Veljansu Station Opening Gala(FT/Diplo/TG)

[Ivory Record]

Veljansu Station was the shining jewel of the trophy-cabinet of the Expansion and Communications Corps, the ultimate dream of the diplomatic logistics movement. She was a stationship, one of the largest ever built - while the cultural refusal to draw a distinction between orbital stations and "proper" starships was staunch in the Ivorian culture, it was none-the-less the fact-of-the-matter that the inhabitants of Akasha had rarely constructed anything so large that was capable of meaningful interstellar travel. This was precisely Veljansu's purpose - a great mothership, rolled into communications management hub, rolled into hab station, rolled into luxury consular starliner.

She was a refined vessel, in the look from what little light she caught from the Akashan sun, Solris. A great, silvered disk, thicker at the hub than the rim, with slender, tapered gradient between. There were no visible viewports - there rarely were, with sensors being preferred for such things. What looked like windows to visual observation from a distance were, in fact, openings, allowing anchorage to three or four dozen vessels, depending on size.

Her bottom (relative to the internal floorplan) was studded with numerous raised humps, each a smaller-disk craft some three hundred meters in diameter, or else a depression showing where such a vessel belonged.

She cut a stately orbit around her star, well out beyond the orbit of all the full-sized planets in the system, near the fringes where most faster-than-light craft tended to begin their decelleration, emerge from their anomalies, or otherwise do as they did. She had been moved out to this orbit recently as a matter of practicality - for most of the civilizations with ties to the Ivorians had been invited to tour the station and its numerous amenities, as well as to witness a ceremony that would invest the galactically-known Ambassador-at-Large, Chaddick Cap, as the station's administrator.

For now, the Ambassador was reclining in what would be his new office, his spindly legs folded comfortably under his body, his arms at his sides. The chair was, unique, a relatively recent refinement of the gravity-control technology that had made up quite a bit of modern Ivorian technological advancement. It existed physically as only a small emitter-pad marked on the floor beneath him, which was illuminated softly as it projected a suspensor field against him, allowing him to float in more or less any posture with a minimum of effort, while he reviewed holographic "monitors" that scrolled their information automatically, stopping or starting them with gestures and touches.

The station was nearly complete. The delegations should be arriving soon. For his long career as an ambassador to come to a formal end was bitter sweet. He could do so much more in his new position... but he would miss the charm of first-contact with new species. It was something he always enjoyed. After-the-fact, anyway, when all the dust had settled.

With a gesture, he closed down the projections of this room's work terminal, and left the comfort of his seat to head to station Traffic Control.

[Kostemetsia]

The Nexus-class cruiser flashed quietly into realspace, and began to turn her nose insystem.

To those who knew her, the Nexus-class would always be the most beautiful of Commonwealth design. She'd been designed in the middle of the second wave of Commonwealth naval design, feeding off the lessons learnt from the early failures of Lind-class vessels in the Commonwealth's first international military encounters. She was uncharacteristically graceful, almost aerodynamic in conception – a long, slim crew pod with an underside that came up in a long, gentle sweep to meet her downswept nose was the dominant feature of the design, delicately patterned with hardpoints placed in strategic positions to hold a dozen banks of high-yield missiles. Under the nose was an empty port – the mounting recess for a maximum of three Class Two main guns wired up in parallel. Today, this one was carrying none of those armaments, leaving her looking rather bare. From the back of the crew pod, a tall, narrow neck extended a short distance, terminating in a heavily armoured drive cluster that was, by convention, notably overpowered for her relatively small size. Combined with an advanced new drive core design, it had made her the fastest, most manoeuvrable light cruiser out.

If you could land a hit on her, however, especially on the neck, she went up like a tinder box. The Nexus-class had been intended to become the Commonwealth Navy's new workhorse, but after only twenty completed vessels, the class had found itself going to distant Third Fleet for esoterica and R&D, then to nowhere. Eventually she'd found some popularity with the non-core system defence forces, and a total of two hundred had been built by the time the class was officially cancelled, but it was nothing to the 'tactical tadpole' Lind-class and various refits which continued tooling around the core worlds by the thousand to this day. The elegant dream of the Nexus-class had faded into obscurity.

