[h1]Auclairé[/h1]
[h2]Deparmon fo Liber, Villa Libero[/h2]

	“Citizens of the Assembly, it has come down to me to inform the noble national court of the citizens of a profound transgressions against not only the state itself, but of the law of man and of nation.” the speaker said, standing atop the dias. Dressed in fine clothes his delicately polished shoes shone in the warm electrical light of the hundred of bulbs over-head, suspended by silver chandeliers and from the large glass dome at the middle of the room. Had all lights been off, the soft light of the afternoon sun would have shone down on him, cutting through the pipe smoke of the Reprosentiff fo Nacionalie there today. It was a packed chamber, and the men leaned forward to hear the man speak.

	The speaker, a tall dark-skinned gentlemen struck a striking image. Broad shouldered, a defined face. His eyes shone bright. His head crowned with wiry black hair.

	“Off the Black Coast, from our national exclaves of Sain Sumogne and Bastiôn the trade vessel Sôme Pierre went dark over the maritime radio check ins. Reported leaving the port of Simerov with a full cargo of raw material for refinement and use of the Company Josephine Metalworks. A cargo weight of two-hundred fifteen tonnes the material wealth aboard the ship was estimated to be at over twenty-million libre.”

	There was shocked murmuring from the assembly who gasped and guffawed. Over the rioting expressions the click of cameras nearby could be heard as the journalists at the speaker's feet hurriedly made moves to capture his doubtlessly pained expression. He rose a thick sun-kissed hand to the breast pocket of his deep violet velvet vest and hung it there by his thumb. The rolls of the sleeves of his white cotton undershirt turned and waved as he moved. Turning on his feet as he paced and look about him. “This represents the greatest material loss our country has faced in piracy alone!” he declared.

	“If this was in Donsiclious waters, what was the answer by the government in Sirir?” a representative asked

	“I have spoken at length with the ministers.” the speaker said, “And we have concluded that the best course of action is to take a direct approach. This is the third such action, as I'm sure we all remember. But this is the largest such theft of a ship and thus far, through our normal channels the government of Donsiclia has thus far been incapable of acting on our pressure to curb the endemic of piracy off their waters. On the consent of the Assembly, I ask that economic measures be taken against our neighbor to our south be reprimanded, the financial assets of their leaders frozen until they are willing to take the matter seriously! And that, if necessary, the Assembly takes moves to consider, as a warning against Donsiclia the matter of direct military intervention in its ports to identify and capture the pirate bodies who have so long threatened our southern Departments.”

	This a shocked murmuring among the assembly. Defiant shouts. “President Jean-Luc, you can not be serious to come before the National Assembly, so devoted to peace, and make requests for war.”

	“It is not war I demand,” president Jean-Luc decreed, “But a threat of which I am requesting to bring results. Coupled with the freezing of their personal assets in our national banks!”

	“Then what responses will your office make while we consider your recommendations?” a representative called out.

	“We are already moving to act ourselves.” Jean-Luc answered, “The foreign office has been given orders to make direct appeals to the government in Sirir to provide information deemed helpful in tracking the course of, or to keep watch for strange activity within their borders. We have likewise given orders to prepare a ship at the port of Camuleis to hunt the pirates, recover the ship and her sailors. It is of my opinion, and of my ministers that the unchecked negligence of the new southern government in Donsiclia be brought to recognize its own follies. The Minister of Justice, Pierre Duran is willing to see the pirates – when captured – tried in  Auclairé as criminals against our people and our laws, and not as before in Donsiclious courts.”

	There was subdued discussion among the representatives. Jean-Luc Henrie stood patiently, like a stoic in the middle of the room. The Assembly chambers, an ancient room in an ancient building murmured like a temple. The representatives speaking like monks chanting. Surrounding him on near all sides the seats of the assembled representatives rose upwards in banks. The columned walls rose to support a gallery, and behind the medieval ramparts atop those a light gaggle of onlookers looked down, women waved fans and men leaned over looking down. Higher up the ancient statues of the old kings looked down, though their faces had been wrecked over two-hundred years ago in the Revolution, now behind chain-mail coifs they were faceless wraiths in their tunics. In this hall centuries before then the barons and oligarchy of the kingdoms of the nation met in assembly, and was now occupied by the people.

