aksenov's deep blue uniform of The Republican Air Force.

The Air Force Chief of Staff opened the door, stepped inside, and swung it closed behind him, walking toward Vlasov's dark wooden desk. Vlasov stood and extended his hand to his friend as he approched, "You're the head of the Air Force. You have supersonic jets and dozens of helicopters around The City but you still can't make it anywhere on time. What kept you?"

Aksenov grasped Vlasov's hand and said, "You mean you don't know? I would have figured you had a spook on all government officials."

The men released hands and took their seats across the desk from each other before Vlasov spoke again, "Well, I can't give away State secrets."

Few could tell when Vlasov was joking since he did it so rarely. Even now, Aksenov thought better than testing the Minister; some enemies of The Republic had been known to disappear without a trace, friend or not. "So what was this thing you wanted to show me, Sergei?"

"This," Vlasov responded, passing an official looking document across the desk. It was the international announcement from Brazul of their planned space facility.

"Sergei... are you drunk?"

"Excuse me?" the Minister responded. He had not had a single shot of vodka the entire working day, yet.

"A facility to launch satellites? We have several locations capable of this ourselves."

"You're not looking at the big picture, Comrade. They're a small country, open for political branding. They need funding for their own projects and we can give it to them discreetly in the form of payments on our operations at this facility. The more funding we pour into this nation, the higher our influence."

Aksenov laid the document on the edge of the desk and leaned back in his chair, bringing his left ankle to cross atop his right knee. "Not every government in the world is corruptible. We abandoned those practices, or we were suppose to," he said, glaring across at Vlasov.

"Calm down. I have no ill intentions," Vlasov said with a sigh. "We need allies in this day and time. This country will have a lot of funding pouring into them from other countries, not just us. We just have to make sure we fund them more to win over their loyalty. Besides, we can use it legitimately. I'm sure you can dig up something from the Space Division to work out of this facility. I'm always looking for a few more 'eyes in the sky.' "

"Alright," the Air Force officer began, "I'll find something. We could use another location outside of The Republic, for safety reasons."

"That's what I like to hear, Akardy!" Vlasov shouted. "Let me know what you come up with."

[Brazul]

President Augusto Remon sat back in his large chair, smiling from ear to ear.

“Do you see, Estevan!” he declared to Estevan Alfaro, slapping his large palm on the flat desktop as he sudden sat forward. “Do you see!” He paused, taking a long drink from a glass of ice cold, crystal clear water. “Mere hours after we announce our plans, and already, large and powerful nations flock to us!” he laughed jovially, “You see, Estevan, this is why I am the President of Brazul and you…well…you are my cousin!” he declared, laughing hysterically.

Alfaro had his doubts regarding the construction of the new facility, but he could not dispute his cousin’s statement, and he couldn’t help but admire his cousin’s enthusiasm. “Presidente, I do not dispute your statement, though one nation hardly qualifies as “flocking”, cousin.” Replied Alfaro wearily. There was no telling his cousin different when he had set his mind on something.

“But they will, cousin, they will!” said President Remon reassuringly. “It is a matter of time, no more than that, cousin, you will see. When the earth shakes and you see the first craft rocketing skyward, you will know!”

“What did Senior Fuller have to say?”

“I telephoned him a half hour ago, told him to make the necessary arrangements, and to inform the leaders of Monahtan that they will be first on our list, after the successful completion of the test launch!” replied President Remon.

“I see, and how goes construction?” inquired Alfaro

“Senor Fuller informs me that- “Remon started straight ahead, deepening his voice, and attempting to imitate a precise, clipped accent, “-proceeding according to projects.” Remon laughed “that man, Senor Fuller, he is good people, but, he is too tight, tighter than you, cousin, perhaps both of you need a drink!” suggested Remon, laughing at his own wit.

“And how much are the materials costing us?” asked Alfaro, ignoring his cousin’s remarks.

“Ah, yes, well, most of the materials, gravel, stone, and concrete, are able to be produced here, in Brazul, some of the steel and such has to be shipped in, but Senor Fuller has negotiated with us, and the price is quite reasonable.”

“Where are the local materials coming from?” Alfaro pressed

“Ahh, you know, cousin, from the eastern provinces. Those backward yokels wont even miss them.” Answered President Remon replied. “And not to worry, the Generalissimo has the security situation well in hand. Relax, Estaven!”

Estaven wished it were that simple. He smiled wearily, “As you say, cousin, as you say.”

[Kyuria]

In some random generic yet important looking office building a desk clerk gets finds a letter.

TO:Who ever handles this crap
From:Intelligence/IWC
Subject: Giant slab of cement in a place used to launch large hard objects with large full fuel reserves using great force.
Other: Hey babe, wanna go on a date?

She rolls her eyes and tosses it into and important looking bin, which is carried to an important looking van, where important looking people look through it and decide to toss that letter into the van. A few hours later, they drive to an important looking city, the van is unloaded onto a transport which accelerates to break neck speeds along a complicated important looking web of railways. Eventually they arrive at a huge highly Important tower, where they are taken inside and sorted again, rinse, wash, and repeat until they reach the top floor, where a guy behind a desk opens the letter and reads it.

He ROFLMAOs on the floor. Then stamps it with an important seal that looks totally unimportant.
"OHMAHGAWD LOLZ WTF IS THIS??? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!! LAWLZY!!!! Haaaaaaaahahahahahahuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!" He continued to ROFL.
"Govnah, sir, I do not think this is a laughing matter!!! Think of the recreational value of such a facility!!!" some generic important looking secretary said. Yet he ROFLed,
"And Think of the Militaristic power they could hold!!!!!" Some random generic looking General told him. But he still ROFLed,
"This is a matter of the entire Empire's security!!!!" Some random generic Defense Commander shouted. But he still ROFLed,
"But we must be diplomatic!!!!!" Some random generic Ambassador reminded him. But he still ROFLed,
"Think of the long run!!! What we could accomplish!!!" Some random Economics Guy blurted outAnd he still ROFLed
"Just say the word Govnah, sir, remember the Sol-Karian land auction?" An evil voice reminded him. With that he straightened up, a murderous homicidal look in his eyes.
"Look into our space program! See if we can't pull some extra curricular activity! Get some Anti Satellite cannons prepped! Go start talking to them! Alert the populace of a new launching point. AND SOMEBODY GET THE NUKES! I WANT THOSE LANDS BACK!" With that every one ran to carry out their respective duties.

"I Honestly don't trust these guys," on que, screens flickered on, displaying info on the Brazul nation. "We should tread carefully, and more importantly sink our teeth into this offer, who knows? We just might score,........ Did that just sound dirty?"

