Megatridimensional Economic Summit of 1983

The Megatridimensional Economic Summit of 1983 was a conference held by the Republic of Megatridimensional Order with the purpose of reintegrating the nation back into Venturia having emerged from the Megatridimensional Civil War which kept the country essentially in isolation since closing its borders during the Foreign Purge of 1966.

The official international story of the Summit was written by Etwo Stopino of the United States of Quentin. Stopino was chosen based on her reputation as one of the most factual based reporters in the USQ, which had it's own reputation of keeping journalism "fact-based." Stopino and her staff was given unprecedented unrestricted access during the Summit. From her book: "The Summit."

Summit

From the book by Etwo Stopino, The Summit.

Chapter 1

Standing to the side of the window, watching the merciless morning light greedily devour the darkness, Octavius Silvercrone could not help but compare it to current events. Yes, the darkness still had control of his republic, but it was fading fast. He stroked at his thick black mustache absentmindedly.“The sun always rises,” he said softly, then turned and left the room. The two men from his security detail outside his door fell into step as he turned down the Minax Hotel hallway, leaving behind the safety of his suite. His new suit had already begun to chafe. He reached up to adjust his tie as he walked, but thought better of it.

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

His three advisors were already in animated discussion, and he could feel the tension in the air. “Good morning,” he said, taking his place at the head of the table. The discussion died down as they each realized he had entered the room.

“Good morning, Prime Minister.”

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

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

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

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

Silvercrone remained silent, but dipped his head in approval.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Were the additional Guards you sent uniformed?”

“Of course, sir, we….”

“Keep them there, Ms. Ghent,” he interrupted, leaning forward. “But get them out of uniform. The presence of uniformed Order Guards was carefully calculated to make our guests feel secure…” He paused. “Not intimidated.”

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

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

“Anything else?” Silvercrone asked the group.

“Watkins was on Spire-TV already this morning, decrying the Economic Summit and calling for a last minute repeal of the invitations,” said Terkuller. Thafter scratched the bald spot in the back of his head and cleared his throat. “My guys have already put in a call to Spire expressing our dissatisfaction.”

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

Silvercrone stood quickly and the advisors followed suit.

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

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

---

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

He lit up a cigarette, leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. The sun glimmered off the Grim Ocean as they sped along the Coastal Highway. The ocean disappeared as the buildings of the commercial district became more and more prominent. Thafter sighed. He was glad that they had decided to hold the summit in Nirvana, instead of at the capital. It was a rare decision where the advisors had stuck to their guns and Silvercrone actually conceded. The Prime Minister of the MTO had wanted the summit to be held in the capital of Tabula Rasa.

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

Tabula Rasa was historic and grand, to be sure, and was a monument to all Megatridimensional history. But parts were still in disrepair from the war, and the rest of the city was monument to ALL The Order history, the good and the bad.

“And the delegates,” said Thafter, “surely do not need a blatant reminder of the bad. Nirvana is modern, yes, but also our cleanest city, and the only city large enough to host this event that is untouched by war.”

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

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

They passed the gleaming steel and glass skyscrapers, the dramatic open spaces of the modern gardens, and the structural magnificence of the Ziggurat. Finally, the Grun International Airport came into focus. Thafter smiled wryly at the sign. The Airport hadn’t been “international” for seventeen years and the Foreign Purge of 1966. And in ’66, the airport was new, but modest. The terminal came into view and the limo pulled up to the curb behind uncountable number of other chauffeured cars, one for each of the delegates. Thafter snuffed out his cigarette, gathered himself and exited the vehicle. His security detail made their way through the crowds with Thafter in tow. He straightened himself and brushed some invisible speck from his jacket as they exited the public area. Through the window, he saw the first plane pulling up to the private gate.

Here goes … everything.

Chapter 2

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

"Looks like this is going to be a rather long day..." he commented to God in the sky, the sun shining brightly above the city of Nirvana.

A retinue of scribes and bodyguards followed behind Methar as he made his way swiftly to meet with the other delegates, his military confidence plain to see in the length of his stride if not obvious from his immense size. He felt the military backup an unnecessary precaution. Though he had heard the stories, this time capsule nation felt about as threatening as an otter pup in a warm bath.

...

The door of the corporate plane opened downward, revealing steps on its interior. An extended stairway slid down to reach the tarmac. The country's coat of arms overlaid on the tail of the tan luxury plane. Out stepped four typical nameless men in brown and grey suits, surveying the landscape as they reached the tarmac. One spoke into his wrist.

A Quentinian appeared at the opening, dressed also in a brown and grey suit, but sharper and better tailored than the others. Her thin, sharp glasses did a mediocre job of hiding a scar on the rights side of her face, from the temple down to just below her jaw. A slight streak of white in her black hair added an air of experience, but mystery. She then stepped back, slightly fading into the darkness of the plane.