	The chamber was hardly austere or as gray as an old castle's walls. Great colorful banners hunt from the ceiling between the many chandeliers overhead. And between the statues of the ancient kings paintings of the Revolution and the intermediary years had been hung. The stone work too was in places carefully carved and painted in earthly bands of red and yellow strips, interlaced, the pattern was repeated across the columns and they were like maypoles with the ribbons tied tight against them.

	From behind the stage the president stood, the speaker of the Assembly rose in his canopied tent. “Than you, and the grace of wisdom on you, our president.” he said, “I declare the Assembly in motion to consider the crisis set before us by the Executive Office.” Jean-Luc Henrie smiled and turned out the door as the speaker continued to speak, “Per immediate concern on the issue the Ministry of Security recommends in light of the recent attacks a proposal of its own related to the current crisis. That in accompaniment with our southern traffic emergency allocation to the Department of the Navy be made for the funding of escort to and from the Deparmons fo Sain Sumogne and Bastiôn...” the door to the Assembly chamber closed behind the president as he left the hall. Around the corner his secretary met with him.

	“An appropriate speech, but I think it could have been better.” the stout man said, jogging up to meet with the president. He was a mulato man, his light coffee skin and thick wiry hair contrasting, as his narrow nose and wide face. It was not far from Jean-Luc, whose nose was likewise long and narrow.

	“Well, what can you do.” Jean-Luc said, “I suppose next the media will need some words.”

	“I've already gotten a few requests. If you would like I will schedule a special media event in the Palais Executif later this afternoon.”

	“You might as well. Has the ambassador from Donsiclia returned our requests?”

	“No, he hasn't.” the assistant said, “He says his government back home has not sent him new orders.”

	“Then we keep waiting. Let's go then.”

[h3]Portei fo Libero[/h3]
[@Fairyfloss]

	Atop the control tower for the vast port of the capitol, the port authority radio operators sat looking out at the vast network of piers and canals, directing the ship traffic to and from. The great iron lattice work of cranes hummed and sang with the sound of motors as the large freighters to the capitol city were being unloaded. Below trucks and train carts assembled or moved every which way in a sense of controlled chaos as freight was being moved in and out. Often times, the traffic headed into the port was passing through, sailing up the Rouje to the ports further up, where at the point where the river becomes too shallow and begins to narrow deep-water boats could not pass. There the freight would be transferred to river freight, and would deliver their goods deep inland. Often these same ships would come back, all the way into the Portei fo Libero to unload crates of wine or other commodities for shipment over seas, their broad decks navigating the coal-dark waters of the river mouth as it mixed with the azure blue sea further out.

	From the windows of the control office, further inland the capitol city brooded over the vast industrial complex of the sea port on its ascending hills. The city stretched out to sea along the Cape Emaîs, which enclosed the harbor from the open sea. The ivory white, soft blues, spring greens, and the multitude of colors of the homes there on the forested hills of the Emaîs showing bright along brick streets and promenades up to the chivalric lighthouse of Sant Crispi, its red-brick construction like a castle bastion set isolated from any fortification, but fortified once to guard the mouth of the harbor as well as guide vessels in.

	Likewise dominating the hilly skyline in-land, at the edge of the broad windows of the wood-paneled control room the ascending waves of the iron tower of Màndùi Filisoph rose clear into the blue sky.

	It was also not just commercial vessels that scoured the great harbor. The white specks of private boats at the tip of long hair-thin wakes wound through the water, heading into the mouth of the harbor to enter into open sea also passed, as the larger gray shapes of coast guard posts slowly patrolled through. Close to shore wooden paddle boats remained, old men casting rods into the water to fish in the warm equatorial sun. Just behind them, the docks and lower terraces of the sea walls provided a platform for swimmers to rest on, just beyond the confines of the seaport itself.

	“We are the merchant-warships of the Yathon Corporation,” a radio message came in, through the headset of one of the port directors, “We request an opportunity to dock. We wish to establish trading relationships.”

	The radio man cocked a brow at the request. He looked aside at his desk neighbor and said, “I don't suppose we handle international relations?” he asked.

	She looked aside at him, confused. The clear expression on her face spoke for what the answer was. Of course not.

	The operator looked up through the window at the sea port outside, searching for an open pier. The numbered cranes indicating the individual piers. He cross-referenced them quickly over his computer, and relayed a message out to the foreign ship, “Yathon Corporation ship, you are clear to dock at pier seventeen. Please prepare your manifest papers and to receive shipyard inspectors. You will receive instruction from a shipyard officer on where to proceed next.” he said clearly into his microphone, “Tugboats will come to assist you.”