With that, contact was made with the Republic of Brazul, and space rocket and satellite production kicked into an even higher gear.

[Brazul]

Estevan Alfaro loved these clubs in the heart of San Cristoph, small, dimly lit bars with a small stage for dancing, with corners heavy with the perfume of cigar smoke and spilled liquor. Here, he could tilt his head and bob his drink to the swinging pulse of the music, or lean back and watch the night tide churn in the bay. And all of this, without the damn crush of tourists.

Damn tourists. He glanced to the stage, where two couples, bathed in cheap red lighting, swung to the drums and guitar being played by the band in the corner, tucked below a glowing beer sign. I curse the hand that feeds! He smiled to himself, at his own misaimed unrest.

"Why are you always so bitter? It is not good for you!" Rosaria Isadore leaned against the table for emphasis, and Alfaro had to remind himself not to stare below her eyes. A gentleman. Be a gentleman.

"Long day, Charo. Long day."

"It's your broth-"

"Cousin."

"Your cousin, then. You share a father, no? His family raised you, no?"

Alfaro chuckled, but only once. "From a whore to a bastard, blood is only half as thick when power is involved."

"Estevan!" She scowled.

"I know, I know. It's just been a long day. Some fucking psychopath called me up and then laughed in my ear for sixteen minutes. Laughed so loud the speaker blew out. I think he wanted to buy a launch slot, but I couldn't tell through all the fucking hysteria. Don't know what's so damn funny."

He watched the lights, multicolored like Christmas, strung from dozens of rooves and patios, as they sloped down to the harbour, where they continued, bobbing from dozens of boats on the tropical waters. Somewhere in the distance, a firework bloomed. Looking out here, you might forget to look back, into the deeper jungle, and see the light of a trash fire. But Alfaro liked clubs like this, where you could see the whole city, even the scars.

He continued, "Is it so damn funny because we're trying? Because twenty years ago we were a fucking pisspot for shipping dumping and aloe farming? Is it so damn funny because we can't muster a world-shattering array of nuclear-fucking-weapons and crash around on an army to rival Heaven itself? Is it so damn funny?"

He dropped back down into his chair, tipping the white hat over his eyes as he slumped. "Because I don't see it."

She shushed him, patting his arm. "Your brother is trying. His heart is in the right place."

"I don't doubt his heart. When we were young, my stomach hurt, and he fed me pills from the cabinet to make me better. I still can't hear right. So his heart, no. He's a good man, better than me. But we're playing ball with men who don't give two shits about who we are or why we're here, who've never listened to this music, and drank this wonderfully shitty beer, and taken in the ocean air."

She didn't respond, knowing he was still thinking.

He ground the toothpick in his teeth, then pulled it free, and said, "And they don't see, and I wonder if Augusto sees, how it's pulling us apart. The money isn't spreading fast enough. In the slums, they're still burning trash, they're still living in little villages and picking up pieces of the modernity we're trying so very hard to buy. And they're getting angry. He hasn't been out to Cintano, hasn't seen the way they're boiling. And the more we get, the greater the gap, and they start saying, 'where's our piece', and they get desperate. And I don't blame them. Porras, son of a bitch, just thinks special police will solve it."

"That's why he needs you! You can get through to him!"

"Maybe. He's got plenty more advisors, now that he's on top. And they're not afraid to use that good heart of his." He glanced at his watch. "Damnit. I'm sorry, but I've got another planning meeting tomorrow, trying to get some of Cintano workers on the project, maybe get them to buy in."

He stood, offering her his hand. "It's been lovelly, as always."

"All we ever do is talk."

"You're a great conversationalist." He handed her a wad of money, which she stuffed into her shirt. "Little extra for the bitching." He kissed her cheek.

"You're way over paid. You can get a free pass anytime." She smiled, so sweetly.

"No, no need. Take care of your kid. Get him into school." He tipped his hat walked away.

[Brazul]

"What the hell is this?" Alfaro pushed past one of the orange-vested construction workers, trying to get between the President and his advisors. "I was told we'd be using local labor!"

"They are too... how do you say it, 'risky'." Stated Generalissimo Porras, placing his cigar back into his swollen mouth. "So we are using contractors."

"No, no, no, I negotiated-" Alfaro began, but Porras cut him off.

"With terrorists and separitists who would destroy this great nation." The massive general smiled around his cigar, letting the harsh sun shine from his aviator sunglasses. "But your cousin forgives you-"

"Augusto!" Alfaro begged, "Please, do something!"

"I have made my decision. Do not question me, please, cousin!" The President tried to break away to speak to more syncophants that swarmed near him, flies to a fresh kill.

"The Cintanos! They were promised-" but the President was being herded away.

Porras bellowed a laugh. "They will get what they get."

Alfaro levelled a finger. "They will not take this lightly. This was theirs, and this might be one straw too much!"

"And if that is the case, then we shall have our day." The Generalissimo flipped his cigar, motioning to his armed guards, and then following after the President's wake.

Alfaro leaned against a parked bulldozer. Next to him, the nebbish Astarte representative picked at his briefcase. "What is it, Fuller?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing." The company man shifted slightly, trying to not get any of the dirt on him. He was wearing his damn gloves again. "Just so dirty out here. Lots of diseases, you know. Bacteria." He winced. "So much scrubbing."

"Oh, for the love of God, grow a pair." Alfaro snapped. "Could you help me out here? Argue the cost of contractors versus locals or something. Make Augusto see?"

"Oh, of course. Let me-" Fuller dropped his briefcase, spilling the contents into the mud, and he yelped, jumping away. "Oh no, oh no! So much dirt! It's all ruined! I'm going to need new papers, new folders. Do you know how hard it is to find the exact right sized envelopes?" He tugged on his gloves, then rubbed his face, then yanked his hands from his face and stared at them. "Oh, your numbers."

"Yes. Please." Alfaro fumed.

"Well, the costs for locals would be lower, but by how much margin- I don't suppose you could pick up that paper over there?"

"This one?"

"Yes. No! No! Don't hand it to me! There's dirt on it! Just, um, read it... please?"

Alfaro read the numbers, and Fuller nodded along.

Finally, the accountant declared, "Yes, yes, locals will save three percent on the final cost, after additional security is calculated. That's something, I think."

"Three percent? How much in raw money?"

"Well, if we adjust for- wait, no. The Generalissimo called in some favors, got contractors at a low rate. It's actually over by three percent to use the native workers." Fuller shook his head. "No use, and it's all muddy. Sorry."

"It's not just numbers!" Alfaro snapped. "They're going to take this as a slap in the face, a vindication of every wild notion that we're out to rob them, to rape them. This could set off another goddamn war! I promised them everything!"

