Tread Lightly [closed]

[New Dornalia]

On the Dornalian end, it was basically the same exercise. The Dorns had designated a place for the Realm's ambassador to come into the Republic. And this meeting area was the ever popular Kennedy Station, located in Luxembourgia County, above the world itself, so creatively named....Luxembourgia. Luxembourgia County was the closest place to the Realm and it was from there that the Daisy Duke had made its journey. So as far as the wags at State were concerned, it was quite well suited to be the dropoff point for the Ambassador.

The Viscountess's shuttle would be then be escorted to Earth SSR. The escort arrangements for the trip had been of course, subject to management by the Valkyrie Division, the State Department's own protective agency for diplomats and government officials both Dornalian and foreign. The Valkyries would prove surprisingly prudent in planning for the Viscountess's protection. After all, this was a foreign dignitary from a land that rarely did business outside their own area, by choice. One wanted to leave a good impression after all.

So, the Valkyries insisted on bringing in two Mercury-Cain Battlestars--the CRS Oriskany and CRS Principe de Asturias--as flank escorts, fully armed and staffed with plenty of men and materiel to anticipate any threats. Flanking the Viscountess's vessel and the Battlestars would be ships from the Immigration and Common Border Authority. The name was deceptive--ICBA had since become a defacto gendarmerie of sorts and had the firepower to match. In this case, the six ships were six of the newest ships in the ICBA's arsenal--the Lawman-class Rapid Response Cutters, capable of enough firepower, so the sales brochure said, to "strip the life from a planet in ten minutes" if the ICBA so decided. Certainly, they formed an intimidating presence, with their matte black paintjobs and flashing red and blue lights. Further escorting the whole arrangement would be local law enforcement, whose ships mainly served to divert space traffic away from the convoy escorting the Viscountess to Earth SSR, where the Realm's embassy awaited.

The trip would be quicker for the Viscountess than it would have been for Ambassador Hendricks--at most, about a day or two. Namely, this was because of the fact that the Dorns would be using the extensive gate networks along the Hyperspace Expressway and traveling non-stop to avoid any potential problems, as part of the whole crazy plan. The Expressway would strike the Viscountess as being rather busy. Ships of all nations and all sizes seemed to go along it, with all sorts of flags and symbols. Some were large, some were small. Either way, they all moved in an orderly, if busy fashion, especially guided by the law enforcement officials keeping them from doing anything to the Viscountess.

When the ships reached Earth SSR, the Viscountess would find herself in orbit. Earth SSR's orbit would be, for lack of a better word, busy. The traffic parted as much as it could, especially now that the escort was joined by ships of the Earth Defense Force. That elite formation's ships would be set apart from the others by the red stripes they sported, versus the other Dornie ships. They escorted the Viscountess's shuttle down below to the surface....

...to the skies over sunny Southern California. THe Lawman Cutters proved mobile enough to escort the Viscountess's ship, and State Department knew of course that not all foreign parties had set up embassies in the region. The Riemaians for example used the GM Renaissance Center in Michigan, and the Congressionals insisted on using Moscow itself as their "embassy". But most did go here, and so, the challenge was to find a suitably remote and secure location. After all, the Realm prized its splendid isolation, and the Dornalians didn't want to indulge in too much culture shock for the Viscountess.

The location would be near the town of San Clemente, nestled in the hills above the town in the middle of a picturesque chaparral setting, with a view that not only embraced San Clemente itself but also the glorious Pacific Ocean in front of it. The Viscountess would be able to see that the area to become the Realm's embassy was connected by a lonely two-lane road leading from the town itself, with a compound that included solid gates as well as walls and hedges for privacy and security. The building itself clearly used to be a rather large mansion, owned by someone with money to burn and privacy to spare. The real estate records, if the Viscountess cared to see them, would show that the State Department purchased the building when the man decided to put his home up for sale, as he had evidently wanted to move offworld due to boredom.

The State Department's good fortune now resulted in a building which was currently being converted by work crews to meet the Realm's specifications. Thankfully though, at least a portion of the house was ready for the Viscountess to settle in.

As the Viscountess's shuttle landed and the escort ships hovered overhead to ensure her safe landing before they departed, she would be greeted by a man in a suit with coke bottle glasses, as the feeling of a pleasant breeze and perfectly warm and lovely weather came to be. The man would look somewhat milquetoast and plain--kinda like one of those harem anime protagonists--in comparison with the woman next to him, a young woman with cat ears and a tail, who sported what Dwayne Johnson might call a "peanut butter complexion." The man and woman stepped forward, bowed briefly, and extended their hands in handshakes.

The man spoke first. and introduced himself as, "Norton Simons, Secretary of State." He then gestured to the lady and continued, "This is my wife and assistant, Amanda Simons." Amanda shook hands also, and said, smiling, "Pleased to meet you!"

Norton then continued, with a very well practiced--to the point where it actually sounded natural--"Welcome to Earth, on behalf of the people of the Colonial Republic. Pardon the mess--but the work crews should be finished by this evening. I'll give you time to get acquainted with your new Embassy, prepare, rest up--we're due to meet again in a few days for the formal presentation of your credentials. That'll take place in Los Angeles at the Presidential House. You'll be flown in from here to there, to save a trip, and I believe there's to be a state dinner to honor your coming afterwards. If you have any questions, let Amanda know, and she'd be happy to get you the help you need." Amanda nodded, and then added, "Any questions?"

[Macisikan]

Sol-Dornalia, Colonial Republic of Earth
Strangely they needn’t have worried too much about Viscountess Desila experiencing culture shock herself; she had been an ambassador in the days before the Realm withdrew into itself. Everyone who heard that simply assumed that the name had been inherited from a great-grandmother though; otherwise it would put her at well in excess of a century or two, and she certainly didn’t look it. Instead, her Excellency had a flawless Mediterranean complexion, topped with elegantly coiffed white hair that had been trimmed short. Wrapped in flowing burgundy, a glittering broach at the base of her throat, she seemed entirely unaffected by the warmth of the air.