Until now. This Nexus-class had been all but disarmed, and reactivated – as well as the omnipresent Commonwealth eagle, the simplistic seal of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, depicting an abstract symbol of a feather quill, had been stamped on her nose just above her leading edge. It was underneath the bank of forward thrusters recessed into her hull, which she now fired in moderation, killing a little of the overly-energetic speed she'd gathered off the FTL downtransit, and continuing to close on Veljansu at a more sedate pace.

Along her sides were tattooed in small white letters the twin legends CCS ENTSPANNUNG – CCR-103833. It was some of the only variation in her hull. The hull was a dark charcoal-grey verging on black, with two tactical slashes of pure white running down and forward across the flanks of her crew pod. It was a far cry from the fleet colours coming into fashion on the newer warships, or even the gunmetal grey of her Wave Two sisters – the paint job was as sharply formal as you could get.

She fired her forward thrusters again, this time braking her speed completely, and her primary communications array came online, the small dish rising from its rest position to align its central prong on Veljansu Station's most appropriately suited receiver. Taking a second to adjust to the local communications environment, she transmitted a brief message: Veljansu Tower, this is Commonwealth diplomatic courier Entspannung, requesting permission to commence final approach.

* * *

Alaina Martin stood in the starboard docking chamber and sweated. At this point, she was fairly sure FXC owed her one.

The call had come suddenly, and without fanfare. Seven years before, she'd been a rookie Field Xenology Corps agent, assistant chief of station at FXC-Huerdaen in its last months. She'd gone straight to assistant chief of station because the office had been two-thirds empty – by that point, the Agency had accepted that First Contact was inevitable and begun to cede the functions of the FXC mission to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. When the offer had come to join Ambassador Jackson's staff at the real, official Embassy, she'd happily hung up her FXC dress uniform and gone fully civilian, and it had worked for her – for seven years. Now, though, the Corps pleaded, they had need for her again.

At least they'd made her a new suit. With the Corps' ever-increasing percentage of the Agency's budget, it was a lot more comfortable and stylish than the scratchy number she'd been issued seven years ago. It was jet black, and there were two thin silver bands at the wrists of each sleeve, one more than she was used to – small and subtle compared to military wrist insignia, they denoted a primary liaison officer, or chief of station. That was what she was now, technically, although FXC-Akasha currently consisted solely of her and the two gangly, nervous-looking aides who haunted the underpopulated corridors. She hadn't even had the opportunity to learn their names – they'd been all breathless, “Ms. Martin,” too scared of their senior diplomatic officer to have any personality. Well, that was just typical. She supposed they'd be Smith and Jones until they worked up some chutzpah.

A little self-consciously, she tried to flatten her hair. It naturally floofed out from her head, a mid-sized burst of light brown afro-texture. Personally, she thought at this size it made her silhouette look like a flower, an impression she rather enjoyed, but she'd never been able to shake the impression that it was too fun – even though the Service had never been particularly slicked-back or buttoned-down. Well, she tried to shake it now. Never be ashamed of who you are.

[Ivory Record]

"Central is telling us EM Detect, New Ship in System."

Still-Ambassador Cap frowned, turning slightly to face the man who had spoken. "What do you mean central is telling us that? This station has its own system scan and control suite, doesn't it?"
"Yes sir. It's kept on standby in Demarchy space, because it would be redundant."

The technician and the Ambassador stared themselves down for a moment, before the Ambassador's tiny mouth twitched into a small smile, and he turned his attention back to other matters. "I assume they're here for us. Handle all the usual docking procedures. Put them in bay five if you can manage it."

As cap swept from the control room, he activated his personal gravlev harness, releasing hidden catches on his white garments that allowed them to unfurl and dramatically lower the hem. He nearly doubled in height on his way into the corridor. Like most diplomats, traders, and others who had to work with aliens, the Ambassador preferred the known-lie of the averageness of Erudite height to the various reactions, often describable as paternal or predatory, that taller races usually had with his species.

Of course, by now, this lie was a well-known one. Certainly not every person aboard Veljansu was going to be using gravity-assist technology to conceal their heights, and most close partners of the Akashans knew the reality of the matter.

He paused at a viewing image projected against the wall between corridor and Bay 5, enjoying the resolution of it while he watched the impressive Commonwealth ship nestling into a cushion of carefully aligned gravlev fields, allowing her the use of the bay without placing stresses on the ship that it wasn't designed to take.