"I... I don't know about that. Those are externalities that I haven't worked on. Let me get my numbers-" Fuller backed away from the raging Alfaro, bumped into a concrete slab, and jerked as if burned. He tried in vain to knock the dirt away, spinning in circles.

Alfaro spat in disgust, and turned to watch the press conference, and the biggest mistake any of them had ever made.

[Monahtan]

The door to Vlasov's office swung open startling him, causing his hand to shake and spill the vodka he was pouring onto the lacquered wooden counter top. He quickly raised the mouth of the vodka bottle and sat it down on the counter, reaching for a towel to clean the mess up and opening the small cabinet attached to the wall to retrieve another shot glass.

"You could've been shot," Vlasov said calmly.

"Not before this, Comrade," General Aksenov said, raising a crimson folder above his head and walking toward one of the chairs in front of Vlasov's desk.

"You come bearing gifts, Akardy? You mean you got out in this weather?" Vlasov said sarcastically, handing the General the second glass of vodka. Outside the large windows behind Vlasov's desk, the city was under attack by a torrential downpour. The big rain drops collided with the window panes, echoing through the office.

Aksenov quickly downed the vodka then laid both the empty glass and the folder on the desk, pushing the folder toward Vlasov. "There it is. The official order creating The Republican Surveillance Bureau, signed by Alek and the Premier himself. Officially, Info will control the agency and the Air Force will control the satellites."

The Information Minister sat his glass down, choosing to open the folder first to better enjoy the drink after he read the good news. He read the contents of the folder silently, skimming through the few pages depicting the administration personnel, the budget, the operations, the location of the head office, and the other tedious details required in government work. Vlasov began to drift into a sort of daydream, imagining the possibilities of this new agency and how it could benefit The Republic.

Thunder and lightening cracked outside sending a flash of blinding white light through the windows breaking the trance Vlasov was in. His reading brought him to the location of the headquarters: the launch facility in Brazul.

"Who's idea was this?" he asked, the anger growing in his voice.

"Mine. If we put the headquarters over there, we'll not only control a bigger portion of this project, but we'll be able to pour more funds into it. Remember the big picture, Sergei."

Vlasov switched his gaze to the vodka sitting on his desk and picked it up raising it to just under his mouth, "Da... good point," escaped his lips preceding the taste of vodka flowing over them.

"Call their government. Make sure they'll allow us this option. Let them know we've already appropriated funds to construct an entirely separate facility for the office and as far as the construction itself goes... well, as long as they get it done, The Premier doesn't care how. Make it clear The Republic will pick up the tab on everything. Materials, labor, medical bills; whatever it takes. Convince them."

"This is going to take a lot more than just them accepting this plan. Shouldn't Federov be doing this?" Vlasov asked. Alik Federov was, afterall, the Minister of International Affairs.

"He's busy dealing with the Corvash war and all the backlash we're getting from other nations. Just do it, Sergei. This was your pet project in the first place."

"Right..." he began, another crack of lightening flashing behind him over the capital city. "Right, I'll make the call now then."

[Brazul]

"Nonsense, Presidente!" General Porras boomed, leaning back onto the sofa. The two beautiful women with him both tried to scoot away from his bulk without him noticing. "Estevan in... eh... outdated. He doesn't think about the future!"

President Remon replied, "He's my cousin, General, and he is a very smart man."

"Smart is smart, but this is business! We'll let Monahton build their site, and tax them for it. They'll do their own security, it's no loss. Besides, if something goes awry, we can press them for assistance! It's brilliant!" Porras grinned, then waved to the corner. "And, senor Fuller, stop standing in the corner and enjoy my party!"

The Astarte representative wiped his glasses quickly. "Oh, oh, yes, of course. Sorry. I was enjoying- I mean, I am enjoying-"

Porras roared with laughter, nearly knocking one of his "guests" off his sofa. "I will need to get you drunk, Senor Fuller. Teach you to live a little."

"Oh, yes, sir." Fuller puffed on his inhaler. "That would be very, um, fun."

Remon sighed, saying, "Is there a point to tormenting this man?"

"Oh, of course, my President." Porras motioned. "Estevan tried to get our friend here to go behind your back and hire in some of the locals again. Tried to get him to cook the books to look better. But my men caught him, and we brought him here, to you, for justice."

"It wasn't that! Mr. President, I assure you, I was just trying to help! Mister Alfaro said we should recruit locally, and -oh God, I think I need my inhaler!" He puffed again. "And I was trying to help. I'm sorry, the General's men had guns. They had guns, and they pointed them at me! I just-" Fuller looked like he was going to cry. "Please don't hang me. The general said you'd hang me!"

Remon shook his head, as Porras laughed again, attempting to fondle one of his servants. "No, I'm not going to hang you. General Porras was just being an ass."

"Hey!" Porras jerked away from his endeavors, "That's-"

"I am the President, and you will not forget that! And I do not hang men for trying to help!" Remon's face was a storm cloud. "Mister Fuller, I appreciate your concern, but this has been decided. My cousin should enjoy his vacation, and I will handle business."

"Thank you, sir." Fuller wiped his sleeve on his forehead, then stared at the sweat as though the stain might attack him. "That's good, because I think I can make it up to you."

"Oh?"

"While we were digging, sir. The bays around these islands, they're covered in old impact sites, right? From some asteroid that broke up around the K-T boundary?"

Remon glanced to Porras, and both men tried to out nod the other, showing that they knew exactly what Fuller meant.

"We've been mining from the bays mostly, for the launch site, because we suspected the iridium levels would be higher there, and we were hoping to perhaps turn around a metals sale. Full disclosure." Fuller winced. "Not me, mind you. That was over me, I just found out."

Remon waved him on. "So, you found it?"

"Er, yes. But more importantly, the rocks down there appear to be lunar in origin. Maybe the strike was direct, but some glance from the moon, and the rubble came down here. Fascinating stuff, really. But the important part is, there's more than iridium down there. It's loaded with helium."

"The gas?" Porras asked. "For balloons?"

"No, no, a rarer kind, much rarer, trapped in the rock. We'll have to mine it carefully, but this stuff, it's valuable. More valuable than anything within a thousand miles. And there's enough to- well, to fund a nation for centuries, if it were for sale."

"What's it do?" Remon asked. "I've never heard of it!"

"Mostly medical uses, really, for some scanning equipment. But, it's apparently of use in nuclear power. Controlled fusion, if you can get it. Much more workable than tritium. Only a few nations on the planet even use the stuff, and rarer still in such quantities as we have here. No real use to you, Mister President, not without the infrastructure. But as a sale item... you could make more per ounce on this than this entire island made of gold."