“A pleasure to meet you both,” she had murmured, shaking their hands firmly but not forcefully with a gloved hand. There wasn’t even a hint of mental gear clashing at the sight of Mrs Simons. “If we have any queries we shall, of course, alert you,” she added with a small, restrained smile present

---

Tichel System, RFSEM
Four days later

The weather in the diplomatic habitat was quite subdued; occasionally the clouds would thicken into rain, and while the temperature dropped at “night”, it didn’t go far – nor, during the day, did it climb very high. The magpies did make themselves known; usually by greeting Hedricks and his people in the early morning with a warbling song. Competing against them was the raucous laughter of other birds – a species of kingfisher.

At night, there was a whisper of movement overhead as the sun orb made its way back down – it was also slowly starting to brighten at night, simulating a lunar cycle coming back towards the full; the sound of various other animals could be heard at night. Their hosts had clearly populated an entire biosphere in this particular cylinder, and put a lot of effort into it.

The diplomatic party soon learned how large the environment they were in was; the cylinder was the typical McKendree variety, capable of comfortably housing a billion humans. It had a current resident population of only around twelve thousand – the Dornie diplomats, the diplomats from a couple of other nations, the local security forces, and a little town that provided the other groups with entertainment and services. The town itself was currently expanding; the population was expected to grow to a full twenty thousand soon, but the population here was strictly controlled. The Diplomatic Habitat wasn’t one of the usual sorts – everything was centred on the consular representatives. It was relaxing, pleasant, and frankly rather dull, especially if there were any kids with the Dornie delegation. Not a huge amount going on here. Oh, sure, the little town of Santo Tomas had theatres and bars and so on, but the key word was little. And the neighbours weren’t exactly social. On the other hand, plenty news and entertainment was beamed in directly – and in GalStan too – for the benefit of the inhabitants. It did seem a bit one-way though; no social media access, for example, and a synth had warned them against trying to connect a Gracie to the local networks – for the protection of the Gracies.

Soon, the day of the credentialing arrived; the cars showed up bright and early, ferrying the Ambassador (and a few chosen assistants and guards – he was permitted six, though he would have to leave them behind when admitted to the Presence) back to the docking station, where an Imperial Federal Government shuttle waited to take him to the Throneworld. That trip was also uneventful; it was like the IFG was going out of its way to send the Dornalians to sleep. The first hint of excitement was when the shuttle and its escort exited the in-system warp and passed by the Anchor – the Throneworld’s moon. Roughly the size of Luna, the satellite was a mosaic of swirling blues and greens beneath a tessellation of triangles; a thin grey band wrapped around the equator, spouting several space elevators. The passengers were able to bring up views from external cameras on the monitors in the cabin – windows were a structural weakness after all – and zoom in closely. Their eyes did not deceive them; the whole thing had been paraterraformed.

The shuttle itself was equipped with antigrav tech; instead of joining the majority of traffic at the orbital ring, it descended directly towards the Saragova Conurbation. Again, the view could be brought onto screens in the cabin; it was immediately apparent that this was not a typical city. From the distance it looked like needles poking out of lush greenery, with delicate strands hung between them; only when they got closer was it apparent that the “needles” were towers, nigh-on two hundred stories tall, the “strands” being tubes ferrying people between them. There was a distinct geometric symmetry in play, a definite pattern present.

When the shuttle landed in the middle of a hexagon formed by six of the towers and disgorged its occupants, another car waited for them; there were a couple members of the press – exactly two – but no-one asked questions, they merely took photos. Apart from them, only a protocol officer waited here. The public was entirely absent – the people seemed disinclined to emerge from their shining towers. And shining they were; it was a stunningly beautiful day, the local sun riding high in a flawless blue sky.

Aside from the almost imperceptible hum of the engines, the place was curiously quiet. The heart of the Imperial Federal Capital, and you could hear the birdsong distinctly, the breeze in the trees. The road in, divided by fountains down the middle, flanked by more greenery, was empty of all other traffic; after a good twenty minutes of driving it terminated in another plaza in front of a steep conical version of the towers they’d already seen. Unlike the others, which had smooth surfaces, the panes of this one were all set at slight angles to each other; the light glittered off it in a myriad of colours as they approached – though something clever had been done with the reflections so that onlookers weren’t blinded.

The whole thing seemed to be absurdly easy to get in and out of; a wide sweeping avenue, only a little wrought-iron fence around the base of it to keep people out. Seemed being the operative word; visible to either side had been several ramparts, and almost imperceptible flaws in the road itself hinted at serious defences that were presently concealed.

Hendricks and his party were greeted by the same pair who had welcomed them up at the habitat, who gave the usual minor pleasantries – we hope the trip was smooth, do you need a moment to refresh? Something to eat? Something to drink? Before leading them inside, where the crisp air of the Palace washed over them. Faintly scented with greenery, the entrance hall was a large echoing room of white and green marble, inlaid with brown granite. Expensive? No. Not at all. But it was gorgeous; natural light, by means of shafts and mirrors, streamed in to refracting crystals above, which scattered it. The effect was of walking into a sun-dappled forest. One almost missed the guards standing at attention.

The consular party was guided further in; to a pair of double doors, inlaid with some sort of swirling wood. A small chamber, carpeted in subdued colours and artificially lit, lay beyond it; here an elf, clad in the dress uniform of the RSS, was standing in front of another pair of doors inlaid with the same wood – these ones were closed. In his right hand, the elf held a long staff inlaid with some sort of silvery material. He was the very first non-human Hendricks had seen since his arrival.

“Ambassador-General, Baronet Celestine Alarl, escorting the Ambassador for the Colonial Republic of Earth, Ser Robert Hendricks, to present his credentials to the Cúirt Solas,” the Ambassador-General said as the elf stared at her. He nodded once and turned to face the doors; placing the palm of his other hand in the centre, he pushed them both open. When they’d swung silently inwards to admit the party, he took one step forward, bowed from the waist, and pounded the staff onto the floor three times.

