Crown Prince Oliver Saxon slowly sipped his cocktail, watching the clouds and guard jets outside his personal airplane. He knew he should go over the dossiers again before they landed in Carnibas, but he was exhausted. He turned on the movie theater-sized television screen before him and watched the news on RUNN. Despite the obvious bias of the station, he liked listening to TV in Lenyoan, and the news was just as informative as watching NNN or FINN.
A news report covered a particularly large bombing in Cawdor, his capital city. A day didn't seem to go by without some police station, military outpost, or company headquarters being bombed in Cirt. Oliver was annoyed that the report referred to him as Cirt's king. His father was still the Cirten monarch, though admittedly Alzheimer's had taken its toll. Vivanza had delayed the progression of the disease, but King Bartholemeu was 91 now. He no longer recognized the relatives, ministers, and servants he had known his entire life. Were he left alone, he would surely forget to eat. Oliver would be crowned monarch in little time, but he still obviously lamented his father's passing.
A servant refilled Oliver's drink and quietly said, "Your Highness, we will land in Carnibas in twenty minutes." She was careful not to look at the crown prince, a taboo in Cirt. Oliver Saxon didn't respond. He desperately hoped the meeting with the Executor would go well. The rendezvous was ostensibly a routine trade deal, but the Kingdom of Cirt was in dire need of military assistance, or at the very least a big loan.
A communist insurgency had begun in the north ten years ago. It began small, backed with Lenyoan weapons and advisors. The Cirten military was confident then that the revolution would be dead in a few years' time. Instead, after the SSRL crippled Cirt's air force and sharply increased aid to the rebels, 40% of Cirt was independent of the monarchy. The communists were so confident of victory that they had begun a literacy campaign, even though the civil war raged on.
Oliver Saxon feared the end of his dynasty, but Oscal support could turn the tide of the war. However, if Oscalantine demanded that he sell off the oil, narcotics, or media companies the crown owned, the negotiations would be in vain. Those three corporations provided the Cirten state with the majority of its revenue, and selling them would be non-negotiable. Well, unless the offer was preposterously generous.
When Crown Prince Oliver Saxon disembarked his jet, his favorite aide asked if he was ready. "I hope so," he replied, "I hope so."
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