"Who knows about this?" Porras demanded.

"Just yourselves, and my superiors in Astarte. We're keeping this close to the chest, to prevent any, incident. But, we have some potential buyers, if you're interested."

"Of course!" Porras declared, then glanced to Remon. "If my president agrees, that is."

"Put out a feeler, but be careful. I'll need to talk to Estevan."

Porras rolled his eyes, then returned to assaulting his escorts. Fuller nodded, pulling out his cell phone, eager to get away from this party.

[Kyuria]

It was a relatively quite peaceful day, which was odd,...

The Govnah had sat in his chair and all of the day before had been laughing and giggling hysterically. It had taken a frying pan to finally shut him up.

Now, he and a full survey team were on their way to check out the site, and see if it was worth investing any more time in. They sat in a plane, it was the final stop before the flight across the ocean to Brazul. The plane itself was in a word, strange. It was shaped like a giant Manta ray but with an elongated cockpit pertruding out the front, two large flat engines underneath both wings,and a long cargo bay ran it's entire123 meter length. On it's tail were a trio of small but high powered engines. It was painted completely black and silver and someone had scribbled numerous bombs and bullet all over the wings, a testament to the pilots skills. Inside, It was a cross between an Oval Office, a Hotel, and a meeting room with Chairs arranged in a circle around a large fancy table and minibars all along the walls.

"Final check list before take off, *Yawn* Supplies, check. Stuff, check, Plane, check. Pilots, DUH. People?" The main pilot glances around at each of the three other co pilots and 2nd main pilot, then back into the cabin. There in front of the circle, sat General Glastondale, beside him sat Police chief/Head of security Devon who had a sign that said "bored" infront of her face, and The twins Tammy and Mefan, an economics professor and an astronaut respectively. Beside them, sat Ryhs, an important looking Scientist. Opposite him sat a reporter named Harlen who affectionately referred to him as "Ritz" and her camera man Geoffrey Was making a dramatic gagging look of disgust. The pilot turned back to his preflight check list "Sure,... Sanity?" He nervously glances to the back of the circle where the Govnah, Moache, sat in a large fancy chair spinning in circles, next to him sat a doctor who scooted over in his seat, holding a box of pills with "Happyness" scribbled on the side, some of which he occasionally handed the young lunatic. He whipped back around in his seat. "Question mark" An awkward silence followed, interrupted only by the squeaking of the spinning chair. "Alright we are goooooood to go!"

"Ya know, I wannna know how this thing is supposed ta work," Moache asked no one in particular.

"Well," Tammy began "supposedly, we go and buy ourselves a launch pad, then we are free to ship our rockets and shuttles-"

"And missiles and satellites." Glastondale interjected.

Tammy glared back at him, "And we launch them to our heart's content." Mefan finished for her. "Thank you" Tammy said, now giving him the evil eye. He just shrugged, "Skuse' me for pointing out an important fact that we'd be closer to world domination if we did this." he made a finger pyramid of evil and turned around. Geoffrey shook his head.
"Any way, just now much are we supposed to pay for all this?" Devon asked idly waving a nail file.

"Well, we either pay a ridiculously large price up front, or a fee every launch I suppose,"

"Well then, let's ring'em up and find out!" Moache shouted

"But what do we dial?"

A moment of silence, then the guard in the restroom comes back in "How the fuck are we supposed to know?"

"GOOD POINT!" one of the others say.

"Morons," Ryhs takes a print out from inside his folder "really, how did I let you people talk me into this?"

"Cuz' that's what your paid for, stuck up jackass." The doctor shot a nasty glance at him. "and a more important question would be who elected this Psychopath into office in the first place," He spins Moache's chair even faster.

"Lets just get on with it!" Harlen snatches the sheet from Ryhs "And put that thing on speaker phone!"

A few minutes of dis-functionality later, they finally made the call.

OOC:I'll do the call later.

[Brazul]

OOC: I am going to be on vacation for the next week or so, and will only be able to answer intermittently.Feel free to continue posting, but the thread will not progress until I return.

Thank you.

[Brazul]

OOC: Back from vacation, relaunching thread. Sorry for the delay, everyone.

IC:

“It's worth how much?” Estevan Alfaro demanded. “Madre dios, that's a lot.”

“Yes, absolutely. And we think we might have a buyer.” Fuller stated, clutching his ever-present briefcase. “This could underwrite a lot of the infrastructure.”

“Yes, yes.” Alfaro nodded. “But is it too risky? Someone might just make a power play for it.”

“The buyer we've contacted does not have an active history of aggressive seizures. Their playbook looks to be simple buyouts and favor trading. So long as we deal cleanly, we can win large, and make a powerful ally.”

“And what does my cousin say?”

“He insisted I tell you. He would have come himself, but the Generalissimo has him tied up-”

“Bastardo.”

“Yes, I think you have the heart of it, Mister Alfaro.”

“Call me Estevan, please.” Alfaro thought for a moment. “Are they doing it? Are they going to sell?”

“Yes, far as I can tell.”

“Then that's that. Just make sure that the fat bastard doesn't try to fuck my cousin over.”

Fuller glanced at his hands, as if asking, 'with what? My class ring?'. But he nodded. “I will.”

“And the launch site? What's the progress?”

“Proceeding well. There've been a few incidents with the villagers-”

“Incidents!” Estevan tried not to show his fears.

“They've tried to picket the site a few times. The Generalissimo broke the strike, though. I didn't get the details, but I know he used State Security forces-”

“Thugs.”

“-and sent it away. They came back a few times, and he broke it each time.”

“There's more?”

“Well, yes. They started disrupting supplies to the site. So Porras started using armed escorts and stationing 'watch posts' in the nearby villages.”

“Wonderful.”

“Well, it seems to have worked well. We haven't seen any sign of protest in two weeks.”

“That doesn't seem normal.”

“Well, aparently, he talked to the President, and they agreed on an aid and development package to buy off the locals. Maybe they came around to your view?”

Alfaro leaned back, removing his hat for a moment to scratch his head. “That would be a miracle. Porras has probably laid enough antipathy for two generations already. At least they stopped.”

“Yes, sir. The StaSec seems to be doing a good job-”

“Wait! He's using his StaSec for this?”

“What's that have-”

“What have they moved into the area? Where are they? How many? How much? Have you talked to anyone in the region?” Alfaro demanded, nearly screaming.

“No, no, wh-”

“Anything!”

“They're doing some sort of demographic study or something to determine the best way to optimize resources-”

“Jesus fuck!” Alfaro grabbed his jacket. “Who's running it?”

“Colonel Guerro.”

“Shit in the milk.”

“What?” Fuller asked, bewildered.