“His Excellency, Ser Robert Hendricks, appointed ambassador from the Colonial Republic of Earth!” the elf intoned; speaking from the diaphragm, his voice carried across the large audience chamber. He bowed again, and then stepped to one side, allowing the Ambassador to step forward. The rest of his party would remain in the antechamber unless summoned.

The Audience Chamber itself was large, climbing up a couple of stories. The walls were hidden behind tapestries; to the Ambassador’s left a massive one depicted a scene of mountains rising up from a forested plain – snow streamed away from the peaks. To the right, a jungle scene. Ahead, the tapestry showed geometric designs that were almost Islamic in flavour. In front of it, on a raised dais of nine steps, was an empty throne. A simple black chair was set on the middle step; occupied by a young human male who had apparently been talking to the elf clad in black form-fitting armour standing to his right. The room itself had a smattering of courtiers – mostly human, but also present were other non-humans – four distinct groups of elves, some dwarfs, several Nazzadi, a pair of Hri. Looming over other courtiers was a Walvrak, his great tusked head with its little Shriner hat slowly following the Dornalian’s progress. A trio of hexapedal Birrin, some synths with their shiny metallic skin, and a single Tak’Tlek – there were even several Neko. Of them all, only the Neko were displaying any real emotion beyond curiosity; something between distaste and outright hostility graced their features. A red carpet ran from the doors to the dais; a white stripe crossed it around two-and-a-half metres back.

The young man in the chair was the only one sitting down in the room; he was clad in a duty uniform of the ISS, all black cloth with red piping, absent any rank insignia or badges, only a purple sash to denote rank. And a golden circlet on his close-cut dark auburn hair.

His Serene Highness, the Prince-Regent.

Even from here the Ambassador could see the young man straighten in his chair and stare at him warily with a pair of too-green eyes. By contrast, the elf next to the youth seemed to be sizing the Ambassador up; the pair of dao blades on his back did nothing to reduce the impression. In fact, that elf, and several others like him, were the only armed people in the room.

Every pair (or in the case of the Birrin, quartet) of eyes had turned to bore into the Ambassador.

[New Dornalia]

[

---

Tichel System, RFSEM
Four days later

The weather in the diplomatic habitat was quite subdued; occasionally the clouds would thicken into rain, and while the temperature dropped at “night”, it didn’t go far – nor, during the day, did it climb very high. The magpies did make themselves known; usually by greeting Hedricks and his people in the early morning with a warbling song. Competing against them was the raucous laughter of other birds – a species of kingfisher.

At night, there was a whisper of movement overhead as the sun orb made its way back down – it was also slowly starting to brighten at night, simulating a lunar cycle coming back towards the full; the sound of various other animals could be heard at night. Their hosts had clearly populated an entire biosphere in this particular cylinder, and put a lot of effort into it.

The diplomatic party soon learned how large the environment they were in was; the cylinder was the typical McKendree variety, capable of comfortably housing a billion humans. It had a current resident population of only around twelve thousand – the Dornie diplomats, the diplomats from a couple of other nations, the local security forces, and a little town that provided the other groups with entertainment and services. The town itself was currently expanding; the population was expected to grow to a full twenty thousand soon, but the population here was strictly controlled. The Diplomatic Habitat wasn’t one of the usual sorts – everything was centred on the consular representatives. It was relaxing, pleasant, and frankly rather dull, especially if there were any kids with the Dornie delegation. Not a huge amount going on here. Oh, sure, the little town of Santo Tomas had theatres and bars and so on, but the key word was little. And the neighbours weren’t exactly social. On the other hand, plenty news and entertainment was beamed in directly – and in GalStan too – for the benefit of the inhabitants. It did seem a bit one-way though; no social media access, for example, and a synth had warned them against trying to connect a Gracie to the local networks – for the protection of the Gracies.

Soon, the day of the credentialing arrived; the cars showed up bright and early, ferrying the Ambassador (and a few chosen assistants and guards – he was permitted six, though he would have to leave them behind when admitted to the Presence) back to the docking station, where an Imperial Federal Government shuttle waited to take him to the Throneworld. That trip was also uneventful; it was like the IFG was going out of its way to send the Dornalians to sleep. The first hint of excitement was when the shuttle and its escort exited the in-system warp and passed by the Anchor – the Throneworld’s moon. Roughly the size of Luna, the satellite was a mosaic of swirling blues and greens beneath a tessellation of triangles; a thin grey band wrapped around the equator, spouting several space elevators. The passengers were able to bring up views from external cameras on the monitors in the cabin – windows were a structural weakness after all – and zoom in closely. Their eyes did not deceive them; the whole thing had been paraterraformed.

The shuttle itself was equipped with antigrav tech; instead of joining the majority of traffic at the orbital ring, it descended directly towards the Saragova Conurbation. Again, the view could be brought onto screens in the cabin; it was immediately apparent that this was not a typical city. From the distance it looked like needles poking out of lush greenery, with delicate strands hung between them; only when they got closer was it apparent that the “needles” were towers, nigh-on two hundred stories tall, the “strands” being tubes ferrying people between them. There was a distinct geometric symmetry in play, a definite pattern present.

When the shuttle landed in the middle of a hexagon formed by six of the towers and disgorged its occupants, another car waited for them; there were a couple members of the press – exactly two – but no-one asked questions, they merely took photos. Apart from them, only a protocol officer waited here. The public was entirely absent – the people seemed disinclined to emerge from their shining towers. And shining they were; it was a stunningly beautiful day, the local sun riding high in a flawless blue sky.

Aside from the almost imperceptible hum of the engines, the place was curiously quiet. The heart of the Imperial Federal Capital, and you could hear the birdsong distinctly, the breeze in the trees. The road in, divided by fountains down the middle, flanked by more greenery, was empty of all other traffic; after a good twenty minutes of driving it terminated in another plaza in front of a steep conical version of the towers they’d already seen. Unlike the others, which had smooth surfaces, the panes of this one were all set at slight angles to each other; the light glittered off it in a myriad of colours as they approached – though something clever had been done with the reflections so that onlookers weren’t blinded.

