"Papers, Please"

[The Hackleberry Islands]

November 15th, 2014

Skies above the Apollo Sea, 5 miles from Kennan Minor/Jugperëndimore;

5:15 AM Local Time

    "Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking. We're currently cruising above the Apollo Sea at 6,000 meters or 20,000 feet, and expecting to pass over the Hadron Federation in a few minutes. Our flight will fly over the city of Sovereign, which provides a fantastic view of the neighborhoods surrounding it. In about 20 minutes, we'll cross the border between the Hadron Federation and Soviet New Ireland, where we'll make our final descent into the city of Heaven at around 5:45 A.M. In the meantime, we request that wireless capabilities on all devices be turned off before our descent. Thank you."

    The PA system onboard Bagel Airlines 009 cut off with a click, and conversation resumed anew. Not that there was much; The flight from Wheat, the capital of the Bagel Lands, to Heaven, the capital of Soviet New Ireland, was devoid of discussion amongst the passengers. The majority of those onboard were there on terms of business.

    "Hello? Yep, it's Steven Peartown, representative for Cloverfield Precious Metals. Yes, I have the portfolio in my carry-on bag. We're pretty much set. The only thing is that the flight isn't direct to Somerset. Did John tell you the schedule? - I thought not. The idiot can't even tell you what he had for breakfast." Steven scoffed at his coworker's stupidity. He was lucky that the company knew he was away from office. Juggling multiple papers at once, Steven had a phone in his hand, manilla paper folder in the other, trying to keep up with the conversation he was having.

    "I have to fly into Heaven in Soviet New Ireland first. I'm going to have to meet one of my clients from the Hackleberry Islands nearby the border between Soviet New Ireland and Krasotzka. Then, I'm gonna have to cross to the Hadron Federation to meet at the conference in Somerset, where everyone is supposed to meet." After a slight pause, Steven continued on.

    "From what I can tell, the Hacklet had to meet at another conference near the border. Manufacturing stuff, I think. It'd be plain out daft scheduling if he didn't have to come here. Anything else you need? Alright, give me a shout when you need something else. Auf Wiedersehen." Steven hung up the phone, and sighed. He motioned for a glass of whiskey from one of the flight attendants, and tried to drown his sorrows: It would be a week-long endeavour of attending meetings and conferencing with clients before he could go home and be with his family.

    It was going to be a long week. A very long week.

[Samukan]

November 15, 2014
Kreposka International Airport
North District, Kreposka, Krasotzka

    Misha Kordova swiped his ID at the workers' entrance to the airport. He was chosen via the October Labor Lottery to begin working at the newly-reopened Kreposka International Airport as a customs inspector. As he walked in the door, he heard the NKN coverage of President Dmitriov's speech last night. On the occasion of the airport's grand reopening, he had declared that it was time for the infamous Krasotzkan isolationist policy to end.

    Misha took his place at the counter in an especially drab-looking part of the customs section. He scanned the documents and equipment available for him -- it appeared to mostly be equipment for checking and approving or denying documents. A imposing man with a mustache approached him from the other side of the counter, holding up his ID.

    "Hello, Citizen Kordova," the man said. "My name is Pavel Mativski, and I am the Customs Manager. Your job is to review the incomers' documents. By the way, you've heard the President talking about corruption and all, right?"

    "Yes," Misha replied.

    "Well, I don't recommend taking bribes. The Kreposka Director of Admission has asked me to report any signs of corruption. They're really cracking down on that, you know -- tons of people have been executed. Good luck." He walked away.