Isis-Oscal Summit, part två

It was midday, the sun high in the cloudless sky, beating down upon the city of New Durmar, the main port of the Rakaelian mainland. Like its predecessor in the old IR, New Durmar was built to serve as the chief port and commerce hub of the nation, but unlike the old, the new city had yet to fulfill that role due to the self-imposed isolation of the nation from the rest of the world, but while the waters were devoid of traffic, however, the city still served as an economically important city. Like the old city, New Durmar served as a repair yard for the Rakaelian Navy, though in a limited capacity in comparison. Jobs were plentiful in the city if you could handle a wrench; the military often used civilian contractors to do work for them. It was a busy city, but quiet. People went about their lives, casting the occasional glance seaward to watch a warship sail by or to watch another come in for repair, but for the most part, the sea no longer harbored the excitement it once did. It had been little used and there was little to think that would change any time soon. Until today. The city was alive today. There was excitement in the air. Outsiders were coming. It was a momentous day. People lined the streets and sidewalks, swarming over the main port, streamers and banners were strung from light post to light post and from tower to tower. A few local bands took advantage of the festivities and struck up an impromptu concert with the hopes of getting their name out there. It was more excitement than had been seen there since centuries prior when the first Rakaelian settlers had begun building the city with the hope of a new life.

But while the city was bright and vibrant, full of color and activity, there was one dark spot. Docked at the port, having off-loaded its crew for R&R, was the IRN Destroyer Maelstrom, the flagship of the 6th fleet. It was impossible to miss, docked on the other side of the port, directly the opposite the largest gathering of people and from where the foreign vessel would dock. It was a massive warship, and a veteran of many conflicts. It had led the assault against the Rasvidi fleet during the North Sea Conflict and still bore the scars from that war on her hull. The ship was repaired and refitted following the war and was frequently upgraded as naval technology improved but the Maelstrom’s commander, Commander Douglas Bryant, had always asked that the hull not be repainted. He liked them. They showed the history of the ship, that it could sail through the jaws of hell and come back out in one piece. Whether its presence was coincidence or specific placement by the military, no one would comment, but there it remained for a time, gray and ominous, until shockingly, its crew began to adorn it with a large banner issuing a welcome to the foreigners.

It was a huge event, and everyone was there, including the media. Secretary of State Mark Lautens groaned as he fielded (and skillfully evaded) yet more questions from the endless sea of reporters and newscasters. It had been this way all day long and it didn't appear to be slowing down. This would be talked about for days... months... years? It all depended on the outcome, he supposed. The media were asking the standard questions. Despite being unable to keep the event itself a secret, the reasoning behind it was shrouded in mystery and the government aimed to keep it that way. Lautens assured the media and the public that it was all for the best interest of Isis Rakael, her people, and her future, and left it at that. They weren't convinced, but most took the hint and the questioning turned to who was going to be in attendance and about various happenings in Oscalantine. Those who persisted as to the "why's" were quietly escorted away by armed men in black garb.

Oscalantine officials were on their way. In a second attempt to bring about positive relations with the industry-rich nation, Isis Rakael had contacted Nathaniel Kwon personally via Thomas Lindback of Lindback Corporation and invited him to meet with Rakaelian officials personally. What's more, rather than meet at a neutral location, the Oscalantine party was invited to meet with President Iroh himself in the capital city of Kiral, being allowed to sail freely and unhindered to the port of New Durmar. Such a thing had never occured before. Outsiders were not permitted anywhere within the borders of Isis Rakael, let alone the capital. By extending such an offer, Iroh hoped to show his good faith and ease the tensions put in place by the previous meeting.

The offer was in good faith, but it had a secondary purpose. The voyage along the western coast of Isis Rakael would showcase the formidable mountain range that ran the length of the Rakaelian west coast. Though these mountains were not yet officially named, those who lived or worked near them had begun calling them "Berg av Skugga," or the Mountains of Shadow. This was due to the fact that any given time, one side of the range or the other was cast in deep shadows. The mountains, tall and dark, blocked the sunlight from the east in the morning and covered the western water way in darkness. This often caused a deep uneasiness in those still asea. Looking east, they saw the jagged peaks of black mountains rising up in challenge, conquering even the sunlight. Those mountains didn't end until the port of New Durmar, where (dependent on the time of day and the position of the sun) the sun shone once more and the feeling of darkness passed away. During the evening, as the sun traveled west, the mountains blocked the light eastward, covering the city of Toras Nym, which lies east of the mountains, in darkness.