The whole thing seemed to be absurdly easy to get in and out of; a wide sweeping avenue, only a little wrought-iron fence around the base of it to keep people out. Seemed being the operative word; visible to either side had been several ramparts, and almost imperceptible flaws in the road itself hinted at serious defences that were presently concealed.

Hendricks and his party were greeted by the same pair who had welcomed them up at the habitat, who gave the usual minor pleasantries – we hope the trip was smooth, do you need a moment to refresh? Something to eat? Something to drink? Before leading them inside, where the crisp air of the Palace washed over them. Faintly scented with greenery, the entrance hall was a large echoing room of white and green marble, inlaid with brown granite. Expensive? No. Not at all. But it was gorgeous; natural light, by means of shafts and mirrors, streamed in to refracting crystals above, which scattered it. The effect was of walking into a sun-dappled forest. One almost missed the guards standing at attention.

The consular party was guided further in; to a pair of double doors, inlaid with some sort of swirling wood. A small chamber, carpeted in subdued colours and artificially lit, lay beyond it; here an elf, clad in the dress uniform of the RSS, was standing in front of another pair of doors inlaid with the same wood – these ones were closed. In his right hand, the elf held a long staff inlaid with some sort of silvery material. He was the very first non-human Hendricks had seen since his arrival.

“Ambassador-General, Baronet Celestine Alarl, escorting the Ambassador for the Colonial Republic of Earth, Ser Robert Hendricks, to present his credentials to the Cúirt Solas,” the Ambassador-General said as the elf stared at her. He nodded once and turned to face the doors; placing the palm of his other hand in the centre, he pushed them both open. When they’d swung silently inwards to admit the party, he took one step forward, bowed from the waist, and pounded the staff onto the floor three times.

“His Excellency, Ser Robert Hendricks, appointed ambassador from the Colonial Republic of Earth!” the elf intoned; speaking from the diaphragm, his voice carried across the large audience chamber. He bowed again, and then stepped to one side, allowing the Ambassador to step forward. The rest of his party would remain in the antechamber unless summoned.

The Audience Chamber itself was large, climbing up a couple of stories. The walls were hidden behind tapestries; to the Ambassador’s left a massive one depicted a scene of mountains rising up from a forested plain – snow streamed away from the peaks. To the right, a jungle scene. Ahead, the tapestry showed geometric designs that were almost Islamic in flavour. In front of it, on a raised dais of nine steps, was an empty throne. A simple black chair was set on the middle step; occupied by a young human male who had apparently been talking to the elf clad in black form-fitting armour standing to his right. The room itself had a smattering of courtiers – mostly human, but also present were other non-humans – four distinct groups of elves, some dwarfs, several Nazzadi, a pair of Hri. Looming over other courtiers was a Walvrak, his great tusked head with its little Shriner hat slowly following the Dornalian’s progress. A trio of hexapedal Birrin, some synths with their shiny metallic skin, and a single Tak’Tlek – there were even several Neko. Of them all, only the Neko were displaying any real emotion beyond curiosity; something between distaste and outright hostility graced their features. A red carpet ran from the doors to the dais; a white stripe crossed it around two-and-a-half metres back.

The young man in the chair was the only one sitting down in the room; he was clad in a duty uniform of the ISS, all black cloth with red piping, absent any rank insignia or badges, only a purple sash to denote rank. And a golden circlet on his close-cut dark auburn hair.

His Serene Highness, the Prince-Regent.

Even from here the Ambassador could see the young man straighten in his chair and stare at him warily with a pair of too-green eyes. By contrast, the elf next to the youth seemed to be sizing the Ambassador up; the pair of dao blades on his back did nothing to reduce the impression. In fact, that elf, and several others like him, were the only armed people in the room.

Every pair (or in the case of the Birrin, quartet) of eyes had turned to bore into the Ambassador.

IC:

Ambassador Hendricks and his staff was having a pretty good time so far in his new settings in the Realm, all things considered.

Oh sure, it required a lot of travel through specialized FTL bubbles, and then navigating through a zone where gravity and the laws of physics seemed to be bended and twisted into something akin to the love child of a Cubist painting and a box of curly fries from Dougal’s House of Potato Products. Ambassador Hendricks hadn’t quite felt anything like the transition into the Diplomatic Habitat in a long time--the last time was when he was doing Navy ROTC and getting used to zero-g combat. Even then, that wasn’t nearly as disorienting as the transition into the Diplomatic Habitat. He felt a slight sense of vertigo going in, and even the more hardened members of his team--the five Valkyrie Division members--seemed to be hard pressed to keep up.

Still, once they got into the Diplomatic Habitat, it was actually quite alright. Bob Hendricks wasn’t even going to try and suss out how the Realm managed to pack wide open spaces and a pleasant environment into a cylinder--complete with its own weather system. That was the job of the Gracie on his staff from the Department of Education and Scientific Infrastructure, who would be handling any potential scientific and educational exchanges involving the locals. Assuming they were up for such things. For now, he was just glad there was weather.

Even with the comparative boredom and isolation of the small town they were situated near, Bob felt it was not such a bad little town. It was certainly a nice change of pace from the urban jungle that was Santa Monica, California. Home to the State Department and then some, Santa Monica could be nothing short of a mad house during rush hour and was not what one would call quiet and isolated. Bob was a city boy and thrived off of the madness, but well….he kinda liked this. It reminded him of those summers he had spent in New Star City’s North Mountain district visiting his grandfather, who had moved there for his health. The staff of course--and his family--could be occasionally heard to grumble in private about the lack of DornTube access and the silent treatment from the locals, but hey--at least the locals piped in episodes of the Juanita and Lyudmila show. So that kept them somewhat mollified. Bob himself resorted to reading his backlog of books, in contrast.