Steve Boissont, the 17th GTNEC of the USQ, appeared at the door. "Ellejakx," he said to the women in the shadows, "stick close. We didn't have the greatest history with this place before, and I'd rather not risk that has changed." The youngest GTNEC in the United States of Quentin, at 24 years of age, had just assumed his position only a few months ago. He was very aware of the elite Mild RePublican Party members' doubts in his negotiation and leadership abilities, and was eager to repay President of the USQ David Wagner's confidence in him. Boissont looked at this summit as a chance to show his worth and create the next most profitable foreign venture since the Final Punctin Wars.

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

...

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

"Yes sir."

Gilas put his sunglasses on as he stepped into the light and near the staircase rolled up to the airplane door. More confident since his last conference, he took his inhaler from his breast pocket and took another puff.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Remember sir, Jordine has recommended all staff wear sun screen." The same aid said.

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

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

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

---

The agent from the Fyñerian Social Security Club (FSSC) dressed in the usual black slacks and undecorated black military button up, approached Dr. Fred Shicker in her seat with a coffee press and two mugs, "I made some coffee, Comrade."

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

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

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

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

"Gaiishoele!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3

The Megatridimensional Economic Summit of 1983 agenda

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

"Thank Revia," Thafter thought. There had been some concern over accommodating the considerable size of the Bymarian representative. Thankfully, "bigger is better" was the unofficial motto of the Order.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Just before they reached the hotel, he handed each of Abod's assistants an agenda for the conference. He was careful to not show disrespect by handing anything directly to Abod himself, and was equally careful, though it was difficult, to ignore the representative's security force.

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

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

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

---

Thafter felt better at noon. All the dignitaries had been successfully checked into their hotels: Bymaria, Fyñe, the Republic of Trigadia, the Nista Federation of States, Paladinia and a few other contingents in the Minax Hotel, Allia, Docneighland, Kalsomonia, and the United States of Quentin, among others, in the Frostoria Hotel, only a block away. They were now being served middy in the Frostoria's extravagant ballroom.

While the Order guests relaxed and ate rare Crystalisk and expensive Calochortus Max, Thafter and his group of liaisons stayed at the Frostoria consolidating notes.

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

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

"The GTNEC of the USQ makes no secret of the fact he is eager to have something productive come out of this conference. Nothing surprising there, he's said as much at the public conferences and television talk shows. However, I believe we got the motivation wrong."

"How so?" asked Thafter.

"We thought that, having been chosen personally by President Wagner for the position despite the political controversy, that Steve would be in the same mold as any other official chosen personally - someone trying to win over political capital and win favor with, as well as repay, the one who appointed him. He is not. He has strong motivations towards profit and there is some insecurity there. He's looking to prove himself."

"Anything else?"

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

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

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

"Overconfident?" asked Thafter.

"Not sure yet, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

"For instance?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing new?"

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

"How did they handle it?"

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

"Your goal being...?"

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

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

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

"Anything else?"

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

"His rank in his Ministry, correct?"

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

Chapter 4

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

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

"It's excellent to meet you. Madame Kalsom sends her best regards."

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

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

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

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

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

---

Some of the members of his entourage clearly didn't appreciate the heat and were glad to be indoors. Especially, Ellejakx, although she didn't show it. The GTNEC knew his bodyguard well, a whole year of having that security force follow him everywhere he went, he'd pick up the non verbal clues that hinted her moods. Personally, GTNEC Boissont actually enjoyed it as it reminded him of his time in Bymaria.

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

Meanwhile at the Paladinian table...

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

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

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

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

As his assistant began, the leaned towards the assistant to his right. “Correct my history if I am wrong. We do share a similar history with the Order, yes? Both of us hate the Quentinians, fought native tribes, and fought both Venturian Wars together, correct?”

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

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

---

11:00 AM: The security force finally gave the all clear for us to set up our equipment. The locals have no fax machines or any expedited means with which to file our reports to the Record with any haste. There seems to be a few sparks of culture to be seen within the grander structures and the occasional commons. The common folk have a dazed and daydreaming quality to them not unlike the Disciples seeing Jesus rose from the dead. Infrastructure seems incredibly biased toward autos, should make for a net increase in oil sales if they have anything of worth to the wider market with which to feed their desire for personal conveyance. My assistant, Harris, has been as he usually is after flight, of a Megatridimensional temper. Updates to follow...

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

He was broken from these dour thoughts and curses of industrialization as GTNEC Boissont approached his table. Barely out of childhood, he noted as the GTNEC gave a rushed introduction. He introduced himself by saying his name, and giving a brief history of his governmental history, which included a brief stint as Head Quentinian Diplomat to Bymaria. The mention of knowing one another better prompted a laugh as he said, "Son, I doubt you even know yourself yet. But I'd be happy to watch you drink yourself into a stupor as you try to find him!"

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

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

Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t these cars bullet proof?”

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

“How far do we have to go?”

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

“Where are my bodyguards?” he snapped quickly.