But while the mountains themselves were tall and dark, standing alone in a valley where the peaks fell and gave way to a flat space before rising up once again, the fortress city of Rendir sits silently, ever watching, guarding her nation with fierce resolve. It was a city much like the others in the nation, but being one of the first cities built up centuries ago, it retained some of its signature and historic pieces. Among these was a great stone wall that faced westward, a warning to those who mighty try to come that way that the road was blocked and defended. It was an ancient wall, tall and indomitable (though useless in modern warfare - it is there simply out of nostalgia, but also to give pause to those who may try to assail the city behind it), a testament to the craft of those who had wrought it. Behind the wall, which stretches from one peak of the mountain to the other, lay the second largest military installation in the nation.

Perhaps indirectly, Isis Rakael hoped to re-assert the fact that their borders are indeed closed off to the world, and that it was a great honor for any who were permitted inside. A conceited attitude, Iroh would admit, but since the world viewed Isis Rakael in that light already, he didn't mind playing up to it every once in a while.

Mark Lautens finished up his press conference and dismissed the reporters before turning his gaze westward toward the open waters. Off in the distance, naval warships patrolled the area. Further beyond and out of sight, but keeping an ever vigilant eye on things was the aircraft carrier Oberon. Nathaniel Kwon and his party would be there soon. From there, they would travel by plane to the capital to meet with the president and get down to business.

[Edes would love to be invited. I'll even do long posts.]

(OOC: Go away.)

[heh]

(Garbage post to get things going to the good, meaty stuff. )

SS Naughty One, this is Naval Command. You are cleared to dock at Pier Two. Welcome to Isis Rakael."

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His gaze fixed to the placid seas westerward, Secretary of State Mark Lautens started at the sudden turmoil of the waters within the port itself as the SS Naughty One began to surface. The people lining the streets and sidewalks gasped, but watched with keen interest. This was new and exciting, though rather unexpected. The general would not be pleased. Lautens would plead for it not to be brought up, but few to could assauge IRSC Chairman Milan Reitz concerning issues like this. Red lights flickered to life and began flashing at Pier Two, directly in front of where the Secretary stood. The Naughty One surfaced, water churning from its ascent, waves crashing against the walls of the port, sending up spray to onlookers standing too close to the railing. The event lasted several minutes longer, but then the waters settled once more as the Oscalantine submarine halted next to the dock. Dock workers began extending platforms out toward the vessel, offering a dry bridge from the submarine's entrance hatch to where Mark Lautens now stood. There he waited patiently.

He wasn't alone, however. Though the crowd had been pushed back and a path leading to an armored caravan was cleared and roped off, those black-garbed soldiers who had provided security during the press conference were back and in greater number, clad in heavy armor and bearing assault rifles. They lined the sides of the path, providing both security against the public crowd, but showing, too, their force. Perched atop a nearby building, a sniper lay prone, unmoving and unflinching, his eye pressed the scope of his rifle, his aim resting upon the submarine's hatchway. A Rakaelian gunship appeared from behind a row of buildings and hovered a thousand feet off the ground. Judging from their previous meeting, Oscalantine was known to be excessively protective of their officials. Isis Rakael would show the same. It seemed to be the way of things in the world these days.

The submarine settled and the ramps set in place, the hatch of the Naughty One opened and Nathaniel Kwon's bodyguards stepped out into the sun, weapons held at their side. Lautens could feel the tension immediately rise. Behind him and to his left and right, he could feel his own troops shift their weight, adopting a more aggressive posture. Upon the roof, the sniper watched closely, his finger inching closer and closer to the trigger of his rifle. The Oscalantine escort continued to exit the submarine, more and more guards. This was ridiculous. Lautens frowned. Finally, the Executor himself appeared with his party. Finally, thought the Secretary, but kept it to himself. He mustered up the best smile he could and strode down the ramp toward the Executor. He extended his hand and said loudly, "Welcome to Isis Rakael!" The citizens of New Durmar, watching quietly before, erupted into cheers and shouts.