Still, all this Arcadia--even with the magpies and their aggressive ways--just reminded him that he was there for a reason. Namely, he was to present his credentials to the management.

For that, Bob had brought out his best suit. It was a bespoke number, from a Chinese tailor in West Hollywood that specialized in making the finest suits money could buy…..at surprisingly reasonable prices. The fabric was a fine worsted wool/silk blend, in a basic gray/black, and the suit was single breasted. To go with it, Bob brought out a white shirt--crisp, well kept in the pattern buffer storage unit--and over it put on a relatively muted tie tied in a half-windsor knot in the Dornalian colors of red, white and blue, with a tie tack bearing the logo of the State Department on it. His feet were clad in fine wingtips, made of the best leather, shined to perfection. As he adjusted the tie, Bob looked into the mirror. He wasn’t a young man anymore, for sure--he was approaching his late thirties going into his forties, and his bald head and somewhat aged features bearing Hungarian ancestry betrayed a life spent making deals and rolling with sticky situations. And what was this meeting but the product of one more deal?

Looking in the mirror, Bob saw his chief of staff, that Gracie from the Department of Education and Scientific Infrastructure. This Gracie had taken the form of a young woman of East Asian ancestry, wearing a suit with a knee length skirt and a bolo tie with horn rimmed glasses. With a light knock, the Gracie asked, “Can I come in?”

Bob said, his voice focused and yet relaxed all at once, “Go ahead, Grace.”

Gracie stepped in with a tablet, and said simply, “I wanted to let you know that I’ve received word that the management is on its way, they will ferry you to the ceremony, they also wanted me to share some preliminary advice, regarding the ceremony.”

“Go on?”

The Gracie then talked quickly, and sternly.

“You’re advised that there is a white line, You are to bow upon entering the room--I recommend a customary 45 degree angle--and then upon approaching the white line but not going over it, bow again, introduce yourself, and then bow once more while presenting your credentials. I have a spare copy of the Letters of Credence issued by the State Department if you do not have your copy. You absolutely need them. Also, the greeting you will use to introduce yourself has a specific format.” Looking through her notes, Gracie then said simply, “The format goes, ‘“Honors to your House, I, Robert of House Hendricks, offer greets and salutations to Your Serene Highness in the name of your most august father, on behalf of…’, you are advised to finish that with ‘On behalf of the people and government of the Colonial Republic of Earth, I present these Letters of Credence from President Michael Haggar and Secretary of State Norton Simons of the Colonial Republic evidencing my appointment as Ambassador to the Realm.’ Present the letter in a sealed envelope to the management, they will take it from there.”

Gracie then breathed in and out, and said with a smile, “I’m sure they’ll have a guy there to remind you about all that, but yeah.”

Bob’s reply was a simple, “I’ve got it, Gracie.” With a smile that looked like it had been around a lot of places, he continued with, “I’ve been to functions before, I think I can handle elaborate diplomatic ceremony.”

Gracie nodded, and with a smile of her own that suggested she was masking unease, she said, “Well, if you say so. The management should be pulling up now--let’s get in while the getting’s good.”

With that, the Ambassador and his staff boarded the cars sent to pick them up, and proceeded onwards. The trip indeed was quite uneventful, and Bob took the time to check and double check--his Letters of Credence were in his jacket breast pocket, in the sealed envelope, as they should be. The sights of course, were quite impressive--none more so than the Palace itself. The shimmering structure with its massive ramparts was something that stood out for Bob--it was quite unlike anything he had seen before. He wondered privately if the Realm had the concept of postcards--because that would look good on a postcard.

When they finally got inside, the ritual would begin.

Bob remembered to execute a formal 45 degree bow the moment he first entered the room, doing so slowly and prominently so as to make it noticeable. Then, he proceeded forwards, slowly but surely, composed, keeping his gaze from being fixed on any one individual as he noted the presence of the crowd and noted the white line. Then, he stopped at the white line, standing ramrod straight as he had done before in Navy ROTC, before bowing once more at a 45 degree angle and then proclaiming, clearly, and articulately and with a moderated speed:

“Honors to your House, I, Robert of House Hendricks, offer greetings and salutations to Your Serene Highness in the name of your most august father, on behalf of the people and government of the Colonial Republic of Earth, I present these Letters of Credence from President Michael Haggar and Secretary of State Norton Simons of the Colonial Republic evidencing my appointment as Ambassador to the Realm.”

WIth one smooth motion, he bowed at a 45 degree angle and then proceeded to remove the Letters of Credence in their sealed envelope from his jacket pocket. He held the position for as long as it took for a guard to take the Letters and present them to the right people. Once the Letters were taken, Bob straightened up and continued to hold his ramrod straight pose, hands at his side. The crowd--diverse, full of aliens including nekos that seemed as hostile as some of the ones he knew once--seemed to greet the onlooker with a mix of curiosity and bile fascination, like he was a car chase on live TV.

Now, it would fall on the management to make the next move.

***

Presidential House
Los Angeles, California, Earth SSR
Colonial Republic of Earth
Four Days Later

While all that was going on, the Viscountess would be undergoing her own ceremony of presenting credentials. The Embassy was here for a reason, after all. There was, make no mistake, an element of ritual. However, it was not as formalized and stiff as what the Realm had Ambassador Hendricks undergo. Rather, it was a more relaxed affair--which made sense, since the Viscountess was dealing with the Dornalians in a land known for a relaxed, easygoing way of doing things.

As SecState Simons’s office sent via electronic message--and Amanda’s own very helpful telephone call soon afterwards noted--the procedures were simple. The Viscountess would have her Letters of Credence or other such documents, and would be escorted inside the Presidential House to meet the President and his delegation, where a quick bow and a walkup would lead to the letters being presented, the President would read them, and then stamps would be made and hands shaken. Afterwards, there would be a brief reception/state dinner. SImple enough, right?