“One dead, sir. Don’t know about the other.”

“Which one?”

“Sir?”

“Which bodyguard is dead?”

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he saw the mother fucking bastards in the 4X4. He watched the driver die instantly from Ellejakx’s deadly aim. He watched the passenger fire his automatic weapon indiscriminately until the 4X4 plowed into the Paladinian limo that had pulled in behind the Quentinian car. Then he watched the passenger’s head explode into the windshield on impact.

He watched the four men in the back emptying their weapons at the Quentinian delegation and then at the Order Guards who were retaliating, and then he watched each of the scum die, one by one.

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

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

---

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

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

“Which delegation?” someone shouted.

“The United States of Quentin.”

“Was GTNEC Steve Boissont hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Did they leave the country?”

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

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

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

Murmurs in the crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6

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

"...Yes. But we need to speak to Speaker of the People."

"They're connecting us to Speaker Irebridge now sir."

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

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

"There was a terrorist attack sir, we need the people's clearance on what to do."

"Was anyone on your team hurt?"

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

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

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

Irebridge grumbled.

"So what're we gonna do?"

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

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

"Good. I might make a few phone calls to some friends from ATADO, see what they think. Glory to the People."

"Glory to the People."

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

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

The assemblage of bureaucrats and ministry officials nodded.

---

On the hospital ship QNS Martha by the maritime border of the Megatridimensional Order...

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

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

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

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

In the GTNEC's hospital room, President David Wagner, somehow, had taken the few hour flight to the offshore vessel, was there, sitting by his bed. 5 flatscreens, sitting on wheeled carts, showed the faces of 2 Cupboard members, Secretary of Defense Tillie Warner and Secretary of Foreign Affairs Frasier Crane, along with Head Quentinian Bureaucrat Johnathan Litless and two other legislators, apparently not wanting to take the flight in person, as Wagner did. Discussing recent events and the options. The doctor, with an assistant and a nurse checking the medical machines and IV attached to him, had just explained the extent of his injury.

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

The room, now just with the two of them and a few other Cupboard members. Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Frasier Crane, looked at Steve, saying, “It isn't easy being the GTNEC, is it? Honestly right now I'm glad you're in that position and not me.” he joked.

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

A few smiles and small laughs came from the flatscreens.

“Ellejakx...”

“I know,” said President Wagner. Just a year ago, he personally selected her as Boissont's bodyguard from the Quentinian Intelligence Department. He walked over back over and stood besides his bed.

“Her family's only on a short insurance plan. I'm honestly worried they won't make it without her income.”

“Her family should be fine. Besides the pension, 777 Cupboard Place has room for a few more people, I'm sure. Same goes for Devin's.” The President patted Boissont on the back, then paused for a short moment before looking back at the faces on the flatscreens. “Alright, let's start reviewing our thoughts and options again. We'll need to follow up with a course of action soon.”

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

---

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who, Gil?"

"Yeah."

"He probably fell down running inside."

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gil?" Charlie said. "This is the Representative Rary. We're preparing Kalscox Air Base in Tennomore for your arrival. Your delegation is to leave as soon as possible."

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

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

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

"These orders are from the Chancellor. What would you rather do? Continue serving the Foreign Office or go back on the Elementary Council? You could do great work there, oh yes, I've been hearing a lot about how the Bawhacka farmers in the northwest need new hats.

Gilas paused.

"Give us a few hours to pack."

Chapter 7

"Find. Her. NOW." Silvercrone practically broke the caps off his teeth, snarling into the phone. He slammed down the receiver. He dropped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, he looked around the darkened room and shook his head. The space the Frostoria had given him to work was, of course, nothing if not comfortable. But he longed to be in his own office in Tabula Rasa to deal with this crisis.

There was a knock at the door and Silvercrone beckoned his visitor to enter. It was D'lia. He suddenly remembered staring her down after she suggested he not jump to conclusions. She was doing her job yesterday he reminded himself.

"Please, come in D'lia. Oh..." he stood from his chair and turned on the lamp behind him and pointed at the light switch D'lia was next to. "Would you mind...?"

D'lia nodded and flipped the light switch, then walked across the room to Silvercrone's desk.

"Have a seat," he said, a little stiffly. D'lia sat, a little stiffly as well, he noticed.

D'lia began "Sir, I wanted to apol...." Silvercrone put up his palm.

"No," he said, "don't apologize. I know you were doing your job and your opinions are what I pay you for." D'lia seemed a little surprised, then smiled slightly - that smirk that drove him crazy. His wife, rest her soul, had a similar habit of ever-so-slightly jutting her chin out when she was angry, and had the same lustful effect on him. His current lust was short-lived.

"I was going to say," D'lia continued, "that I wanted to apologize for not getting here sooner. I've been answering questions from the press and state governors."

"Oh," Silvercrone said, glad that he did not have the complexion that loaned itself to reddening from embarrassment. "Er, that's fine. No worries." Idiot.