“Nothing. Fuck. I need to call Remon.”

“He's on vacation.”

“What?”

“He's out of communications on his yacht.”

“Why would he- Porras, that donkey-fuck- I swear to God above- Grab your stuff, Fuller. We're going to check on Guerro's operation. Bring a camera.”

“But if he's doing dangerous things out there-” Fuller stopped, seeing the glare. “Right. Coming.”

[Kaukolastan]

Fenric Harbor
Sarobade, Kaukolastan

“No, no, I can hold. I understand. It's fine.” Gregory Levine paced his office, phone clipped to his ear. He glanced from chart to chart, from one wall-hanging display to the next. Two weeks of beating around the bush with these backwater bumpkins, and he was on hold again. It's not like he had a career-changing report he needed complete. It's not like he had the entire Economic Outlook committee up his ass with a flashlight, looking for gold. It's not like he was on the spot of his life, make it or break it, in front of not just Corsingard, but the entire Directorate Alliance.

All over some cock up in projections and a pipe dream of clean power. Now he had to go dance a jig with a bunch of banana-republic, tin-pot, just-discovered-the-rocket-and-think-it-makes-them-special clowns, who enjoyed nothing more than making him steam. “Fuck this helium.”

“Sir?” The voice on the other end of the phone asked.

Oh, fuck me. “Nothing. Sorry, another conversation.”

“Yes, sir, of course. Now, what can we do for you?”

For the seventh time today, he began, “My name is Gregory Levine, Kaukolastan Ministry of Finance, calling to respond to your offer of Helium-Three.”

“Oh, yes, Mister Levine, good to hear from you.”

“We're definitely willing to consider your offer, and we'd like more information on exactly what you're willing to sell.”

“Harvested materials only, market price.”

Levine bounced a ball from the wall of his office. “Well, that's not what we were hoping. Is there any way to change that? Perhaps put a lease on mineral rights on the table? We would follow all regulations in your country- we've gone over them all, pay taxes on operations, and still pay market on the materials movement. Only difference is, we'd front the cost for facilities and run the day-to-day. We get our own quality assurance, you get savings. We both win.”

“That's not on the table.”

“Well, allow me to make an offer. If this were to be an option, we could, say, underwrite your entire space program.”

There was silence.

“That's right. Economic calculations show that our daily GDP could fund your program's projected annual budget several times over. We could underwrite the whole thing, maybe throw in a university or two, a hospital, send some shipping your way, and boost your national value by thirty percent over a single year.”

He could almost hear the stun from the other end. I love the sound when these jokers realize we could buy their country in bulk.

“Are we ready to play ball?” Levine couldn't help but smile. Maybe his career wasn't over, anyway.

[Brazul]

The “road” did not live up to it's name. Few did, once outside San Christoph. Sure, the cities boated new, modern, paved roads, but once in the mountainous jungle inland, it was hard pack trails and small cement strips that went no where.

The UAZ, a small four-by-four purchased from the heart of an eastern bloc fire sale, bounced along the ruts and grooves, crashing over creeks and disintegrating berms. Estevan Alfaro gripped the wheel tightly, never letting off the gas as the poor old soviet transmission clanked and whirred. Next to him, bouncing in and out of his seat, Fuller tried desperately to hang on to the frame.

“Couldn't you have gotten one with seat belts?” The accountant asked, face ashen.

“No time.” Alfaro launched the UAZ over another trough. “Just get your camera ready.”

The jungle, beautiful but boiling hot, flashed past. The cries and calls of the unseen denizens rose into a furor as the vehicle blasted through. Fuller stopped clutching the door long enough to watch the tropical birds burst from the underbrush and fly past. Alfaro simply glared at the road ahead.

Checkpoint.

Two trucks, two and half ton troop carriers, with canvas backs, were parked at angles on the sides of the roads. On top of each, gunners rested on heavy machine guns, scanning the jungle. Between them, a roadblock had been lowered over the end of the bridge, a temporary swing-gate, manned by a collection of StaSec Volunteer Regiment.

Seeing the UAZ, the checkpoint came alive, soldiers leveling weapons. An officer grabbed a bullhorn, yelling for Estevan to stop.

Fuller, quietly, said, “I really don't want to die like this.”

Estevan slammed the brakes, skidding the vehicle to a halt. As the soldiers swarmed forward, he had his papers out, waving them around. The sergeant who confronted him snatched them away, read them, passed them along. Not one soldier lowered his rifle.

After a tense moment, the sergeant passed the papers back. “You should not be here, Mister Alfaro. This is a dangerous area.” He smiled, falsely.

“I noticed. Lots of guns.”

“We are here to protect you.”

“Why, thank you, Sergeant. Now, how about letting us through. Government business.”

“No can do, amigo.”

“I'm here on business from President Remon.”

“Sorry, Generalissimo's orders. No one passes without his or the Colonel's approval.”

“The Generalissimo serves the President. My cousin's wishes supersede your orders, Sergeant.” Estevan glared through his window.

“Yes, of course. I'll be right back.” The Sergeant stepped away to confer on his radio.

Fuller whispered, “So, are they going to shoot us?”

“I hope not.” Estevan shrugged. “Shitty way to end a day.”

“Can we, maybe, try to do something to not get shot? I don't know, run? Shoot first? Vehicular manslaughter?”

“When did you get balls?” Estevan grinned. “Besides, look at the trucks. That's a lot of guns.”

Fuller shrugged. “I just really don't like the idea of bullets in me. Blame it on adrenaline.” He thought for a second. “Now, I'm not sure, but if you floored it, you could run down the men on the bridge, get between the trucks, and then swerve hard onto the embankment, swing under the bridge. As we passed, one of us, probably me, could jump out, seize the left truck's PKM, demolish the other, and take the officer with us as a shield. I saw that in a movie once.”

“I like you when your adrenaline's running. You could be a scary man.”

“Yeah, they say that in the office. I'm the baddest guy in finance!” He tried to perform a 'dangerous' grin, but only looked slightly ill.

“Ha.” Alfaro shook his head. “Would do us no good, anyway. My br- cousin, is still in charge. They won't do anything.”

The Sergeant returned. “Mister Alfaro, the Colonel has approved. Some of my men will take you to your business, for security.”

“Good to hear it. I'll need to see the launch site.”

“Very well, the Colonel will meet you there. I'm going to have to take your camera, though. National security reasons.”

“Of course.”

Estevan relinquished the wheel to one of the soldiers, and the Sergeant got into the back with him. Both StaSec men were armed.

The ride passed in tense silence, except when the Sergeant began to whistle a deliberately too-happy tune. When they passed the first village, Estevan could see the smoke rising from several of the shanties, thick and black. There were jeeps in the streets, armed guards searching a house. There were no people.