Well, first, the Viscountess would have to get there. And for that in mind, a VC-35 King Raptor Shuttle--a larger, luxurious version of the Raptor shuttlecraft--would land at the Embassy of the Realm in the designated landing pad. It had relatively inoffensive, pleasant blue and white colors for its livery. Onboard would be a pair of Valkyrie Division guards to help escort the Viscountess along with any retainers she chose to bring over. Additionally, Amanda Simons was once more onboard, to help answer any last minute questions the Viscountess had.

Once onboard, the Viscountess’s shuttle would fly through the Southern California skies, flying in from the hills over Southern California’s eclectic mix of chaparral-laden hills kissed by a Mediterranean climate with suburbia and urban landscapes that seemed to spring from time immemorial. Even as the skies got busy with the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles traffic, things seemed surprisingly orderly--more so, considering the fact that the shuttle had escorts. In this case, a C-118A9 Pelican in gunmetal grey, marked with a low-visibility Blue Sky White Sun Red Eagle symbol was seen flying slightly to the right of the Raptor. Likewise, a pair of CF-01 fighters--one in front and in back of the Raptor--along side a Mjolnir-Valkyrie fighterbomber--to the Raptor’s left--were escorting the assembly along, keeping the way in the skies relatively uninterrupted. Simons along the way took the time to clarify any procedures and to inquire about any concerns.

The party would begin descending as they moved closer to the city center itself. Los Angeles was never a city of skyscrapers, partly by choice and partly by necessity forced by geographic circumstance. But there were plenty of tall buildings to navigate through, nonetheless. And all of them were quite shiny and modern, beckoning upwards with a spirit of optimism.

Nestled amongst them, in a clearing in the town, was a large building. It resembled a large mansion of sorts, maybe even a small palace. Still, it was stately, and certainly tasteful and important enough to stand out. There was a fence surrounding it and patrols down below, if the Viscountess cared to see them. Surprisingly, there were few onlookers and lookyloos given the fact they were in the middle of a city--although the odd tourist was likely wondering what was going on before a Valkyrie Divisioneer bade them to move along.

The landing on the designated landing zone on the in the rear helipad was uneventful, with the Pelican landing first and deploying a large group of individuals in large power armor suits disembarking from the Pelican which then began moving to secure the perimeter. After they swept the area for interlopers, the Raptor was allowed to land, and soon, the escorts and Amanda Simons bade the Viscountess to follow.

On the inside of the House, Amanda eventually lead the Viscountess to a room with a pair of double doors. She then said, before opening them, “Any questions?”

If none were forthcoming, the doors would be opened, and soon, the interior was revealed to be a somewhat large office with a wooden desk, bookshelves, and a small conference area with couches and a coffee table. Standing near the desk were three individuals. The large one in the suit with the moustache and a large, muscular frame which seemed to strain against his suit, but the suit seemed to not mind it very much, stood straight and formally.. Next to him was...well, it was another person standing up. Well, more like another sapient, because a bear was standing next to the man’s right. Next to them all was Norton Simons, who stood up with his hands to his sides, calmly looking at the Viscountess with a nod.

Now, it was time for the Viscountess to do her thing.

[Macisikan]

Palace of the Dancing Light
Saragova Conburbation, Agrela’s High Garden,
RFSEM
One of the elven guards took the papers silently, and, turning his back on the Ambassador, opened the envelope, before climbing the stars, where he knelt to present them to the Prince-Regent.

“Honours to your House, Robert of House Hendricks, fides de Colonial Republic of Earth,” he said in a clear, young, voice, accepting the offered papers; his eyes scanning quickly down them. “I welcome you to my father’s Court, and offer you food and drink, warmth and shelter. I receive these letters of credence from your President, and, by making my mark upon them and affixing my stamp and seal, do hereby anoint you an Ambassador Extraordinary, and Plenipotentiary.”

While he’d been speaking, another guard had held out a board for him to rest the papers on, and a third had produced ink, stamp, wax, and a pen; the paper was initialled, stamped, and he pressed a signet ring into the wax. It was all quite archaic in its own way, but something about the body language of the people present said that this was as solemn as the most sacred religious ceremony. When he was done, the guard holding the board did something – obscured by the elf’s back – and then the papers were returned to the kneeling guard, who bowed his head, took them, and backed down the dais to the base; there he bowed his head again, and turned to walk back to the Ambassador. The papers were handed back across the line.

“I call upon all present to bear witness,” the Prince-Regent said, standing up, “that, with the papers so signed and stamped and returned to you, before this court, you are hereby recognised as Emissary of the Colonial Republic of Earth, and honoured guest,” he descended the stairs as he spoke, until he was level with the Ambassador. He was about a hand’s width shorter than the Ambassador as it turned out; the elf that had shadowed him down the stairs was a couple of inches taller… and was also eyeing off Hendricks as though he’d like to slit the human’s stomach open. Not in a hostile way – more in a curious as to what colours he’d see way.

The Prince-Regent on the other hand, he wasn’t hostile, but… there was something subtly off about him, something that didn’t fit. Lean and fit, handsome and polished, all seemed well until…

It is said of humans that the eyes are the windows to the soul; the soul that stared out of those jade-coloured eyes at Hendricks had far too many years of experience be at home in that young face. A body that seemed to be somewhere in its first quarter-century was housing a soul far older. The elf had the same look. And then the human smiled, and the moment passed, and it was just a young man looking up at the Ambassador.

“Good luck, Excellency,” he said dryly. “You’ll need it. Fair wind at your back,” and with that, not waiting for an answer, he swept from the room, exiting through a door to Hendricks’s right. The court parted like water, many of them performing the bow-and-scrape as he went past – though it was interesting to note that men and women alike did it. No-one curtseyed. The exceptions were the few in military dress, who saluted – their postures managing to be even stiffer than the Ambassador’s had been.

The Protocol Office had, fortunately, prepared Hendricks for this eventuality; no bows or such were required to the departing Prince-Regent – he could just leave (though it would be a very bad idea to sit on either chair). The court was also rapidly draining away - though as the courtiers left the room, most of them stopped at the door, turned around, and inclined their head towards the empty throne. No-one had mentioned that bit – it seemed to be just something they were doing.