The matter was short-lived however. Time was pressing. There was much to do and it would not take place here. After informing the Executor that the Rakaelian military would handle security and that he would only be allowed to bring his party and a maximum of 20 personnel (the rest must stay behind - they were free to go about the city, however, provided they abided by the laws of Isis Rakael), he led the way to the armored caravan, which included several black limosuines modified with bullet proof windows. Leading the caravan and bringing up the rear, two armored personnel carriers (on loan from a nearby military installation) rumbled to life as their engines turned over. They were off. Lautens spent the time pointing out local landmarks and giving a brief overview of the history of the city. The trip to the military base took only fifteen minutes. Lautens apologized to the Executor for the travelling, especially after the distance the Oscalantines had to sail to get there in the first place, but assured Kwon that he would be quite comfortable on the flight, which would only take a few hours. After making the transition from limo to the jumbojet which bore the presidential seal, they were off once more. The plane, however, was exactly would Lautens said it would be. Replacing the endless rows of cramped seating that most passenger planes bore, this one provided couches and recliners, both leather and soft cloth. A steady stream of flight attendants came in and out of the seating area, bringing in trays of food and drink. Behind the seating area, there was bedroom, complete with a king-sized bed and a private bathroom. The Executor was offered this mini-suite should he desire it.

The flight was uneventful, but fortunately smooth. The weather was cooperating today, The sun was out and there were very few clouds in the sky. Sitting next to the window, Mark Lautens peered down toward the earth, taking in the beautiful landscape of his great nation. He pointed out various things throughout the flight, the Executor didn't seem terribly interested. Lautens understood. The hours passed slowly for the Secretary and after giving up making small talk, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. Finally, a call over the intercom brought a smile to his face.

"ETA to Kiral, 15 minutes."

Lautens gaze returned to the window. There below was the capitol of Isis Rakael. The area of land in which Kiral was located was named the Capitol Island due to the fact that it was indeed that: an island set amidst a sea of water that sparkled and gleamed like a flawless diamond held under a bright light. It was simply stunning. The water surrounding the island was pure and clean, crystal clear during the day. The land was rich and green with tall trees, young and hale, flowers were bright and vibrant, their colorful blooms opened fully to embrace the warmth of the sun. But the true gem of the island were the cities that were houses there. Both Kiral and Ornai were sister cities, though Kiral was given the distinction of serving as the capitol. Both were sprawling metropolises, vast and populated, but orderly. The sreets were spotless, free from dirt and clutter, thanks to the cleaning crews that serviced every sector of the city at least 4 days a week. The builings were constantly tended to, free from graffiti or other marks left there purposely or by accident. Any work done on the buildings were mostly due to the latter, as the ever present police force, visible even from the plane as they passed over, kept crime to almost zero. There was no room for error in Kiral. The flight took them east of the capitol building that stood tall and white, perfectly clean and well-kept, a large Rakaelian flag flying proudly atop it. Lautens couldn't help but to feel a wave of calm wash over him. This was where he called home. It was simply stunning, and also deadly. Out of site, but ever watching, the most advanced SAM batteries in the Rakaelian military's arsenal kept a lock on the plane, tracking it everywhere it went. Trailing the plane, completely invisible on the radar of the plane, two Rakaelian stealth fighters provided an escort, but also security against any attempt to hijack the plane. Unlike the police force within the city, the military was a subtle, if invisible, presence, but they were always there and always watching. Few knew the true extent of the defenses of the city. It was the most heavily fortified city in the nation.

The plane circled the city several times, then plotted its landing at a private airport directly behind the capitol building.