He glanced to Fuller, who'd gone bone-white and wide eyed.

Are they just hidden? Did they just move them away? God, please.

Another village rolled past as they reached the coast, and Estevan could see the freshly tilled earth outside the main commons, forty feet wide and ten feet long. He crossed himself without noticing. I need to tell my brother. If he knew, he would stop this.

A couple of soldiers, all of them StaSec, dragged a young man and woman into a house. As the UAZ pulled clear, Estevan heard the gunshot. Then he heard the woman scream. She kept screaming. Fucking pigs. His fist clenched. He had to fight the urge to lash out in the car, to spin it out, wreck them all, and have a go right here and now.

The Sergeant grinned at him, stroking his pistol.

Colonel Guerro's command center was set along the river estuary, just off the delta. Tents lined the closed scenic park, radio antennae rising into the blue sky. They parked the UAZ and headed into the largest and most antennae covered tent, escorted all the way. Inside, through the hubbub of operations, Alfaro could see Colonel Guerro, sitting behind his desk, smoking his ever-present cigar.

The Colonel glanced up, removed the cigar, and smiled broadly behind his thick mustache. His aviator sunglasses gleamed in the light reflecting through the open flaps of the tent. “Good afternoon, Mister Alfaro, what can StaSec do for you?”

“What the fuck do you think you're doing!” Alfaro snapped. Behind him, he could see Fuller trying to scrunch up and be less noticed.

“Why, land development and social work.” Guerro knocked the ashes from his cigar. “For the new launch center, of course.”

“It looks like barbarism.”

“Well, a yacht looks like a barge from the wrong angle.”

“I saw your men murdering-”

“Murder? No. This is peacekeeping. This is progress. These locals, these piss-ants, keep shooting at the work crews. They keep planting bombs on roads. They keep threatening the future of our nation. This is how we stop them.”

“By becoming every bit the monster-”

“By cutting the legs out of the runner. They cannot strike us if they cannot move. We distill the population down to the basic elements. We root out the saboteurs and traitors. When you fight malaria, you cannot kill all the mosquitoes. You must drain the swamps. We are draining the swamps-”

“That's geno-”

“No. There is no mass murder here. This is not the dark age. The criminals are dealt with. The troubled populations are dispersed and restructured into an ethnically appropriate mix. The remainder are reeducated. And we simply keep watch, to make sure their progress is true. Why, some of them are even helping with the launch site now, just like you wanted.”

“Are you paying them?”

“In a way.”

“Damn it, Colonel, you know this is wrong!”

“No.”

“This is what we're trying to end. A hundred years of progress with the indigenous, and this horror show-”

“Will end that problem forever.” Guerro finished his cigar. “Now, was there anything else, or did you come here to lecture me?”

“My cousin will stop this when he hears of it.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps he is not as strong as he thinks.”

“What does that mean?” Estevan demanded.

“It means, Mister Alfaro, that I brought you here, I let you see. I showed you everything I should have hidden from you. I'll let you walk around, breathe deep, smell and taste this new reality. Because I have nothing to fear from you. Because I have nothing to fear from your brother.”

“Cousin.”

“Does it matter? It won't.” Guerro waved him away. “Now, find your way out of the jungle. My men have need of your vehicle. Have a wonderful day.”

[Brazul]

“That's a lot of money.” President Remon said flatly, staring at a balance sheet. “Have you ever considered that our entire nation is worth less than this stupid gas?”

Generalissimo Porras shrugged. “Not really.”

“It troubles me. Estevan, he says-”

“Bah. He may be smart, but he has no heart for risk.”

“We should be careful.”

“Indeed, but this money could help us build. It could help us put down this insurrection in the south.”

Remon nodded. “I just do not wish to accidentally indenture my country to some foreign power playing games.”

“Then don't.”

“But you said, take the money.”

“Yes. And then, when they have paid you, change the deal.”

“That is a fool's plan, General.”

“No, we have all the power. A simple appeal to the international community will bring down the wrath of far to many nations for any one power to resist.”

“They have never helped us before, General.”

“Because there was nothing to get. Now there is wealth. They will come, tripping over each other to aid us. We play them against each other, we become kings.”

“I do not like your plan, but I will talk to Estevan.”

“Of course. Ask the president.”

“I am the president!”

“Yes, yes, of course, sir. It's just, you tend to follow-”

“I am the president! I do what I will. I listen to other men, because that is the wise thing. I make calls when needed, and I stop and think when needed. You would do well to do the same!”

“And on the offer, my President?”

“We will call them back, and accept their money. And then we will see, when the time comes. But I will make that call!”

“Of course, sir.”

OOC: K-stan, we'll take your offer. Send someone.

[Kyuria]

OOC:Woooohoooo, I'm late as hell. pure laziness I know.

The phone rang for quite sometime before some one picked up. Some introductions were made and then they got down to business.

"This is Orion Clauby on behalf of the Kyurian Empire, we are interested in the purchase of one or two maybe even six or seven launch slots for our space program. We would like to know about how much the cost per slot is and how exactly we would be charged for their use."
She continued rattling off all the other boring and less important crap."We would also like to know more about the launch facilities themselves. Perhaps we could take a tour,...."

The rest of the survey team talked and planned what they would do and the negotiations of purchase.

[Kaukolastan]

“San Cristoph control, this is Kilo Victor Four Two Niner Actual, requesting clearance to land.”

“KV Four Twenty-Nine A, this is San Christoph control, our runway is currently inoperable due to mudslide, we're going to need you to divert to secondary runway.”

“Be advised, control, we are a vertol craft. Just clear us a helipad, or a parking lot.” In the cockpit, the pilot leaned to his copilot and said, with the radio off, “Or just let us land on your damn mud.”

In the passenger compartment, Gregory Levine ran through the scripts he'd been given. He'd been told very precisely what he could offer, what he could accept. He knew his bargaining pieces perfectly. He'd always had a head for finance and sales. This wasn't the trouble.

Don't drink the water. Don't take favors. Don't copulate with the locals. Take these shots. If you have to drink the water, put these pills in it.

The pilots must have gotten clearance to land, because the vertol began to shift downwards, thrusters rotating into landing position. In the cockpit, the holoHUD shifted to show the approaching city, and the vertol nestled into an open spot on the tarmac.

The copilot leaned into the back, stating, “You're going to have to pop out quickly, they have a jeep waiting, but we can't just hold this spot.”

Levine nodded, glanced to his staff. Three aides and one “security specialist” from the Agency. All of them dressed in tailored suits, all of them perfectly coiffed. Professionalism. So hard to get in other parts of the world. The vertol settled, and the ramp descended. The agent disembarked first, surveyed the tarmac, and nodded.