He slid into Bay Five as though at a regal glide, nesting his hands together at his abdomen in a pensive gesture that was entirely typical of him. He was just in time to watch Alaina and her aides take their first breaths of the oxygen-saturated station atmosphere. "Ah, Ambassador Martin. Welcome to Veljansu Station. I am Chaddick Cap, the administrator-designate of this facility." Like most of his kind, he spoke with a sort of high monotone. He was small and had a small mouth, and emotional content for Ivorians was mostly conveyed through gesture.

She'd likely heard of him before, or at least seen him on a newsreel. He'd handled most first-contact scenarios the demarchy had in the last hundred years or so.

[The Vahkiran]

The sterile black of space, dotted with the white of many distant stars, was warped and shifted, stretched as a vessel entered real-space, the ever expanding 'orb' of distortion suddenly erupted, cracking tendrils of broken physics across the stellar backdrop, birthing a sleek vessel of Vahkiran design; the bronze, layered armour plated hull reflecting the light of the nearby sun, almost like a dulled mirror. The light shifted and stroked the smooth plates, however as the vessel rotated slowly to show it's under-belly, like a giant beast wanting to feel the sun's rays upon waking, the darkness of space revealed it's true form; the seemingly clear and smooth armour plates were marred, scarred brutally from laser fire, scuffed and dented, chunks torn from the hull from solid projectile rounds and missile fire.

The Karteel-Class escort cruiser continued it's seemingly dead-space roll, no thrusters, no lights, having entered real-space lifeless and was suddenly jolted from it's slumber by the burst of vector thrusters rimming the entire vessel, each one choking, gouting and then sputtering blue conal fire as the ship righted itself and suddenly erupted forth, thrusters surging from somewhere behind the ring of smaller thrusters, sending the ship cruising forth at a slight angle. No weaponry was visible, but as a ship clearly having sustained and survived many battles, it likely wasn't defenseless.

Dubbed an escort-cruiser, the vessel was more akin to a battle-cruiser, or was used like one by the Vahkiran, it's modular design allowing for larger thruster capacity, larger weaponry and the capability of increasing it's internals to battleship sizes had made it a formidable and sometimes misrepresenting opponent. This one however was largely standard, painted the same dull brown, roughly painted yellow angular lines and dots in some sort of symbol had been painted in random places, with bronze plates lining it's hull like an armadillo, no real way of telling which was the ship's front or rear, or even it's top or bottom for that matter, the crackling thrusters seemingly choking at random, bursting back into life as the fuel ignited and sent the ship once again bursting forward at a speed one could deem 'unnecessary' or 'aggressive'.

Rotating upon it's axis, the ship bared it's under-belly roughly in the direction of Veljansu Station and began burning to slow it's approach, the vector thrusters popping and sputtering once more, keeping it angled and within a rough trajectory, a sudden invasive hail erupted from the ship, spouting an alien tongue, or several, before the translator finally seemed to scan the correct channel and declared itself; “VRGF Draal'Kran diplomatic cruiser, inbound” the monotone, clearly synthetic voice droned, apparently not even waiting for a response as it burnt hard towards one of the docking bays. One could hope.
_________

Onboard the cramped, narrow maintenance halls and extremely sparse living quarters were twelve crewmen and two VIPs, one of which was long standing Kleekh'Kaal Vaarzak'Tul Kruul, her reddish brown bone plated body clad in traditional Vahkiran garments, a long brown and yellow ankle length loincloth with a gold inlaid metal belt around her hips, two small spaulders of the same design with a brown and yellow, layered robe around her body, a large gold inlaid reticella silhouetting her head. She had been issued with the task of trying to impress a new species breifly interacted with by the Vahkiran race. Yikla, one of the three standing Vahkiran Princes, had apparently gotten the honour of doing so, noted by the use of his 'colour' the yellow on brown and his sending of one of his Kleekh'Kaal, or Prince's Noble.