"Still no sign of Amaxia?"

"No, I was just on the phone with MPsych. They will find her, and for her sake I hope they don't bring her back alive."

D'lia shifted in her chair. "I had my differences with her, but I never once had a thought that she might be a traitor. Did the MPsych shed any more light on it?"

"Not much. Dammit, we shouldn't have assumed her ties to the Ascendancy were severed completely. If I find that she played a major role in this ... disaster, I'll be crucified, and I'll deserve it."

"So far, the story has not gotten to the press. No one asked me a thing about her." There was a pause, and Silvercrone stood up and walked over to the bar. "Drink?" he asked.

"No, sir, thank you."

He tossed a couple of ice cubes in a glass and poured himself a double scotch. "How is Rhand doing?"

"He's been tirelessly bouncing between all of the delegates rooms. It's actually pretty impressive. Thafter trained him well, and ... I thought he was too taciturn for the job, but with the responsibility now on his shoulders, he's taken charge. And Thafter's staff has not missed a beat."

"Good." Silvercrone threw back the scotch and poured another. He put the bottle down next to the glass, put his hands on the bar and bowed his head. He was experiencing a type of tiredness that he had never felt - complete and endless. Even during the early years of the War, when he was fighting for his life for days at a time, he knew there was always an end coming - death or victory. But now he was in charge of a nearly two hundred year old nation that was limping along on crutches, and one of them had just been kicked out. How to go on?

"Sir...?" D'lia brought him back to the present and he turned to see that Rhand Drenton had entered the room. His face was stern, with a focus that Silvercrone had not seen from the thirty year old former Assistant Ambassador. Silvercrone motioned them both over to the table and brought his drink. When they were seated, Silvercrone dove right in.

"What news?"

"Kalsomonia is pulling out. They are in the process of leaving."

"Well, that's not surprising, but disappointing to be sure. At the very least, we can be fairly confident that they were not part of the Ascendancy attack."

"Right," agreed Drenton. "No one would show up to a conference they know is going to be attacked, not even for show. On the positive side, they seemed genuinely sorry to be going, and Gilas Quarrovth did not even attempt to hide his disdain for the decision and whoever made it."

Silvercrone sighed. "Well, not so bad. When are they leaving?"

"Soon. The Order Guard retrieved their effects from the Minax, but they had to delay leaving for the airport - the Guard is still securing the route."

"N-o-o-o-o-o!!!" Silvercrone shot out of his chair, flipping it on the floor behind him, and threw his glass at the desk across the room. He raised his hands above his head. "The route was supposed to be secure already!!!" He took a deep breath and picked up his chair. He sat and glanced at Drenton and D'lia. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Waste of good scotch." Drenton and D'lia both smiled, but their concern was apparent. Ok, Octavius, you punk, your people need you to lead, so fucking lead.

"Drenton, you and I will bid the Kalsomonians farewell as soon as they are cleared. And I want you to ride to the airport with them. Make sure they are as comfortable as is possible, and do your damndest to ensure they know they are leaving with our blessing. Has anyone else made a decision?"

"Still no word from the Fyñerians or Nistans. I put my head in a couple of times, but they waved me off."

"What about Bymaria?"

"Same. They've asked a few questions, but haven't given any indication..."

"They never do. I would hate to play poker with them."

"Yes sir. The only read I could get is that they seem a little unsure of whether we're actually in charge."

"We've held power for two and a half years..." He stopped himself. "No matter, can't blame them. Hopefully our military response will help convince them. Well, the Quentinian and Docneighland responses were the best we could have hoped for. If we weren't sure about Docneighland as supportive of our government before, I think we know now. The Ascendancy kicked the hornet's nest there."

Silvercrone tapped his fingers. "Ok," he said to Drenton, see if you can't hurry things along for the Kalsomonians and come get me as soon as they're ready to go."

"Right." Drenton got up and left the room, passing General Switzak on the way.

"General, come in. What news?" The General removed his hat and stepped across the room. He was a large man, though clearly his more active days were behind him. His blonde comb-over and bushy blonde mustache, combined with his natural ruddy complexion made Silvercrone think of the Durlothic fairy tale about the holiday thief.

"Sir," said the General, "the mission was a success."

"Already?!" Silvercrone said. Silvercrone and D'lia both jumped from their chairs.

"In just over 24 hours?" D'lia looked incredulous.

"Yes," said the General. "As you know, MPsych and the Order Guard have had the Ascendancy leadership under close watch, and in spite of the scrambling they've been doing the past few weeks, we were able to capture all of them."

"All of them? What does that even mean?" said D'lia.

"Ma'am, all known officers of the Ascendancy are under arrest or dead."

Silvercrone and D'lia said nothing.

The General paused, then straightened and continued. "Although the mission was a success, it was not perfect. There were some....unfortunate outcomes."

"Continue," Silvercrone waved his hand impatiently.

"Our spies who had infiltrated the Ascendancy were found dead in South Mordant."