Levine was ushered into the back of a small jeep and sped from the airport to a mansion along the bluff coast. The city, for all it's squalor, was quite impressive, sloping down into the gleaming harbor from the bustling jungle. Could be a nice place to vacation. Would have to do something with the local proles. Too dirty.

Next to him, the agent grinned, perhaps thinking similarly.

They drew up to the alabaster manor house, and were escorted through the honor guards. Levine ran his numbers one last time, as they approached the meeting hall. He'd seen the schematics of this building, the satellite layouts. He knew every inch of this building. Kaukolastan information dominance doctrine. Know everything about your negotiating partners. Know them better than they know themselves. Control every step of the process. He checked his selling points, the points he wanted to avoid.

Ahead, the doors were opened before him, revealing a scenic vista through tropical curtains and wooden pillars. President Remon, only a little drunk this morning, stood, smiling broadly. “Greetings! Welcome to Brazul, Mister Levine!”

“Thank you, Mister President. And may I say, it is quite an impressive country. The rustic grandeur is quite breathtaking.”

“Er, thank you.” Remon motioned for him to sit. “Please, you must try the cousine. It's a wonderful bright fish.”

“Thank you, Mister President.” Levine sat down. Please God, no allergens or contaminants. At least I took the meds, so I won't be in the water closet for the next week.

“Now, you are here for the mining rights? Are they mining?”

“Nearly, and yes. We have an impressive offer, as we've spelled out in our communications-”

“Agreed.”

“-and we think that you'll- wait. Did you agree that the offer was good, or that you'd take it?”

“We'll take it. Two hospitals, including a level one trauma center, a university, an airport renovation project, and space program aid in return for a forty year lease, with tax on all harvest, for the helium. And we hold you to all safety and mercantile laws we currently have on the books.”

Levine blinked, glancing at his glass. I didn't have anything, did I? “Well, that's... wonderful.”

“Indeed! Let us drink to this friendship!”

“Of course, Mister President. Absolutely!” Levine fired off a “successful” message to the embassy, and grabbed his glass. Easiest job ever. I love this country. Beautiful place. Tonight, he was getting hammered in paradise.

[Brazul]

President Remon was on his eight drink, staring at the ice cubes, when an aide walked in, whispering to him about the Kyurian inquiry. He bolted upright, pulling the flag to his chest, and declaring proudly, “This is a great day for Brazul! This is a great day for space-things!”

In the corner, the Kaukolastan delegate was woozily sliding in his chair, already out of his gourd on the first non-synthetic alcohol in years. Levine tried to raise his glass, instead raising a salt shaker, and declared, “To space people!”

Remon stepped up onto his seat, much to the aide's worry, and proclaimed, “Of course they can buy slots! What's the price? Just get close.”

An aide glanced to a tablet, fluttering through paper, “Estimated cost is forty-five hundred a kilogram (OOC: 1500 USD). Factoring in unanticipated costs and markup, fifty-five should cover it and remain under international average cost-”

“Do it! Four thousand a flight for the first six or seven!”

“Presidente, that's below cost-”

“I'm the president! It's a favor, a sale making trick, a... Mister Levine, what am I thinking of?”

“A door bushter, mishter preshident. Maybe buy one get one!”

“Good idea! Buy one get one! And give them a tour for the first launch! We'll make it a holiday! The General promises it's secure enough! Two weeks from now, we'll throw a carnival to stop the world!”

“Whoo!” Levine declared, then fell out of his chair.

OOC: The Astarte Corporation intercedes and quotes you a just-above-cost 4800 price. And no buy-one get-one. That's just silly.

[Kyuria]

Tammy almost immediately saw through their ruse.

"Lies!!!!!" she shouted from the restroom, "ALL LIES!!!!" she went off on an almost drunken rant about scams and such.

"YEAH YEAH WE KNOW!" Glastondale called back

"Honestly I expected much much more, maybe 5 times that." Devon stated in disbelief.

"Shush! Well don't fucking say it out loud!!!" the doctor had his face in his palm rubbing his head. "honestly Dev, your a smart gal, think! It's a discount!!!!! A BARGAIN!!! and it they jack the price up 20 times then we can pull out! Just make sure the contract is very loose and open. It's a Win Epicly, Lose Miserably situation and we're on the good side!!!"

"How could you use such dirty underhanded tactics!!!" Mefan was appalled

"He's my kinda guy."

"I second that." Glastondale said, he was holding a large bottle and obviously drunk.

"Don't forget we have to inspect the sites first." Clauby reminded them, while taking two of her own bottles out of one of the mini bars.

They went on arguing and eventually every one on the aircraft, the Survey team, the guards, even the pilots were getting dunk. It was quite a site to see, especially when the pilots got back behind the controls. They would arrive in Brazul the next day.

Also, Moache had struck up a conversation with the aide on the other side of the line, and had somehow managed to get a date out of the lass.

[Brazul]

"My fellow citizens, today is the dawn of a new era. Today, we complete the construction if the Ferrando Launch Facility, the beacon of a new Brazul. Today, we take our place among the great nations of the world. This has been a long and harsh road, and we have born our burden and toil. We have failed and faltered along the path, and the weights of the past cannot be forgotten.

"But they can be vanquished, and lain down in national triumph. Today, we shall take to the birthright of man, the brotherhood of all the world, the deep oceans of space. Though the ship be small, and it's cargo light, it is our hope, and our pride. Every one of us shall be carried up, into the great beyond.

"I invite all of you to join myself and your government in a national holiday in two weeks, to celebrate the great occasion of first launch. Good night, and and God bless."

The camera's stopped whirring, and the lights dimmed to normal levels. "It's a wrap. Well done everyone." The director said, nodding to President Remon and this press team.

As soon as his speech finished, Augusto Remon reached under the prop desk and grabbed a bottle, swigging deep. Pulling the bottle away with a suction 'pop', the President commented, "Bah, fancy piss and puffery. And who got this bottle? It's nowhere near strong enough. Can we kill these lights? I'm boiling up here. Like a damn puffer fish. Someone turn up the cooler! And bring me more drink!"

Through the crowd, one of the ministers asked, "Presidente, do you want the invitations sent from yourself, or from the government?"

"What?"

"The invitations to the launch? To all the allies who helped make this possible?"

"Oh, both. Officially, and add a little something from me. Maybe send them some of the fine liquor we distill! Yes, that's a good gift!"

"And they're all invited?"

"Yes, anyone who helped fund the facility, or who contracted a launch. Good hell, anyone who might be interested, invite them all!"