Flanking the smooth-faced female was a tall avian alien, maroon, blue and orange feathers adorning his body to his elbows and knees, which continued with thinner, rough yellowish shins and forearms, tipped with hands and feet that sported long, incredibly viciously sharpened talons, much like the Vahkiran who stood in front of him. His yellow, curved, serrated beak painted the same yellow as his partners cloth and the paint on her own body, two beady blood-red eyes staring at the station as they approached through the on-screen camera feed; A Kolsryke Koljusticar-Talzimar by the name of Svah Kaw Rhu.

[Kostemetsia]

Alaina paused fractionally, looking at Cap. She'd studied the usual paucity of briefing material that the FXC Steering Committee had sent over. They'd gone from three rooms in Dath Tiris to thirty floors at Central Command, but the song always remained the same: too little data, too little time. Data on the Akashans as a species had been minimal – less than a metre tall, with big heads and little bodies. Apparently, when the databurst announcing the discovery of the species formally named Spur-51 had arrived, they'd been rather disparagingly nicknamed 'Greys'.

Personally, she thought 'Akashans' fitted them better – in the Sanskrit her mother had known, akasha meant 'aether', or sky. Creatures from the sky. It seemed appropriate; in her previous job, she'd been assigned to focus on Huerdaen, who, apart from being rather short, were physically almost indistinguishable from the humans of the Commonwealth. They were culturally different, but it seemed apparent that they'd be able to come to terms with each other and understand at least some of the same cultural universals – it was in their genes. Real aliens – now those were more interesting. Maybe even a challenge. Certainly, Alaina could see much that was similar between her and the Akashan administrator, in general terms, if she looked – but his people were new, something more than superficially different from Homo sapiens. This was where the frontier lay.

“Administrator Cap,” she said, bowing her head formally. The movement made her feel slightly strange, and a little medical alert flashed up in the corner of her eye, telling her the atmospheric oxygen content was higher than Commonwealth Standard to a statistically significant degree. She invisibly dismissed the alert, letting automed assess and mediate the risk of oxygen toxicity, and returned to a posture of ease. “I and the crew of my ship are most grateful for your hospitality.”

She'd never done so much research on someone only to end up knowing so little. FXC had maintained an understandable interest in the Akashans, and eagerly devoured every article, video and other scrap of news they could find. Cap, the Akashans' ambassador-at-large, had appeared in several. Images of him had been instrumental to the Akasha working group xenoculture team's analysis of the species' body language, but now, here, looking at him, he might as well have been made of stone. Alaina had no idea what the Akashans were like, their body language or their tells – she was the first to have the opportunity to find out.

“Unfortunately, by decree of the Commonwealth Senate,” she said, “my mission here is classified Black, the third and highest level, otherwise I would extend the greetings of the Commonwealth people. As it is,” she paused, unable to keep a small smile from slipping onto her face, “I hope to be bringing those back here in some years' time. Thank you most kindly for the invitation to this Gala. It was greatly appreciated.

“I assume you have much to do and many guests to greet, Administrator, so I'll be direct and not take up too much of your time. Where would you like us to go, and what would you like us to do, before the Gala begins?”

[Ivory Record]

"New ship," called a technician, speaking quickly between mouthfuls of soup. "Identifier is the Draal'kran."

A controller nodded, gesturing high with his hand to acknowledge the message before using that same hand to "slice" through a transmission icon in his holographic workspace. "Cruiser Draal'kran, reduce speed and dock at bay four."

He looked back to the technician, and nodded. Someone else nodded too. "I'll tell the Administrator."

---

Throughout his conversation with Alaina, Cap was twisting his hands, shifting which was topmost in their polite little formation in front of his stomach. He was excited. Humans were interesting - as varied as the worlds they could be found on - and some of his favourite cultures to contact. He'd met humans at every level of technological advancement from pre-combustion kinetics to star-leaching demigods. The commonwealth, he decided, could not have been that far behind the Akashan norm, though their reliance on reaction drives suggested they still had a century or two of lag, at least in terms of sailing the stars.

Then again, that was a remarkably biased outlook taken from a single datapoint. He'd have to have someone pull the proper file for him.

His excitement dulled somewhat as Alaina told him that the meeting was being kept secret from their people. Such an idea was alien to the Akashans specifically and Ivorian culture as a whole. He let his hands sink back down to about the level of his stomach, though behind the robe, they didn't seem to have moved much.

"That's an interesting decision, Ambassador. Perhaps at a more opportune time, we could discuss it."