"All of them?"

"Yes sir. They were left for us to ... find. Their bodies were together in an abandoned Ascendancy camp and there were clear signs of torture."

"Amaxia Ghent," D'lia muttered through clenched teeth.

"Also," said the General, "there were civilian casualties. It appeared that many of the South Mordant locals were Ascendancy sympathizers and took up arms when we raided the Ascendancy camps."

"How many?"

"Approximately 1500 sir."

"Fucking fuck."

"Yes sir."

Silvercrone put his hands on the table and bent over, rocking back and forth between his toes and heels. He spoke quietly, which always unnerved D'lia.

"So our spies were betrayed and killed and some of the citizenry in South Mordant were so adamant that they gave their lives to defend the Ascendancy. And yet, inexplicably, with our spies dead and civilians hiding them, we were able to capture all high level officers in little more than 24 hours?" He raised his head and stared at the General.

"Sir? I don't..."

"D'lia?"

D'lia shook her head. "Something isn't right."

"No. No it's not. General, my MPsych background is screaming that we've been played. Keep the military out in full force. I want South Mordant torn apart until we've looked under every stone and brick, found any of bastard or bitch that even remotely smells like the Ascendancy and confident that they have no more knowledge left to give."

The General saluted, turned and marched out of the room, his jaw set. He had miscalculated, not giving Silvercrone credit enough to not take the easy win. Luckily for him, he and the his men had been given a green light to eradicate the Ascendancy. And that is what he intended to do.

---

"Sir," said Drenton, "The Kalsomonian delegation is leaving." Silvercrone straightened his suit and followed Drenton and one of his aides. The Ambassador talked quickly. "Docneighland wants to confirm that the Summit will continue tomorrow morning."

"Tell them absolutely, and thank them for their patience. Make sure they are comfortable, whatever that means to them." The aide rushed off.

Silvercrone and Drenton made it down to the main floor just as Gilas and his entourage were walking past. Silvercrone fell in line.

"Again, I want to offer my apologies, Gilas, for this horrible incident. Please relay to your majesty the Chancellor our regret and also our assurances that the prudent decision to pull your delegation will have no impact on what we hope are fruitful future relationships." They passed the Order Guard holding back a sea of media and into the Kalsomonian limo. Order Guards were everywhere.

As the Prime Minister watched the limo pull away from the curb with Drenton inside, doing as much as he could, the United States of Quentin limo pulled in. Finally, thought Silvercrone, some good timing.

The Order Guard opened the door and assisted the Quentinian Spec Ops in getting GTNEC Boissont into a wheelchair. Silvercrone stepped forward and grasped the GTNEC's hand with both of his. He did not smile, nor say a word, but it was clear the GTNEC understood the sentiment. They both nodded and moved inside the Frostoria.

"Sir," said Silvercrone, "are you feeling up to facing the press?"

Boissont smiled as if he had just sat down to a four course meal. "The question, good Prime Minister, is 'are they feeling up to facing ME.'"

Chapter 8

On doctor's orders, the GTNEC had to remain off his right foot while it healed. In addition to his bodyguards, he is followed by a nurse, who doubles as a physical therapist. His mobility for the time being is limited to a wheelchair but, this is no ordinary wheelchair. Motorized with wheels that look like it could handle off road terrain, the fabrics and cushions are plush, an encrypted satellite phone and a transponder is built in and contains a hidden compartment for his personal sidearm.

The GTNEC stopped to answer questions by the press awaiting in the lobby with Prime Minister Silvercrone. His schedule allowed for 30 minutes of questions and answers. His bodyguards, no longer dressed in brown suits, were outfitted in military gear of the Quentinian Military. They ensured a 7 foot distance from the standing press and the sitting GTNEC.

As the session went on, he was slightly irritated when the reporters were trying to bait him to say his support of the current government is due to seeking revenge on his would-be assassins. He had addressed the same question in its various forms with a simple “No,” before seeking a new reporter. In between questions and answers, there was a fourth attempt, he figured a better answer might satisfy them.

“I do not seek revenge on my would be assassins as my bodyguards along with the Order Guard eliminated them. They came, they failed, and they are welcomed to try again. Maybe they'll get a hand or my other foot this time.” He raised a hand and his left foot, respectively, and then gave a small laugh and smiled. He pointed to another reporter and continued the Q&A session until the time allotted ran out. That seemed to have done the trick.

Chapter 9

The Megatridimensional Order International Economic Summit (1983)
Transcript of Keynote Address, June 19, 1938

Octavius Silvercrone, Prime Minister

SILVERCRONE: “Ladies and gentlemen… Thank you… Ladies and…”

{APPLAUSE CONTINUES}

SILVERCRONE: “Please… Thank you…”

{SILVERCRONE RAISES HIS HANDS; CALLING FOR QUIET}

SILVERCRONE: “Thank you. I…. thank you so very much for your kindness and solidarity. This summit …. This summit was to be the dawning of a new day in our nation. It was supposed to be a coming out party – proof that our internal situation has solidified. That we were in complete control, and ready to re-enter the international community.”