"Yes, my President." The minister ducked away.

Remon sat back down behind his desk, staring at the silent and still cameras, drinking continuously. Pausing for a moment, several bottles later, he declared, "I'm Augusto Remon, President of Brazul, and I would like to make sweet love to you." He began to giggle.

His laughter was broken by a crash at the door, and he jumped, spilling his latest bottle. "What the hell?"

Security swarmed through, but between them, a ragged and dirty Estevan Alfaro pushed forward, yelling, "Cousin! Cousin!"

"My God! What happened to you! Let him go!" Remon commanded.

"Porras! He's turned the jungle around the launch site into a killing field. He marooned Fuller and I out there, left us with nothing in the deep jungle! Tried to get back sooner-" Estevan was gasping, holding his cut chest with a blood crusted hand.

"What? What!"

"The launch site, it's gotten peaceful because Porras is using StaSec to purge the damn province."

"Carajo!"

"You've got to shut him down, stop this madness! He'll turn the jungle into a grave! The southern provinces might revolt-"

"I can't!"

"-and the human tragedy- what?"

"I can't." Remon slumped back in his chair, pale and limp. "I just went public with the grand opening. National broadcast. I staked everything on that damn site."

"We can rebuild your image, cousin-"

"No, everything! I got the Parliament to back it, got the people moving, invited the world to watch. We've put twenty percent of the budget into this damn program, and we're balancing on launch sales to recover-"

"Why in God's name would you do this?"

"Porras told me-"

"Fuck! Fuck!" Estevan lashed out, throwing one of the cameras to the ground. "That rat fucker is planning a coup, Remon! StaSec is loyal to him, not Brazul!"

"Then I can't lose face. Brother, I can't. For Brazul, we have to launch." Remon's voice was heavy, laden with guilt.

"We can't let this go on!"

"We must. For two weeks. Once we launch, we'll move on this bastard. The publicity will give me the capital-"

"Please, forget the politics! Just stop this!"

"I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't!" Remon was near tears. "My hands are locked. We launch in two weeks. One day more, and this stops."

"Then may history forgive you, brother. May it forgive us all."

OOC: Everyone involved is welcome to send delegates to the next thread, which will be the launch party. A link will be given when that thread launches. There will be no more story progress here, but comments and epilogues are still welcome. Thanks all!

[Franca-Liria]

Assembly of the 500, Liria, Capital of Franca-Liria

"Generalissimo, you have a new message from the Intelligence Ministry. It appears that a small nation far to the north of us, called Brazul, has recently built a satellite launch facility, on which you have already been briefed. However, our inside sources tell us that a certain General named "Porras" has gained a little too much power, and might be staging a coup."

"What do we know about this Porras?"

"He is a career military officer in the Brazul military, and was promoted to Generalissimo six years ago. His recent record is spotty, though, and it appears that he could be at the center of some notorious scandals. He also demands total loyalty from his forces to him, not to the legitimate government. It also appears that international corporations could have some hands in the destabilization of the region."

"Call an emergency session of the Assembly, Andre. We need a decisive vote now on whether to become involved. We can't have the Radicals pull another move, like they did with Amrenia. Another state lost to oppression because of political maneuvering."

"Yes, Sir, I'll wake them up now."

Premier Avena cut off his radio system, and walked over to his armoire to get dressed. He decided to wear his military beret, befitting his new status as Generalissimo. He had been given the title after the Amrenia Crisis, for ending the Lirian involvement in the conflict while losing no more than 300 sailors and pilots. But it had not been him. If it had been his decision, the Lirian Navy would have not lost face for outgunning the enemy 5:1, then turning tail when the Radicals got cold feet. He needed the Social-Popular Coalition to be united. This infighting would only serve to weaken the republic to fascist incursion.

Two Hours Later, Assembly Chamber

"And why, Generalissimo, do you think it is necessary that we save another worthless speck from the wolves? Don't we have enough to worry with here?"

Several of the speaker's comrades laughed in approval.

Avena delivered a quick response to the Fascist Party official, Leonard Bertrand, the young upstart from the northern Arete province. The dog had already tried to abolish the racial discrimination bans under the guise of "improving the military."

"Under your gentle guidance, counsellor, the province of Arete experienced its first racial riots in 200 years. I think that your Fascist Party shold worry more about dirtying up with your filth the Assembly chamber which our fine janitorial staff so courteously keeps clean under your black boots and uniforms."

The tension between the Social-Popular Front and the Fascists had always been high, but this was a new summit. Premier Avena had no doubt that the Fascists had some role in the Radical political turn-coat away from the military assistance of Amrenia. He remembered to tell his aide, Andre, to have M. Bertrand's personal background throughly combed-through again. There had to be some dirt that they could use to get him thrown out of the Assembly. The other Fascist pigs were generally tolerable, sitting in the back of the chamber, but under Bertrand, they had grown bolder. Avena didn't trust the thugs, and neither did the people of Franca-Liria. Fascism was nothing new to Franca-Liria, but now it was getting out of hand. If they staged another riot, then the gendarmerie would be called in. No more 5th May Incidents.

Several hours later

"So you're telling me, Premier, that only a small advisorial mission, along with a few military advisors, would be sent in to assist Brazul if Parros attempted a military coup?"

"That is correct, counsellor. We would not let ourselves become involved in another international proxy war. We would just ensure that the democratically-elected government would remain stable and in power."

"What if another nation intervenes?"

"In that case, we would try to keep our involvement as secret as possible. If it got really bad with another nation and Brazul, we could order the advisors to blend in. Worst case scenario, we extract them. If that's impossible, they blend in until rescue is possible.

"Very well. No more questions."

The vote was taken almost immediately. The voting results were:

389 votes for preliminary preparations for advisorial mission
99 votes for advisorial only, with only strategic military advisors
10 votes for neutrality in the matter
2 absent

The results did not suprise Avena. Most of the Popular Front had voted for action, with mostly the Radicals and a few Social-National members voting for more limited intervention. All of the fascists had voted for no response.

ADDENDUM: To the government of Brazul,

We would like to send an advisor to the launch event for the first launch from your space catapult.

Roland Avena, Premier of the Republic

[Brazul]

OOC: Sure, send someone!

This thread is closed! It continues, with a new story,at this link.

[Kyuria]

The morning after always sucks.

Despite being highly maneuverable, the hungover pilots just simply couldn`t pull it off. Turns out 5 bottles of un-named substances can really mess things up. Especially hand coordination and focous. Thus, the expensive-as-hell-itself jet was parked in a tree. After a few minutes of confusion and general dysfunctionality later, the slightly hung over group had made it off the runway with out incident.

Now the real work -and partying- would start.