She was speaking again. He waved a hand over his left ear, splitting his train of thought in two (or, rather, directing one of his fractionated trains of thought to focus on her) so that he could receive the message the gemlike construct in his ear was offering him. In truth, he seemed studded with these cabochons, with one on either palm, another several on the chest of his robe, and the one below his left ear. Vahkrians? That's unexpected.

"I appreciate your consideration, Ambassador," he said, rejoining that conversation without having missed a beat, as he showed his palm to a nearby erudite, without the benefit of flowing robes to hide her height. She jumped up to adult human height regardless in her GravLev harness, and floated over. "Ki'a do gledji mibypre co'e?"
The Ambassador gestured in a similar manner to the Commonwealth contingent. "Da'i do trexe'o, bevri pregri zidiku'a," whereupon he looked to Alaia and said, "This is Fesset'so. She will show you to your diplomatic suite. I am afraid you will have to excuse me for a few moments, Ambassador. The next ship is arriving. We will meet again soon."

Fesset gave a nod, "Follow me please."

Turning on nothing, she drifted into the corridor, which projected coreward toward the heart of the ship. "... Is this your first time on an Akashan installation, Ambassador?" Cap went with them, at least this far, before turning and progressing at a rather great rate of speed to the neighbouring bay, hoping not to keep the next guests waiting too long for his arrival.

He really should have staggered these arrivals better, he realized. Apparently the move from single-target diplomacy to diplomatic complex was going to have a bit of a learning curve.

[The Vahkiran]

Upon receiving the go-ahead, the Vahkiran vessel had sent back a garbled, static filled message and made a bee-line for the designated docking port, the ship rotating slowly, main thrusters choking twice and cutting off to allow the ship to drift into the landing bay with it's vector thrusters. After a few minor miscalculations and a brand new mark on the ceiling and dent in the hull, the ship cut it's vector's with a spluttering cough and a deep, throbbing hum that vibrated the air, dropping heavily into the cushion of the gravlev fields.

After several moments of nothing but the odd hiss of the ship's internals resting, the layered armour covering the 'top' of the ship retracted slightly with a crunching, grinding screech, revealing several exhaust ports and refuelling nodes, a grey liquid, somewhat like steam vented from the ports with popping hisses and low gurgles, followed by a loud clank as a bay door opened on the bottom of the cruiser, the stale, humid air of the interior of the ship hanging. Several Vahkiran crewmen, wearing what appeared to be black skinsuits and rebreather masks crawled from the entrance and scaled the cruiser, sprinting across the armoured plating and then yanking the thick, rubbery refuelling nozzles, dropping them off of the side of the ship to be refilled by the large fuel tanks that were being rolled off of the ship's cargo ramp.

From the same ramp, the two 'diplomats' had their first taste of the oyxgen rich station, Vaarzak'Tul being the first, casting her four eyed, downward slitted and completely black gaze around the interior of the landing bay with several low clicking sounds and a clack, her talons scratching at the metal of the floor and her hands held behind her back, keeping a straight back, elegant and regal, she clearly thought she was someone important.

“Too clean, too neat, little Greys spend too long with this.” Svah cawed lowly, raising a taloned hand to gesture at the ceiling and the walls, well, just the bay itself. His feather's rustling as he fastened the silver gem studded belt around his lean waist, a scimitar-like sword held by a scabbard by his hip, seemingly silver and gold with gems studded here and there mainly along the serrated edge, it looked more ceremonial than for actual use. The rest of his meager attire was adorned the same golds, silvers and gems, trinkets hanging from his feathers, loincloth and cloak with gold and silver piercings rimming his beak.

Vaarzak'Tul shot the Kolsryke Talzimar a threatening glare and gave a low clacking sound, before lurching into a steady, purposeful stride towards the bay entrance with her Avian partner in tow, his blood red eyes narrowed as he scrutanized every detail, by the way he walked and held himself he was definitely military and less diplomatic like his Kleekh'Kaal before him. Upon seeing the bay entrance open and Cap levitate through to greet them, Vaarzak'Tul gave a low sweeping bow and pressed two claws between her upper two eyes.