{PAUSES}

SILVERCRONE: “But the events two days ago turned this Summit into a nightmare. One action – one show of violence by petulant, twisted LOSERS of our Civil War, and everything we have been building the past few years was suddenly in danger of being completely wasted. Friends, I will tell you with no exaggeration, I did not expect a single delegation – not a single person – would stay. You would have been justified and correct in saying “Get your shit together before you invite us here again.”

{SILENCE}

SILVERCRONE: “And this nation, our nation, would likely fall back into war, with our government losing the faith of the people, and making us a target once again.”

{SILVERCRONE PAUSES; BOTH HANDS STRETCHED OUT ON THE PODIUM; WITH HIS EYES CAST DOWNWARDS. THEN HE LIFTS HIS HEAD}

SILVERCRONE: “But then something happened. You did not leave us. You stayed, and you said “brothers and sisters, we will stand against these people terrorizing your nation.” And those that did choose to leave for their own safety, understandably so, still stood with us in spirit. There was no animosity. And Steve Boissont, the youngest GTNEC in the history of the United States of Quentin, where are you, Steve?”

{SPOTLIGHT MOVES TO BOISSONT, WHO IS RAISING HIS HAND TO THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE}

SILVERCRONE {APPLAUDING}: “Yes! Our friend, Mr. Boissont.”

{WAITS FOR APPLAUSE TO DIE DOWN}

SILVERCRONE: “Thank you Mr. Boissont, for standing in solidarity with us. This man, ladies and gentlemen, refused to give in to our enemies – his enemies – and allow them to stop the march of progress that we all work so hard to continue…in each of our countries. And his wounds were not even the most grievous of his injuries. He lost two bodyguards and friends, staff members – family – murdered in cold blood. Yet he stands with us, even now!”

{ANOTHER ROUND OF EXTENDED APPLAUSE. SILVERCRONE SIPS FROM A GLASS OF WATER AND RETURNS IT UNDER THE PODIUM}

SILVERCRONE: “When I saw how many of you, including the good Mr. Boissont, were standing fast – continuing this conference whether from here or from afar, I had a revelation. Some will cite this as proof that our internal situation has solidified. Some will say that we are not in complete control. And undoubtedly, some will say that the Republic of Megatridimensional Order is not ready to re-enter the international community.”

“But suddenly, that does not matter anymore. EVEN IF THEY ARE RIGHT, it no longer matters. Because now, the Republic of Megatridimensional Order has something it has not had for quite some time… We have friends.”

{APPLAUSE}

SILVERCRONE: “WE HAVE FRIENDS! YOU ARE OUR FRIENDS!

{SURGING APPLAUSE}

And that makes all the difference!

{STANDING OVATION AND APPLAUSE}

SILVERCRONE: “Thank you. Please be seated. Thank you!”

SILVERCRONE: “That is great for our nation, and we want to show you that it is great for your nations as well. Tonight, each delegation here and abroad, will receive a standard Free Trade Agreement. There is nothing special about the terms – agreement for our counties to strengthen each other by eliminating import taxes. Pretty standard.”

SILVERCRONE: “But there is one thing that is not so standard. You see, one of the things we pride ourselves on, for decades now, has been our Republic’s emphasis on technology, especially usable technology.”

{HOLDS UP A MICROCHIP}

SILVERCRONE: “I’m sure you all know what this is -- well, if you could see it for those folks in the back – This is a microchip. Most of you have this technology. However, we have found a way to increase speeds up to five times faster than the best microchip. This is Digital Megaprocessor Microchip Technology, or DMMT. It can compute a multiply operation in 200 nanoseconds, and it can execute instructions from both on-chip ROM and off-chip RAM. I’m going to stop there because I am no salesman, and there are more technology related words in that sentence than I have said in my entire life combined.”

{LAUGHTER}

SILVERCRONE: “Look, you are all bright people. You know that a free trade agreement is becoming a de facto economic baseline; an easy way to increase the standing and economy of two nations. A true win-win. But we wanted to do more. So we’re offering the technological specifications for the DMMT, as well as our laboratory testing numbers, to any of you for use in your countries and industries. Further, we are waiving all intellectual property rights and all claims to compensation from the DMMT, including after this agreement is dissolved.”

{MURMERS IN THE CROWD}

SILVERCRONE: “Whether it advances your technological base five years or twenty five years, it will benefit your nations and ours. We believe this is a big deal, but we believe the importance of a free trade economy with the major players of Venturia is even more important.”

SILVERCRONE: “Please read the agreement, talk with your constituents and leadership. We are open to negotiation and are passionate about establishing agreements with all of you.”