Hendricks would find the Ambassador-General still waiting in the antechamber for him – there to escort him back to the spaceport. From there, he would return to his Embassy, and a mountain of briefing papers from the Vice-Minister’s office; how to arrange for Dornalians to visit the Realm, what to do if (when) one of them was detained by the Garda, visa application processes, how to apply for his own staff to leave the habitat, import/export restrictions… for any sort of consular business, if you name it, it was there.

At least they’d been provided electronically; in hardcopy they would’ve probably collapsed his desk.

---

Presidential House
Los Angeles, California, Earth SSR
Colonial Republic of Earth

The Viscountess was, surprisingly, seasoned at this. She appreciated the peace of her Embassy’s location – the locals had clearly enough sense to realise that the sending nation would not have been comfortable in the middle of town. For the most part, she occupied her days with tending to a miniature tree that had accompanied her from home, or seemingly meditating. There would be time to be social later, no doubt.

Desila was quiet for the journey – no additional questions, no commentary, no small talk. She would answer questions when asked, but the answers were fairly short; and she was very attentive while Simmons briefed her on the procedure. The woman herself was clad in a burgundy wrap over a black dress; soft black felt shoes, with gold embroidery, peeked out from beneath them. Silk, maybe. Or very fine cotton. It was honestly hard to tell given how it seemed to change texture between sunlight and artificial light. A golden broach pinned the wrap in place, her house’s crest displayed in enamel on it. Her own guards were just a pair of fairly nondescript humans of apparent European extraction, clad in dusty black themselves; mandarin collars, no ties.

When asked if there were any other questions, she responded with a polite no; on admission to the President’s office, she had bowed at the threshold, hands clasped in front of her stomach, and again a couple of metres back from the President’s party. She reacted to the presence of the bear the same way she did to that of Secretary Simons; a brief nod of acknowledgement after she had bowed to the President.

“Honours to your house, President Michael of house Haggar,” her voice was a smooth alto, pleasant, and spiced with a hint of accent that lent an interesting pronunciation to Haggar’s surname. Upon the orders of His Serene Highness, our Prince-Regent, I present myself and my letter of credence from His Serene Majesty, Constantinus, Seventh of that Name, here to stand as the Ambassador of the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan to the Colonial Republic of Earth,” as she spoke, she produced said letters – when she finished, she offered them to the President.

Affixed to the bottom of them, above the blank spaces left for the President, were the same wax seals and ink sigils that now graced Hendricks’s letters.

[New Dornalia]

Palace of the Dancing Light
Saragova Conburbation, Agrela’s High Garden,
RFSEM
One of the elven guards took the papers silently, and, turning his back on the Ambassador, opened the envelope, before climbing the stars, where he knelt to present them to the Prince-Regent.

“Honours to your House, Robert of House Hendricks, fides de Colonial Republic of Earth,” he said in a clear, young, voice, accepting the offered papers; his eyes scanning quickly down them. “I welcome you to my father’s Court, and offer you food and drink, warmth and shelter. I receive these letters of credence from your President, and, by making my mark upon them and affixing my stamp and seal, do hereby anoint you an Ambassador Extraordinary, and Plenipotentiary.”

While he’d been speaking, another guard had held out a board for him to rest the papers on, and a third had produced ink, stamp, wax, and a pen; the paper was initialled, stamped, and he pressed a signet ring into the wax. It was all quite archaic in its own way, but something about the body language of the people present said that this was as solemn as the most sacred religious ceremony. When he was done, the guard holding the board did something – obscured by the elf’s back – and then the papers were returned to the kneeling guard, who bowed his head, took them, and backed down the dais to the base; there he bowed his head again, and turned to walk back to the Ambassador. The papers were handed back across the line.

“I call upon all present to bear witness,” the Prince-Regent said, standing up, “that, with the papers so signed and stamped and returned to you, before this court, you are hereby recognised as Emissary of the Colonial Republic of Earth, and honoured guest,” he descended the stairs as he spoke, until he was level with the Ambassador. He was about a hand’s width shorter than the Ambassador as it turned out; the elf that had shadowed him down the stairs was a couple of inches taller… and was also eyeing off Hendricks as though he’d like to slit the human’s stomach open. Not in a hostile way – more in a curious as to what colours he’d see way.

The Prince-Regent on the other hand, he wasn’t hostile, but… there was something subtly off about him, something that didn’t fit. Lean and fit, handsome and polished, all seemed well until…

It is said of humans that the eyes are the windows to the soul; the soul that stared out of those jade-coloured eyes at Hendricks had far too many years of experience be at home in that young face. A body that seemed to be somewhere in its first quarter-century was housing a soul far older. The elf had the same look. And then the human smiled, and the moment passed, and it was just a young man looking up at the Ambassador.

“Good luck, Excellency,” he said dryly. “You’ll need it. Fair wind at your back,” and with that, not waiting for an answer, he swept from the room, exiting through a door to Hendricks’s right. The court parted like water, many of them performing the bow-and-scrape as he went past – though it was interesting to note that men and women alike did it. No-one curtseyed. The exceptions were the few in military dress, who saluted – their postures managing to be even stiffer than the Ambassador’s had been.

The Protocol Office had, fortunately, prepared Hendricks for this eventuality; no bows or such were required to the departing Prince-Regent – he could just leave (though it would be a very bad idea to sit on either chair). The court was also rapidly draining away - though as the courtiers left the room, most of them stopped at the door, turned around, and inclined their head towards the empty throne. No-one had mentioned that bit – it seemed to be just something they were doing.

Hendricks would find the Ambassador-General still waiting in the antechamber for him – there to escort him back to the spaceport. From there, he would return to his Embassy, and a mountain of briefing papers from the Vice-Minister’s office; how to arrange for Dornalians to visit the Realm, what to do if (when) one of them was detained by the Garda, visa application processes, how to apply for his own staff to leave the habitat, import/export restrictions… for any sort of consular business, if you name it, it was there.