Already standing on the tarmac was a welcome committee. A rather prestigous one, Lautens noticed as he looked out the window as the plane rolled to a stop. Among those officials standing amidst the small crowd was IRSC Chairman Milan Reitz, the head of the IRSC, and General John Kostyk, the commander of the Isis Rakael Army branch. Standing next to the general was President Iroh himself, flanked on either side by armed guards. Behind him was the Vice President, Martin Kennison. Both wore smiles and waited patiently. This had the chance of becoming a momentous they and they both knew it. Standing a little away from the others and conversing with a group of aides was Major General Anna Pahlberg, Vice-Commander of the IR Nuclear Engineer Corp. Lautens guessed the IRSC wanted a strong presence. Congress itself had several members in the party and would be ever present during the talks.

A stairwell moved into place as the plane doors opened and Mark Lautens ushered the Oscalantine party out, then followed quickly behind with his own escort. The welcome committee strode forward immediately, and President Iroh stepped ahead the others to offer his rough, firm hand to Nathaniel Kwon.

"Welcome to Isis Rakael, Executor. It is a pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you from our good Mr. Lindback." Iroh motioned back a little where Thomas Lindback appeared from behind the crowd. He offered a slight bow and smiled.

"What are we doing standing out here?" Iroh said suddenly. "Let's go inside, Executor. Introductions can be made there. There is much to discuss."

Taking the lead, Iroh led them all through a backdoor leading inside the capitol building and down a series of long corridors to an empty meeting room. It was a grand hall, its walls covered in great tapestries of gray and blue. Upon the gray tapestries was set the emblem of a wolf's head, the emblem of the IRSC. Upon the blue was set five white stars. Filling the areas between the tapestries were beautiful paintings, mostly done by Rakaelian artists, but two stood out as clearly Rasvidi paintings, and one was Oscalantine. As the group spread out and took seats at several long oak conference tables, polished and glossy, Iroh called attention to that particular piece and mentioned that it had been a gift from Thomas Lindback to the president. Lindback wouldn't say where or who he had gotten it from, but cast a sly glance toward the Executor.

Iroh took a seat at the head of one of the tables, near to the Executor and offered his introductions.

"Again, Executor, it is very pleasing to us that you took the time to come to visit us. We are very sincere about mending any possible rifts that may have developed from our previous meeting. Both of our great nations stand to benefit greatly from the outcome of this summit. Before we start, however, let me introduce a few people. You already know Mr. Lindback. He has become invaluable to me over the last few weeks."

He paused for a brief exchange between Lindback and the Executor then continued on after motioning to the man sitting directly to his left. He was a big man, tall and muscular with black, short-cropped hair. Like Iroh, he, too, sported a beard, though thinner and not quite as gray. He wore a dark blue uniform adorned with an impressive array of medals and ribbons. He also wore a perpetual scowl.

"Let me introduce General Milan Reitz, Chairman of the Isis Rakael Security Council." Reitz nodded and muttered a barely audible "hello." He was not in the mood for pleasantries. There were other things far more pressing, and they sat just outside of Rakaelian waters.

Iroh cleared his throat. He, too, was well aware of the Oscalantine fleet, but said nothing of it at this time. He continued on.

"This is General John Kostyk, the commander of the Rakaelian Army. Seated next to him is Major General Anna Pahlberg." Iroh did not mention which branch she was a member of. He went down the list, naming the rest of the Rakaelian party, some lesser officials, some greater, but few of whom would play any major role within the procedings. They were because they had the right to be there and wouldn't miss this for the world. It helped them feel important. Most of the decisions would be made by the President himself, along with the IRSC Chairman, Secretary of State Mark Lautens, and Secretary of Commerce Anders Holmstrom, the latter of whom entered the meeting room just a few moments earlier and took a seat quietly. He apologized to those present for being late. Thomas Lindback was invited to stay and happily accepted the inivitation, hoping to gather as much information about new technologies as possible. He sat himself across from the Executor and removed a pad of paper and a pen. He had always favored old-school note taking to sticking everything on a PDA or laptop. Ironic given the public side of Lindback Corporation, which researched and developed the latest computer and electronic technology, including cell phones and the like.

"Again," Iroh began, "We are thrilled to have you here and look forward to this summit with the greatest of hopes. Let us put the past meeting behind us. Perhaps you will introduce us to your party, Executor."