“Yiklaa, one true Kleekh gives many greetings to you, Grey one. Glorious, honorable Vahkiran are glad to have invited to such a station.” she droned, her voice seemingly devoid of emotion and her galactic common being incredibly forced and broken, like every word was a chore, the small circular mouth amongst her bone-faceplate hinting to why words were difficult. Behind her the Kolsryke Talzimar clacked his beak and touched his forehead with a slight incline of his feathered head.

“I am Talzimar Svah Kaw Rhu, Koljusticar advocate of the three hundred and fifth Greater Kolsryke Admirality.” he introduced himself, gesturing to Vaarzak'Tul and folding his hands behind his back, straightening. “This is Vaarzak Kruul, Kleekh'Kaal of the one True Kleekh; Yiklaa of the Peoples Trade Federation, it is an honour to be before you as your guests, we hope the Federation and the Akashans may benefit from one another in future meetings.” he cooed lowly, clacking his beak and twitching his head to the side, staring at Cap intently, some of his words emphasized randomly.

____

Talzimar= Admiral
Koljusticar= Zealous religious cult that runs the Kolsryke.
Kleekh'Kaal= Prince's Noble(s)
Kleekh= King/Prince/Ruler/Emperor

Figured I'd put this here so you know.

[Phoenix Conclave]

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Solris Star System - 1 Light-Second from Veljansu Station
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It can be said that half of interstellar diplomacy is based on deliberate action, while the other half is based on chance events. While the initial contact between the Conclave and the Ivorians certainly fell into the latter category, the Conclave's leadership wasn't about to waste an opportunity to engage potential new allies, as well as gather more information on the state of affairs in the galaxy. With these objectives in mind, the reconnaissance vessel Those Who Dare was dispatched to accept the Ivorian's invitation to the diplomatic station Veljansu.

The vessel's entry into the system was announced with a blast of radiation and exotic particles as the wormhole terminus opened up and dropped the two hundred meter craft into normal space. While such a display was hardly energetic enough to even curl the paint on anything in the immediate area, there was enough radiation emission for every passive sensor in the system to register once the em front reached them. FTL sensoria would be unlikely to miss the tachyons and other exotic emissions either. The vessel itself was rather plain looking, resembling if anything the roughly cylindrical shapes of atmospheric missiles. A blunt, boxy nose tapered back into a long hull that was followed by a hemispherical protrusion at the tail of the ship. In profile she resembled a symmetrical cross or plus sign, with short masts protruding from her hull at even intervals, which began to retract back into compartments a few minutes after the ship entered realspace. Additional compartments along the hull opened to disgorge roughly two dozen small ovoid objects, Whisker-class sensor drones, which quickly took up formation around the ship and began emitting a wide range of emissions to begin scanning the system. It didn't take long for the ship to get underway towards the station itself, sliding along evenly with no obvious indications of propulsion, unless one could detect the telltale ripples of gravity denoting reactionless gravitic drives.

Without any seeming urgency, the Those Who Dare slid towards the station at a rate which would take roughly ten minutes to reach the disc-shape structure. Ahead of her arrival, a single audio-encoded laser transmission. #This is the Conclave vessel Those Who Dare, requesting approach clearance and docking instructions.#

[Ivory Record]

Aboard Veljansu, in the Orbit Control office, things were getting... tense. The three Erudites who were stationed in that area were exchanging dark looks at each other, trying to figure out who and how to blame for the impact of the Vahkiran ship. In all fairness, it was, ultimately, their fault - and, to go one step further, if there even was an Erudite fault, it would have been with the Bay Operator, not with them.

"Contact," the technician mumbled, breaking the tension entirely. "Identifier is the Those Who Dare. Nice name. I like that."
In spite of himself, the space controller chuckled. "Actually, yeah, that is nice." He slashed through his transmission glyph again. "Those who Dare, Veljansu Station. Your request is acknowledged. Please hold orbit."

With an expansive gesture of both hands, the controller brought up a grid-marked model of the vessel, trying to get a better idea of its size and scale. With a few more gestures, he called over to the Bay Control Officer. "We have room for a 200 metre vessel left?"
"Bay One."
"Thank you. Those who Dare, your request for docking has been accepted. We are transmitting an approach and dock vector package for Bay 1. Be advised, the Ambassador may be delayed in receiving your delegation."

A nod to the supervisor, who again spoke behind his hand, effectively whispering into the Ambassador's ear.