SILVERCRONE: “Regardless of what you choose to do, thank you, sincerely, for your friendship in these difficult times. We will do our best to repay you for your kindness should you ever need an ally. Thank you for coming. Thank you for staying. And thank you for considering our offer.”

{STANDING OVATION; APPLAUSE}

{END TRANSCRIPT}

Chapter 10

Drenton sent his aides out on to the conference floor, one for each delegation, and presented them with the standard agreement. The aides explained that once the delegation decided whether to sign, negotiate or “not agree,” the aides would relay the information – including whatever signing ceremony or photo ops they wanted to do. Whatever the answer, the conference was unofficially over, and the delegations were free to go as they wished. But the Order would provide lodging, food and drink for the duration of the decision making or negotiating process.

“Well,” said Silvercrone when D’lia and Drenton collapsed into the chairs in Silvercrone's makeshift office. Silvercrone and D’lia had scotch, and even Drenton had a bottle of beer. The smoke from their cigarettes wafted in the air above their heads. “How do you think it went?”

“It couldn’t have gone better,” said Drenton. “The applause, the standing ovations – I think you really impressed them.”

Silvercrone grinned and put his feet up on the table. D’lia could not help but smile. “What?” said Drenton.

“Trust me, it will come with experience,” D’lia said, still smiling. “But diplomats, even in our backwoods, politically messed up country we had for a couple of decades, are all well versed in the art of – being diplomatic.”

“You mean they were faking?” asked Drenton. D’lia laughed again.

“No, I wouldn’t say that.”

“No, but diplomats and ambassadors make the best poker players,” Silvercrone said.

Drenton took a drag on his smoke. “So then all that stuff you were saying about ‘friends...?’”

Silvercrone downed his scotch and shook his head. “No, that was real, and I think you know from our conversations that we are all grateful to these countries for sticking with us – hearing us out – even after the Ascendancy attacked. Perhaps I laid it on a little thick, but that’s the point. Anything less would have seemed insincere.”

“I’ll be interested to see the international coverage of your speech,” said Drenton.

“Me too, but, hell, if we GET international coverage, then maybe this won’t have been a complete disaster after all. “ Silvercrone poured another scotch and held it up as a toast.

“We’re back in the world now. Let’s try to stay there this time.”

The Prime Minister's speech was broadcast live in the United States of Quentin on both the Diamond Television Network and the Quentinian Broadcasting Corporation's channels. The Quentinian Gazette put the speech on the front page of the following day's paper. The show of support from the Prime Minister boosted the Quentinian Stock Market when it reopened, regaining lost points and more since the assassination attempt. Many companies announced plans to reopen lines of trade and services to the MTO from the USQ after the deal was signed.

As per tradition, the GTNEC signed the treaty, and the House of Bureaucrats voted later on its ratification. It was tight, but ultimately the treaty was passed. The Fundamentalist Party were immediately hooked by the promise of a technology boost, and free trade along with encouragement from President Wagner boosted support from the Mild RePublican Party in the House. Once the Prime Minister's signature was on the treaty before sharing a celebratory Tueuer de Tristesse with him to conclude the summit.

Chapter 11

“A free trade agreement, an advance in technology, and the potential of billions in revenue; all at the cost of the deaths of over 1500 people and a permanent limp.” That's how a member of the Cupboard later put it. President Wagner certainly was satisfied with the outcome and the cost.

---

The summer day in Kalsomonia was much more mild than the day in Nirvana, a fact which Gilas was silently thankful for. He wandered the halls outside the rotunda of the Smart People Circle, worrying about his future in the Foreign Office. Minister Morvene did not take well to failure - even if it was due to circumstances entirely beyond someone's control. The mission was to sign a treaty, and to do anything less was as bad as spilling coffee on the document itself.

He leaned against a wall. To his right was the door to the Circle cafeteria, closed until suppertime.

"Your secretary told me I would find you stumbling around here," Charlie said from down the hall. Gilas pushed himself off the wall and faced the Representative. He had a few pieces of paper in his hands. "It's two in the afternoon, what, are you already drinking?"

Gilas pursed his lips.

"What do you want?"

"Your plane for the Order leaves tonight. You have a place at a hotel known only to the employees there and two members of Special Ops, who will be accompanying you. For security."

"I'm going back?"

"Well, it wasn't my choice to waste Treasury money on this nonsense. But the Chancellor insisted."

"She vouched for me?"

"Not exactly."

Gilas nodded. "It was the PM's speech."

Sarandas scoffed. "It was the Quentinians."

"What?"

"Following that whole debacle with the Ascendancy, the Quentinians stand to be the only ones profiting once everyone else turns that treaty down. I wouldn't be surprised if they planned it from the beginning, myself, but - "

"The Chancellor doesn't care about the Quentinians." Gilas said, nodding.

"Now you're following," Charlie replied. "My guess is she doesn't want Docneighland profiting off the Quentinians profits from the treaty, due to the fact that they're both in ATADO together."

Gilas paused.

"Nista still hasn't declared. Or Bymaria."