At least they’d been provided electronically; in hardcopy they would’ve probably collapsed his desk.

Hendricks was glad the whole thing went off without a hitch. Still, he had gotten the impression that his presence was a bit of a novelty--and that there was going to be a lot to learn about the people who had just accepted him as the Ambassador from Dornieland. The elf seemed to study him after all--a bit too closely for his comfort. The Prince-Regent also seemed to be older, wiser than his appearance suggested. Still, things had gone off without a hitch, and Hendricks made note of the inclination--even if he decided to err on the side of caution and see himself out without much ado per the Protocol Office’s instructions.

The papers and briefings Hendricks saw when he came home were appreciated--especially as they came in easily handled if not easily digestible digital form. Hendricks first sat at his workstation though, to finish business, and fired off a quick message to Dornieland.

To: Secretary of State Norton Simons, Dept. of State, Colonial Republic of Earth
From: Robert Hendricks
CC: President Michael Haggar, Colonial Republic of Earth
Security Level: CONFIDENTIAL//STATEDEP//ORCON (Read: Secret IC)
Re: Ambassadorship acceptance

Secretary Norton, I just wanted to let you know that as of this time, I have successfully presented my credentials to the Realm’s Prince-Regent. A formal report will be forthcoming--I have plenty of materials to review and summarize first.

Now, came a small glass of water--and a lot of time to read….

---

Presidential House
Los Angeles, California, Earth SSR
Colonial Republic of Earth

The Viscountess was, surprisingly, seasoned at this. She appreciated the peace of her Embassy’s location – the locals had clearly enough sense to realise that the sending nation would not have been comfortable in the middle of town. For the most part, she occupied her days with tending to a miniature tree that had accompanied her from home, or seemingly meditating. There would be time to be social later, no doubt.

Desila was quiet for the journey – no additional questions, no commentary, no small talk. She would answer questions when asked, but the answers were fairly short; and she was very attentive while Simmons briefed her on the procedure. The woman herself was clad in a burgundy wrap over a black dress; soft black felt shoes, with gold embroidery, peeked out from beneath them. Silk, maybe. Or very fine cotton. It was honestly hard to tell given how it seemed to change texture between sunlight and artificial light. A golden broach pinned the wrap in place, her house’s crest displayed in enamel on it. Her own guards were just a pair of fairly nondescript humans of apparent European extraction, clad in dusty black themselves; mandarin collars, no ties.

When asked if there were any other questions, she responded with a polite no; on admission to the President’s office, she had bowed at the threshold, hands clasped in front of her stomach, and again a couple of metres back from the President’s party. She reacted to the presence of the bear the same way she did to that of Secretary Simons; a brief nod of acknowledgement after she had bowed to the President.

“Honours to your house, President Michael of house Haggar,” her voice was a smooth alto, pleasant, and spiced with a hint of accent that lent an interesting pronunciation to Haggar’s surname. Upon the orders of His Serene Highness, our Prince-Regent, I present myself and my letter of credence from His Serene Majesty, Constantinus, Seventh of that Name, here to stand as the Ambassador of the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan to the Colonial Republic of Earth,” as she spoke, she produced said letters – when she finished, she offered them to the President.

Affixed to the bottom of them, above the blank spaces left for the President, were the same wax seals and ink sigils that now graced Hendricks’s letters.

As promised and expected, the Dornalian take on the ceremony was a lot less formal and ritualized than the Realm’s take on the whole thing. However, some protocols needed to be observed, and
President Haggar took the letters, nodded politely while making eye contact and reviewed them briefly. With a glance over to the bear, the bear presented a small box to President Haggar. Without much in the way of ceremony, Haggar took the box and the letters and placed them down onto his desk, before opening the box.

Inside was a red inkpad with what looked like a stamp carved out of fine stone--jade, to be precise--and another stamp carved out of fine hardwood with a rubberized pad. Putting the letters down onto his desk, and then patting the stamp in the red inkpad, Haggar stamped the appropriate areas, pressing with enough force to ink the letters first with the seal of the Republic--the Blue Sky White Sun with Red Eagle in the middle--and then a date stamp indicating presentation and acceptance. The letters were then passed to Norton, who looked them over and nodded in assent. All the while, photographers and videographers from the State Department were filming and taking pictures of the occasion, for posterity and for the press.

Haggar then looked at Desila, and proclaimed, “I accept these letters on behalf of the people of the Colonial Republic, and recognize you now as the Ambassador Plenipotentiary and Extraordinary from the Realm of the Federated Star Empire of Macisikan.” Then, stepping forward Haggar extended his hand after a polite 45 degree bow saying, with a smile, “I look forward to the beginnings of a productive relationship between our two countries. Welcome aboard.”

When the handshakes were done, Haggar then said, gesturing to the others in the office, “You’ve met Norton beforehand, I trust. As for the bear? He’s Yogi. Bodyguard, sparring partner, and lifelong friend. Smarter than the average bear, to use a phrase from the pre-Apocalypse.”

Yogi nodded and spoke, with a reserved, if polite manner and a Russian-esque accent, “It is pleasure to meet you, Ambassador.”

Norton nodded, and said, “Well, now that the ceremony is done, I’ll let you get on back to confirming these events occurred, and we will see you later tonight at the state dinner.”

And with that, the Presidential party escorted Desila back to the Embassy, effectively retracing their steps through the busy LA skyways back to San Clemente. All well and good, business before pleasure. Besides, the cooks at the Manse had to finish preparing that roast, which would take a while.

[Macisikan]

Back at her own embassy, the Viscountess fired her own version of Hendricks’s message back home, before preparing for the State Dinner that evening.

And so, with a rocky start, a relationship of sorts began to develop between the two nations. It would have its ups and downs, of course – they all do, but at least this phase had gone by without anyone dying. Time would tell if it would continue this way.

---

OOC: And that’s a wrap.