---

Cap sighed deeply as he felt the telltale flicker of the gravity plates beneath his feet. Most aboard were not affected by the impact; many would not even feel it. The ship had rather advanced acceleration compensation, but erudites like Cap, who were riding in their GravLev harnesses, would have felt the impact as it forced the harness to try and compensate for the effects of the Compensator, if that made any sense.

The effect was that he appeared to wobble in place for a moment, and then, with his sighing done, he forced a diplomatic lack of expression onto his face as he swept rather quickly into Bay Three. He listened to the two aliens introduce themselves, before returning their bow with his own - which would have looked more like a deep nod, with his disproportionate figure under his robes.

"It is my pleasure to have you aboard, Vaarzak and Talzimar." The grey, seemingly amphibian humanoid looked up at the spot on the roof of the bay, saying nothing. Among humans, it might have caused a diplomatic incident. Hell, with any of his fellow Ambassadors at Large, it still may have.

But Chaddik was famously level-headed, and that was what had made him so useful to the Expansion and Communication Corps. He looked back to them as the bay door behind him opened once again, admitting another "Heightened" erudite, while he completed his introduction. "I am Ambassador Chaddick Cap, the administrator-designate of this facility. Unfortunately, we are receiving the balance of our guests for the Gala presently. Please allow Tenzin, here, to show you to the quarters prepared for you."

Talzin would nod, touching a hand to her chest. "It is my pleasure to meet you both. Do you have any questions about the facility?"

Cap turned, and drifted out, moving at a very high rate of speed toward Bay 1.

[The Vahkiran]

No doubt the pilot of the Vahkiran vessel would be duly punished when they finally left the station, or executed which was more like their style. Disobedience or error was at the mission leader's descretion in terms of punishments and Vaarzak was not known for her patience or mercy, nor was Svah for that matter. Taking note of the Ambassadors assistant, Vaarzak dipped her head in the same fashion as before, chittering and clacking lightly, clearly a Vahkiran tradition.

“Two greetings to you Grey One, Ten-zin.” she managed, having to roll her lower jaw in an attempt to pronounce her name, it was entirely like she'd just work with 'Grey One' from that point forward, other races names seemed too complicated than standard galactic, which even then was a hard language for her to speak. Gesturing with a clawed hand forward for the assistant to show her the way, she walked with her and Svah followed close behind her, both pairs of taloned feet clanking against the metal and leaving white scuffs where the viciously sharp points dragged. For the most part the three moved in silence, with Svah now and again scrutinizing areas with a look of distaste and Vaarzak making the same chittering, clacking noises she made of varying tones.

As if she'd been thinking about what to say, the Vahkiran finally spoke up and moved alongside Tenzin with long strides, her form slightly angled forward due to her digigrade nature, the four unblinking black eyes fixating themselves on the grey one.

“The Peoples Trade Federation and Yiklaa, one true Kleekh, repair the damages foolish disgraceful Vahkiran pilot causes and execute in many apologies. We, honourable, powerful Vahkiran like to offer many safe trades with the Ivorian.” she explained, clacking her lower jaw against her upper, the interlocking teeth at the front gnashing and the two long tongue-like muscles rolling across the backs of them, turning back to look at Svah and motioning a clawed hand to the silent Avian. “Kolsryke join the Trade Federation, many prosperous years have we done. Ivorian join and pay only for treasury of the generous Kleekh Yiklaa, one time.” she stated, raising one claw and swiping the air with her whole hand, as if to emphasise. “Grand Vahkiran build great trade stations where Ivorian wish, maintain and offer defence of these station and lanes and Ivorian simply take rewards station brings and bountiful respects the Vahkiran race can offer, both economies rise together and conquer.” she clicked frantically, clacking twice and straightening out her posture, hands behind her back as they moved down towards the quarters.

Svah was the next to bow his head slightly to join the conversation, rolling a blood-red eye on the smaller being before him, his sharp, serrated beak parting and closing slowly.
“The Kolsryke Enforcers will ensure no pirates plunder your colonies and that your expanse is aided by the Peoples Trade Federation, we can even offer other services, should you be in need. For a price.” he cawed lowly, the flesh by the corners of his beak twitching into what might have been a smirk.