"Bymaria won't let their intentions be known until the end, but we can't count on them breaking a Quentinian monopoly- or better phrased, an ATADO monopoly." Charlie said, gesturing with his free hand. "And if the Nistans sign, even better.

Gilas smirked. "Will this pass the Circle?"

"With the Commerce majority," Charlie said, "It might as well already have." Gilas nodded again.

"Is that the treaty in your hands?" he asked. Charlie nodded and handed it over. Gilas skimmed it before smiling.

"I'll have to read it from the plane."

"You'd better get to the airport," Charlie said, looking at his watch.

Chapter 12

It was not as much celebration as it was relief. Silvercrone, D’lia and Denton sat at a table near the head of the ballroom that was slowly emptying at this late hour. Government staffers and officials chatting and feasting at nearby tables, trying to relax and look on the bright side of the past eleven days. Only the Frostoria staff continued to work, but willingly, as the tips they had received during the Summit had been a true windfall. Delegates and government officials were especially sensitive and generous, given that many on the staff were close friends with those caught up in the Frostoria Massacre, as the press was calling it.

Mortification was the last to leave, spending a day longer than anyone else. Denton believed the extra time was strictly for the free food, booze and comfortable lodging. The rumor was endorsed when Mortification opted not to sign, citing that they did not sign free trade agreements as a matter of principle.

“So why did they come?” asked Denton.

“A sign of goodwill," said Silvercrone. "Don’t forget, that was a lot of what this summit was about – reintegrating Megatridimensional Order into the international community. In that regard, I think we have succeeded.”

“And the trade agreements that were accepted is just icing on the cake,” said D’lia.

The United States of Quentin signed, which was no surprise given the shooting and the GTNEC's reaction to it. Kalsomonia followed suit, if only to keep the USQ from retaining a monopoly and passing it to ATADO allies, especially Docneighland.

Denton shifted his weight nervously and then lit up a cigarette. “Thafter was really concerned about Bymaria. Even though they didn’t sign, I think he’d be pleased.”

“Yes,” Silvercrone agreed, “it was a tremendous show of respect for Bymaria to even share their reasons for declining. In fact, they actually gave us the most insight of any nation that did not sign. I like to think that’s due to Braise’s efforts.”

D’lia and Denton nodded somberly. Denton scratched his chin. “Do you think then that it was disrespectful of the Docneighland and Fyñerian delegations to leave without an answer either way?”

“Nah,” said Silvercrone. He poured himself another glass of wine. “Based on what we’ve learned here, I think it’s cultural with Docneighland – if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all, as well as pretty much a lack of need, because of ATADO. With Fyñe, I suspect officially answering either yes OR no would have generated a tremendous amount of paperwork and meetings upon meetings upon meetings. Our deal would have had to be phenomenally good or embarrassingly offensive to get Fyñe to overcome the bureaucratic pain of saying yes or no.”

The three were quiet for a moment, exhausted and drained. The idea of spending the night with D’lia flashed through his mind again, but he quickly dismissed it. It wouldn’t be right to make such a bold move when they were both exhausted and tired.

“Any word from South Mordant?” asked Silvercrone.

“Nothing new, no,” said D’lia. “But the General seems determined to end the Ascendancy once and for all.”

“We’ll see,” Silvercrone sighed. He stood and the other two followed suit. “Well, friends,” he said, “I am headed for Tabula Rasa. I will see you both when you return.”

“You’re going tonight?” asked Denton. “It’s nearly 2:30 AM.”

“I won’t sleep well until I get into my own bed. And besides, I’m much too eager to gauge the news from around the world now that we’re part of it again. Safe travels.”

“And to you,” said D’lia as she and Denton watched him go.

“Are you sleeping alone tonight,” D’lia asked Denton. He grinned shyly.

“Apparently not,” he said, and they hurried off to his room.

Outcome and Effects

See Main Articles for Effects on Each Country: 1983 Megatridimensional Free Trade Agreements

The deal signed at the summit opened free trade between any country that signed the agreement and the Republic of Megatridimensional Order for a varying amount of years, as well as gave the signatory full access to the Digital Megaprocessor Microchip Technology, a huge advancement in digital technology for some, and for others a much smaller increase. The signatories of the agreement included 6 nations, which were the Protectorates of Allia, Kalsomonia, Paladinia, the United States of Quentin, the Republic of Trigadia, and the Northern Patrons of Ice.

Free trade, as dictated in the agreement, was set for a different amount of time for each nation. With Allia, free trade was set for 10 years, or until someone broke the deal off. With Kalsomonia, it was for nearly 30 years, or until someone broke it off. With Paladinia, the deal was for the longest amount of time, nearly 50 years, with the deal still continuing to this day, and set to expire in 2028. the USQ had the deal set for 15 years, the Republic of Trigadia had the free trade deal set for 15 years as well, and the NPI set the deal for 35 years, which expired in 2018.